Early attempt at Haiku
My sometimes-not-quite-friend
Surgically attached to my arm
I give her a kick

Clearly I had some issues....
(Peelmytangerines, Thu 11 Aug 2005, 16:34, Reply)

I remember....
Sitting in English next to a guy called Andy. He wrote a poem that went something like this...

Andi Peters,
No he doesn't,
Lemonade?
Yes. Two litres.

Classic.
(Bertie Dastard Wax on, wax off, Thu 11 Aug 2005, 16:28, Reply)

My poem is cool
There was an old man that lived in a box
He had dirty hair and didn't change his socks

Although he was poor, he did like his meat
So he'd catch all the pigeons and have them to eat


RRRRAAAAWWWWWW

I even had drawings to go with poem
(Clivicus, Thu 11 Aug 2005, 16:22, Reply)

Boom! Boom!
I liked my gun
Its barrels were open
It was fun
And now it's broken
(smack rabbit, Thu 11 Aug 2005, 16:20, Reply)

(to be said with a broad highlands accent)
The Coo stood on the hill,
the Coo stood on the hill,
It's not there noo,
it must 'a shifted.
( Clairebare Back once again with the Ill behaviour, Thu 11 Aug 2005, 16:19, Reply)

soggy toast
Soggy toast, soggy toast
it's not the most
nice thing to eat
it's not something
you'd like to meet
along a dark and
winding road
even if
your best mate's a toad

i've got piles of this sort of shit, this just happened to be on the first page I opened
( VampireMonkeyOnSpeed a super sexy sexual sex terrorist sex, Thu 11 Aug 2005, 16:18, Reply)

roses are red
violets are blue
most poems rhyme
but this one doesn't



...i fail at life
( MelbaToast, Thu 11 Aug 2005, 16:17, Reply)

Haiku of sorts
A couple of years ago I was an extra in the BBC1 drama Judge John Deed, which inspired me to pen a little ditty about the main star, Martin Shaw.

(I can just sneak this one in as I was nineteen at the time.)

Being an extra is a lot more tedious than you might imagine, it's a lot of sitting around doing fuck all the majority of the 12 hours a day you're on set. To cure our boredom me and my friend began rocking back and forth on a bench, which nearly toppled over. Martin gave us a disapproving look which said 'I can't believe you're behaving like this in MY presence.' All the food on set was vegetarian too, because he was. Twat.

Anyway, my poem went as:

"Martin Shaw,

You ain't no John Thaw,

Know your place!"

Crap innit.
( The Helpful Bear, Thu 11 Aug 2005, 16:16, Reply)

*gives in*
I actually wrote a pretencious poem about pretencious teenage poetry when i was 15 years old. I think it's quite good considering, but then again I am still a teenager...


"The Beast"

Pretencious Beast!
Thou shalt know him from his number...
twixt 13 and 20.

Such a Beast, twill destroy yet build!
twill lie yet utter pure truth!

He will never, ever, allow himself to be the same as the other different ones.
And even now, he falls back, rebellion automatically a conformity.

"Woh, what a great thought... Never before has such a thing been thought..."
in his mind, sure. In others? well, only
twixt 13 and 20.

He wakes up, at the unluckiest time.
He likens it to a creation, yet little does he know...
His sleep? his 'life' before?
He may forget the dreams, sure... but have they forgotten him?

Now, he listens to strange music...
A tangled mess of electricity, and kinetical energy, and voices...
The music blocks these thoughts, and many more besides...

"Look at this... it's like a whole new world!"
in his mind, sure. In others? well, only
twixt 13 and 20.
(Hazhar, Thu 11 Aug 2005, 16:10, Reply)

Sheep Casings
Sitting in a bath full of hot dogs and brine,
Slowly brought to the boil,
I relax and reflect on the day that I've had,
And how it was worth all the toil.
( armaitus Sheep Casings!, Thu 11 Aug 2005, 16:10, Reply)

What a coincidence
How strange, I was just sitting, bored, in a chinese opera, with my parents (I'm still a teenager see) and made up a poem based on my mate Tom, who I think is a bit of a bummmer, even though he hasn't actually sucked a bloke off. Anyway, I think fate has conspired to lure me out of lurk mode.

