Goodbye, Chris.

Upwards, downwards, round and round
The purpose of poetry I've never found
Is it to speak? Is it to impress?
It it to coax young girls to undress?
Perhaps poems have meaning, perhaps they have art
Or maybe they can truly speak to the heart
But d'you know what I think? None of that's true
Never have poets thought poetry through.

Back to back the two boys faced

Drew their swords and shot each other

The deaf policeman heard the noise

Then arrested the two dead boys

If you don't believe my lie is true

Ask the blind man

He saw too.

Who covered his knob with a bucket.

Good story, bro.

Hear my prayer in the valley of the shadow
For a child in an unmarked grave
Take my hand in the hour of darkness
While there's someone left to save
Hear my prayer in the valley of the shadow
For a child in an unmarked grave
Take my hand in the hour of darkness
While there's someone left to save
Hear my prayer in the valley of the shadow
For a child in an unmarked grave
Take my hand in the hour of darkness
While there's someone left to save

THE wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door. II
He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
III
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
IV
And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter,
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—
V
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
VI
He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet, black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonliglt, and galloped away to the West.

PART TWO
I
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching—
Marching—marching—
King George's men came matching, up to the old inn-door.
II
They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
III
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now, keep good watch!" and they kissed her.
She heard the dead man say—
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!
IV
She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
V
The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain .
VI
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still!
VII
Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.
VIII
He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
IX
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.
* * * * * *
X
And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding—
Riding—riding—
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
XI
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard;
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

It's a zany action
A crazy contraption
The fun is catchin'
It's MOUSE TRAP!

Drill-fork,
It can drill and fork,
Mostly fork

I'm Mr. Bucket,
Toss your balls in my top;
I'm Mr. Bucket,
Out of my mouth they will pop;
I'm Mr. Bucket,
We're all gonna run;
I'm Mr. Bucket,
Buckets of fun!

I'm Mr. Bucket,
Balls pop out of my mouth;
I'm Mr. Bucket,
A ball is what I'm about;
I'm Mr. Bucket,
We're all gonna run;
I'm Mr. Bucket,
Buckets of fun!

har har har, hee hee hee
elephant nesting in a rhubarb tree

BUT THEN

all of a sudden a bloody black puddin' come flying through the air,
missed me mother and hit me brother and oh i do declare!

Jumping through the veil of love,
Euphoria of flying like a dove.
She calls my name in a scented whisper,
Her eyes beseach a beautiful azure.

So I fucked her in the ass like the dog that she is.

i'm a pink toothbrush, you're a blue toothbrush, have we met somewhere before?
i'm a pink toothbrush, you're a blue toothbrush, i think we met by the bathroom door.

So he fucked her in the ass like the dog that she is.

There's a famous seaside place called Blackpool
That's noted for fresh air and fun
And Mr. and Mrs. Ramsbottom
Went there with young Albert, their son
.
A fine little lad were young Albert,
All dressed in his best, quite a swell.
He'd a stick with an 'orse's 'ead 'andle;
The finest that Woolworth's could sell.
They didn't think much to the ocean,
The waves they were piddlin' and small.
There were no wrecks and nobody drownded,
'Fact, nothin' to laugh at at all!
So, seeking for further amusement,
They paid, and went into the zoo,
Where they'd lions and tigers and camels
And cold ale and sandwiches, too.
There were one great big lion called Wallace
Whose nose was all covered with scars;
He lay in a som-no-lent posture
With the side of 'is face on the bars.
Now Albert 'ad 'eard about lions-
'Ow they was ferocious and wild;
To see lion lyin' so peaceful
Just didn't seem right to the child.
So straightway the brave little feller,
Not showin' a morsel of fear,
Took 'is stick with the 'orse's 'ead 'andle
And stuck it in Wallace's ear.
You could see that the lion din't like it,
For givin' a kind of a roll,
'E pulled Albert inside the cage with 'im
And swallered the little lad -'ole!
Now Mother 'ad seen this occurrence,
And not knowin' what to do next,
She 'ollered "Yon lion's et Albert!"
An' Father said "Ee, I am vexed."
They complained to an animal keeper
Who said "My, wot a nasty mis'ap;
Are you sure it's your boy 'e's eaten?"
Pa said, "Am I sure? There's 'is cap!"
The manager 'ad to be sent for;
'E came and 'e said "Wot's to-do?"
Ma said "Yon lion's et Albert,
And 'im in 'is Sunday clothes, too!"
Father said "Right's right, young feller-
I think it's a shame and a sin
To 'ave our son et by a lion
And after we paid to come in."
The manager wanted no trouble;
He took out his purse right away,
Sayin' "'Ow much to settle the matter?"
Pa said "Wot do you usually pay?"
But Mother 'ad turned a bit awkward
When she saw where 'er Albert 'ad gone.
She said "No, someone's got to be summonsed!"
So that was decided upon.
And off they all went to p'lice station
In front of a Magistrate chap;
They told what 'ad 'appened to Albert
And proved it by showing 'is cap.
The Magistrate gave 'is opinion
That no one was really to blame,
And 'e said that 'e 'oped the Ramsbottoms
Would 'ave further sons to their name.
At that Mother got proper blazin':
"And thank you, sir, kindly," said she-
"Wot, spend all our lives raisin' children
To feed ruddy lions? Not me!"

put another nickel in,
in the nickelodeon,
all i want is having fun and music, music, music.
closer, my dear come closer,
my favourite part of any melody,
is when you're sitting close to me.
so put another nickel in,
in the nickelodeon,
all i want is having fun and music, music, music.

