This is a bit of a forum game, but at the same time it has the capacity to result in a bit of poetry, so it goes here. I'm going to supply a line of poetry, and the following poster is to create a poem using the line I gave as their first. Along with their poem, they supply a line for the next person to write poetry on. No restrictions on the type of line or poetry; just keep the line open ended.
The flower died; its years of beauty finally fade away as its color drains. Years of squandered time now reach their end. The red rose of beauty, now the white rose of death.
Ukelele or tomahawk Whichever I throw, the people will gawk. I toss them both into the air, While my target stops to stare.
*Twang* *chonk* they hit his head, He falls to the ground, not quite dead. I shout out with such elation "Oh I'm sorry, did I break your concentration?"
Noble mountains Stand in the distance, And the trickling fountains Bring noisy relief, To the the deathly silence Of the steady snow, As the homeless man Stands outside the estate, Of a rich man he does not not know.
The steady light tap Of rain on my windowpane, Reminds me I'm insane. As I sit on the edge of my mind, I can't help remembering I need to find myself. I think again after my nap.
Ouch! It's coming out sideways, The horse rider exclaimed, His small, bronze room key Sticking into his leg.
He readjusted it in his pocket, And rode on, Slowly but surely, Through the smog Of the forest.
Off in the distance, A coyote looked up at him And with an emotionless glare, Stepped off of the road, Into the forest.
****ed vermin, He said to himself, For his lonely trips Through the forest, Brought back memories Of his wife.
Anger streaked through his veins. She had loved This forest More than anything else, But her innocent Sense of calmness And safety Betrayed her.
He said His wife's spirit Was forever left to roam Through the forest She had loved so much, But he knew this To be a lie, Created by his imagination For whatever reason Or another.
The forest met No need In the afterlife.
The trees Were not the Dryads Of old fables, Nor the animals The carriers Of the lost souls.
They were all Just a reminder Of his failure, ****ing him To everlasting Internal torture.
Slowly and surely, He came upon The cobblestone bridge, And looked over the side. The coursing river Brought a wave of sadness Upon him.
Death is only But a step away. Why make it wait? He asked his horse.
His horse's liquid eyes Gave to him no answer. It merely picked at The weeds in the cracks.
If I were to disappear From this life, You would never Even notice my leave.
Your life has No more meaning Than mine does I suppose.
His horse trotted To the opposite side Of the river To begin eating daisies.
The man sat down On the peak Of the bridges arch, And thought to himself, Quietly waiting For the end.
The end of what He did not know.
Whether the end Of his suffering Through his death, Or perhaps even A miraculous change In his life's course, Either seemed a fine way To end the failure That was his story, And so He waited.
was that asterisk really worthy of being shaped of a star some know it some don't but the asterisk most defintely (yes i spelled that wrong most likely) is not hydrogen filled
elephants are made of elements ____________________________
Elephants are made of elements This beginning has no sense, Poems should not be written About elephants, But about a turtle fence. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qizNQKzatXA
A loud crash radiated throughout the room. Janitor knocked stuff all over with a broom Screaming while he ran around with frantic zoom. Hornet nest plus cherry bomb equals swift doom.