Got a friend who's name is TJ,
People think that he might be gay,
Because he gave some guy a bj,
He claims to love the asian poontang,
But the only asian thing he likes is.....
WANG!
(Elmsters, Thu 11 Aug 2005, 16:08, Reply)

Be honest dammit
I never had TIME to write poetry...

As a teenager I was too busy WANKING to write sappy poems!!
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Thu 11 Aug 2005, 16:03, Reply)

And now...a song!
I wrote this with a buddy in high school:

Pale white skin
Piercing blue eyes
My girl doesn't think about other guys
Society asks me how can I sink so low
I smile and I say
"Dead girls dont say no."
( Citadel Because the world needs less morons, Thu 11 Aug 2005, 16:03, Reply)

Poem
Teacher,
Preacher,
Failed at something else,
Miniature Hitler,
Left upon a shelf,
Bitterness,
And anger,
Churn beneath your smile,
Expecting our respecting,
You sit and wait a while,
Respect you need to earn, sir.
Didn't you know that?
Sculpted by your actions,
You sanctimonious twat.
Teacher,
Preacher,
Show us all life's rules,
We'll learn by your example,
And never leave our schools...
(Nefarious Tim, Thu 11 Aug 2005, 16:03, Reply)

The *Ultimate* Teeny Poem
Ok it's really a song by the great Victoria Wood (so bending the rules of the question here), but I think it sums up life as a pre-teen girl pretty well!


--


I saw you today...well, I just saw your blazer
and it went through my heart like the beam of a laser
and I thought that today you would turn round and see me
but you didn’t...

The bus didn’t come. It was dead rainy weather
when it came it was full and we didn’t stand together
and I smiled half a smile down the aisle
but you didn’t notice, did you? Did you?

I love you so much, all my friends think I’m crazy,
I get told off at school cos I dream and I’m lazy.
I’m dreaming of you, but I don’t suppose you know that do you?

You smiled at me once, don’t suppose you remember,
But I know when it was - was the tenth of September
and you put down your bag on my foot
and I said it didn’t matter.

I’ve got old souvenirs like your empty crisp packet
and a blond curly hair from the back of your jacket.
They are under my bed, maybe one day I’ll show them to you. Shall I?
Shall I?

If we went on a date I would just be in heaven.
Well, I know you’re sixteen but I’m tall for eleven!
If I paid for myself could we p'raps go for a pizza could we?

I’m all muddled up when I think of you.
I’m not really sure what I’m meant to do.

My best friend Louise said, "oh, write him a letter,
Coz it can’t make things worse, and it might make them better"
So I did, but I think...well I don’t think you ever got it.
Did you?
Did you?

It was all like in rhyme and I drew like a Snoopy.
I used all different pens, did you think I was loopy?
Did you crumple it up? Did you chuck it in your bin?
Or...did you?

I saw you today. Well, I just saw your blazer
and I’m hurting inside like I’m cut with a razor
coz I thought that today that you would turn round and see me.
But you didn’t.

I wrote that I loved you and I really meant it.
Now I feel really dumb, I should never have sent it.
Do you hate me or what? Did I do stupid spelling, tell me, did I?
Did I?

Cos I think about you right from dawn until dusk.
You haven’t spoken to me, I just stand in your bus queue.


And I sent you a note but I don’t think that you got it.


Did you?
(Mogg Questioned her own sanity on, Thu 11 Aug 2005, 16:03, Reply)

'buggeringfuck'
Thanks so much for that info. I shall sleep more easily knowing that..

Although I personally prefer to read the likes of Readers Wives sections* in wank mags.

*I tend to cut out and laminate the best stories for repeat use.
As part of my research obviously.
(nappy rash, Thu 11 Aug 2005, 16:01, Reply)

Poor Peter's wife
Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater
Had a wife and loved to beat her

I think Peter was a Chav.

[Though, if you click 'I Like This' it will illustrate your complete disappointment in this QOTW and help to 'screw the man'. So go ahead...you know you want to...click "I Like This" and tell "The Man" what you think of him!]
( Citadel Because the world needs less morons, Thu 11 Aug 2005, 15:58, Reply)

Oh dear
Time to trawl through the darker recesses of my lyrics archive, for the songs that have now been consigned to my 'shit' folder.