Yeah, I own The Mollusk too.

Much to his Mum and Dad's dismay
Horace ate himself one day.
He didn't stop to say his grace,
He just sat down and ate his face.
"We can't have this," his Dad declared,
"If that lad's ate, he should be shared."
But even as he spoke they saw
Horace eating more and more:
First his legs and then his thighs,
His arms, his nose, his hair, his eyes...
"Stop him someone!" Mother cried
"Those eyeballs would be better fried!"
But all too late, for they were gone,
And he had started on his dong...
"Oh! foolish child!" the father mourns
"You could have deep-fried that with prawns,
Some parsley and some tartar sauce..."
But H. was on his second course:
His liver and his lights and lung,
His ears, his neck, his chin, his tongue;
"To think I raised him from the cot
And now he's going to scoff the lot!"
His Mother cried: "What shall we do?
What's left won't even make a stew..."
And as she wept, her son was seen
To eat his head, his heart, his spleen.
And there he lay: a boy no more,
Just a stomach, on the floor...
None the less, since it was his
They ate it – that's what haggis is.

I used to own that game too.

I never owned that game too.

My beloved hometown, the sweetfish river running through it.
You who seek the Golden Land, follow its path downstream and seek the key.

If you follow the river downstream, you will find a village.
In the village, look for the shore the two will tell you of.
There sleeps the key to the Golden Land.

He who lays hand upon the key shall travel under the rules below.

At the first twilight, you shall lift up as sacrifice the six chosen by the key.
At the second twilight, the surviving shall tear apart the two who are close.
At the third twilight, the surviving shall praise my honorable name on high.
At the fourth twilight, gouge the head and kill.
At the fifth twilight, gouge the chest and kill.
At the sixth twilight, gouge the stomach and kill.
At the seventh twilight, gouge the knee and kill.
At the eighth twilight, gouge the leg and kill.
At the ninth twilight, the Witch shall be revived and none shall be left alive.
At the tenth twilight, the journey shall end and you should reach the village of gold.

The Witch will praise the wise, and should bestow four treasures.
One shall be, all the gold from the Golden Land.
One shall be, the resurrection of the souls of all the dead.
One shall be, even the resurrection of the lost love.
One shall be, to put the Witch to sleep for all time.

Sleep peacefully, my most beloved witch, Beatrice.

i love that. i heard it as a kid but forgot about it.

Do your balls hang low? Do they dangle to and fro?
Can you tie 'em in a knot? Can you tie 'em in a bow?
Can you throw 'em over shoulder like a Continental soldier?
Can you do the double shuffle when your balls hang low?

Do your balls hang low? Do they dangle to and fro?
Can you tie 'em in a knot? Can you tie 'em in a bow?
Do they have a hollow sound they drag along the ground?
Can you do the double shuffle when your balls hang low?

Do your balls hang low? Do they dangle to and fro?
Can you tie 'em in a knot? Can you tie 'em in a bow?
Do you ever get the feeling when they swing into the ceiling
That you'll never get too far if your balls hang low?

i met my love, by the gas works wall
dreamed a dream, by the old canal
i kissed my girl, by the factory wall
dirty old town, dirty old town

clouds are drifting, across the moon
cats are prowling, on their beat
spring's a girl, from the streets at night
dirty old town, dirty old town

i heard a siren, from the docks
saw a train, set the night on fire
i smelled the spring, on the smoky wind
dirty old town, dirty old town

i'm gonna make, me a big sharp axe
shining steel, tempered in the fire
i'll chop you down, like an old dead tree
dirty old town, dirty old town

i met my love, by the gas works wall
dreamed a dream, by the old canal
i kissed my girl, by the factory wall
dirty old town, dirty old town
dirty old town, dirty old town

Am I the only one who actually wrote his own response?

you're the only one telling us that you wrote your own response, yes.

God, Satori-sama, hell raven-sama, I might be a genius. lol First, I invade on the ground, um, invade on the ground like Unyuuuu and Baaaaan. lol And and, of course, the people on the ground will make me an outcast in someway like Baaaan. I'll somehow get over this , I'll somehow get over this with this in the right hand. Well, I'll think how when I go on the ground. And the main object is, I'm thinking, I merge, so fusion the ground people I beat, by this, nuclear energy. I might use her spell card, and my clothes might change a bit into her coloring, her spell card might be the weak point of someone, I'll feel so good! That must be a happy ending, a never-ending-story... By the way, I have a question, "What is a nuclear energy?" lol

Elephants are contagious!
Be careful where you tread.
An Elephant that's been trodden on
Should be confined to bed!