I'm sure you'll agree that the use of the word 'synonomous' in popular song form here is masterful:

It’ll never be the same
People will never take my name
To mean the same thing again

Synonymous with loser
Why did I have to choose her?
Why did she have to screw with me and make me feel this way?

I really can't remember whether the innuendo in the last line of the following verse was intentional. Also note poppish 'yeah' included at the end... I think I was listening to a lot of pop-punk at the time.

When other guys were saving up for cars,
I was spending money on guitars,
While they were getting girls into bed,
I was developing calluses, yeah.

And frankly, those are just the worst I'm prepared to show you. There's plenty more that will never see the light of day, and that's just the stuff I kept. I dread to think what the lines I threw away were like. I like to think I've improved, but the sad fact is most of this was only written about three or four years ago. Song lyrics are allowed to be awful though, right?
( fool_on_the_hill, Thu 11 Aug 2005, 15:55, Reply)

Who is she?
One arm grows, another one shrinks,
One leg is long, it has a bent knee.
The other leg is only a foot and an ankle.
I am Wobbly Bob.
One eye is moving, the other is still.
My crotch thrusts in and out, but not because I ask it too, it's involuntary.
I look like I am losing my footing as I stagger towards her but I am not really moving.
It's more of a Wobble.
(JinDod, Thu 11 Aug 2005, 15:52, Reply)

I won the poetry competition at school 3 years in a row :D
The topic was war, and everyone did sad crap like "Mummy died and now I'm sad...blah blah blah I'm not glad"

My Friend and The Mine

My friend where is he, his arm in a tree, his leg hanging off a roof,
My friend called Mike, his chest on a bike, his head flew off...strewth!
His guts on a car, his eyes flew afar, his kneecaps over the hill,
'I say Mike, are you allright?' but his voice lay still.

Needless to say I won, but then I got banned from reading it out. Bloody Commie Nazis.
(Gat Bandish I've got wood in my soul, Thu 11 Aug 2005, 15:50, Reply)

not me but my
girlfriend is apparently bring old diaries of hers including loads of "lame things" (her words) she wrote about boys etc from years ago before I knew her. Should be interesting.
(Skawt, Thu 11 Aug 2005, 15:48, Reply)

big tit ho
i didnt write much poetry in my teenage years because i'm not what you might call a sensitive chap. that is probably highlighted by a poem i found recently when going through some old school books:

alice eaton,
keeps on eatin,
thats why she looks like michael keaton.
he is the batman
but shes just fat man
dont disagree cause thats the end of that man.

her teeth are really green
she smells like gasoline.
her tits are really large
but shes as wide as a barge

if you put a tap in her
i'll bet she leaks pure lard.



Some credit should probably go to a guy called Chris who i think co-wrote it. GCSE Maths lessons were really boring. My sister is a poet, but I guess I wasn't blessed with talent.
(deaglun, Thu 11 Aug 2005, 15:48, Reply)

not mine
but my favourite.

I went to the railway museum at York
There were plenty of trains but it was quicker to walk.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Thu 11 Aug 2005, 15:46, Reply)

hmm
Terry Wogan, I love thee!
I laugh so hard I have to pee
Gary Barlow, nice haircut
I'd like to stab your blondie nuts

F I N
( -:Coop:-, Thu 11 Aug 2005, 15:46, Reply)

nappy rash
That's actually an Ogden Nash poem, entitled "Lines On The Antiquity of Microbes". I'm convinced the title was actually much longer in the Ogden Nash poetry book I'm thinking of, something to do with "Their Probable Origin", but I can't find it anywhere. Yes, I read Ogden Nash as a (very young) child. I blame it for many of my... eccentricities...

And yes, I wrote some hormone-infused poetry as a pimply teenager. I won't burden you with it... or myself, for that matter!

Well, that's a fine how-do-you-do! I go and google for it and discover that it's actually attributed to an American poet I never heard of - Strickland Gillilan. Damn you b3ta, shattering my long-held misconceptions and seriously damaging my opinion of Ogden Nash!

And in case it's not perfectly clear, I'm referring to your FIRST, "Fleas", post, not the "Lola" one! Posting while I'm typing ought to be illegal!
(buggeringfuck, Thu 11 Aug 2005, 15:42, Reply)