Solomon1 Posted March 13, 2010 Author Share Posted March 13, 2010 Modern Love Poem My dearest darling with long dark hair and eyes azure, My love for you is eternal, tried, and sure. I stare into the infinite depths of your eyes, But I often find my gaze directed at your thighs. Everyone appreciates your unsurpassed beauty and grace, Your perfect supple form and enchanting face. Some say beauty is fleeting, and boy do I agree. Your personality sucks, so when you're 40, with you I will not be. My sweet, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways... One...uh...one...hmm...number one...gimme a chance... how about the way your body sways? Let me once more restate my love for you. 65% of the time, to you I'm true. There is no other woman with whom I lay, At least, not at this particular time of day. My dear, you're absolutely the best. How 'bout accompanying me to the next Centralfest? (That is, unless I don't have another date) The events that brought us together must have been fate. I love you, I love you, I love you. You're the greatest, Jenny, I mean Cherry, I mean Sue. Unknown Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Solomon1 Posted March 13, 2010 Author Share Posted March 13, 2010 i like this poem because it is irreverent (the opinion of the poet expressed herein, does not necessarily state or reflect that of sol) Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Solomon1 Posted March 25, 2010 Author Share Posted March 25, 2010 My Love Is Like A Red Red Rose Oh, my love is like a red, red rose That's newly sprung in June Oh, my love is like a melody That's sweetly played in tune As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in love am I And I will love thee still, my dear, Till all the seas gang dry. Till all the seas gang dry, my dear, Till all the seas gang dry And I will love thee still, my dear, Till all the seas gang dry. 'Til all the seas gang dry my, my dear And the rocks melt with the sun And I will love thee still, my dear While the sands of life shall run But faretheewell, my only love Oh, faretheewell a while And I will come again, my love Tho' 't were ten thousand mile Tho' 't were ten thousand mile, my love Tho' 't were ten thousand mile And I will come again, my love Tho' 't were ten thousand mile. Robert Burns Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Solomon1 Posted March 25, 2010 Author Share Posted March 25, 2010 i like this poem, because it contrasts nicely with the previous - the first about lust, the second about love Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
jobee Posted March 28, 2010 Share Posted March 28, 2010 Faith" is a fine invention, when gentlemen can see But microscopes are prudent, in an emergency. -- Emily Dickinson, "Faith" (ca. 1860), quoted from James A Haught, ed, 2000 Years of Disbelief Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Babooshka Posted March 28, 2010 Share Posted March 28, 2010 THE NAKED SHlT POEM by Simon Rae The thing I missed was the smell of it. Pushed, I suppose I'd have to admit I found it wasn't a bit Like **** at all, more browny rocks standing as tall as grandfather clocks, odd shaped imports down on the docks. Totem poles, obelisks, ethnic tat. Difficult grasping someone shat things as straight and tall as that. So this is the stuff, we're told, that forges the new-while tickling bourgeois gorges. (But which were Gilbert's, which were George's?) A critic says, it's beyond absurd, and I suppose we have to take his worl. It takes a critic to pass a turd. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining, let's roll back our potty training, and enjoy the process as we're straining. Cherish each plop and savour each fart, bodily functions play their part. I take my Y-fronts off to Art! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
jobee Posted March 30, 2010 Share Posted March 30, 2010 I was almost persuaded to be a Christian. I thought I never again could be thoughtless and worldly. But I soon forgot my morning prayer or else it was irksome to me. One by one my old habits returned and I cared less for religion than ever. -- Emily Dickinson, at age 15, shortly after a Christian revival in her home town of Amherst, Massachusetts, in a letter to her friend Abiah Root, quoted from Gary Sloan, "Emily Dickinson: Pagan Sphinx," Positive Atheism (June, 2001) Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
jobee Posted March 30, 2010 Share Posted March 30, 2010 FIVE THOUSAND DEAD GODS by glennlogan No god I know is still alive - all five thousand and seven appear to have died. The great god Huitzilopochtli led the Aztecs' divine pack - but He departed awhile back. Zeus was fun, and had His run, but while disguised as a swan, they say, His neck got wrung. Pluto - God of the Underworld, offended the ladies of Hades, and got buried in his own Hell. Thor, I'm told, was big and bold, but going out without a cloak, they say, He died of the cold. And ghosts of dead Indian gods can't even haunt a decent tepee, and many die on late night T.V. No prisoners tremble on the altar when their beating hearts are torn to join Tezcatlipoca in the sky. And no children scream as they are loaded onto the simple machine that feeds them to Moloch's fire. And for ancient Greece's Dionysus, no drums sound, no flute plays - but, oh, weren't those the days! The goddesses, too, we must include, for all were dear to some, and lived in our hearts until the time had come. There was Athena , Gaia, and Kore, Xochiquetzal, Minerva, and Astarte, Ixtab, Kuan Yin, and Kali of course. Five thousand gods and goddesses - maybe ten or a hundred fifty thousand or more, there might have been. But the goddesses and gods have all gone, one by one, until there are none but those that are still willed alive. - Gods and goddesses kept alive by people still believing - still trusting - in their own creations. Pinocchio becomes god of the wood, while Pygmalion falls on his knees before his goddess of stone, Galatea. We remember the Loving Mother and the Father the All-Mighty looming large in an infant's eyes. For each girl-woman makes the God she craves and needs - then kneels before Him and says, "Oh, please!" And each boy-man makes himself a Goddess that he wishes, giving a Mother's hugs and kisses. And older men and women tend to make our gods with wrinkled brow and constant pout. Still we always make our gods to look a lot like me and you - one head, one mouth, two eyes. But the god of songbirds flies, and the gods of all the fishes must swim through ocean skies. The god of cattle may be a bull, or just maybe it's a cow - I can't hope to settle that now. But I am well informed by one who ought to know: the god of dogs is a bitch! God laughs? Not on your life! The joke's on us - but I'm told She's heard this joke before! This poem is from "Prayers to a Dead God: 125 Poems," published in January of 2001 by North American International, and available from online book sellers. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
jobee Posted March 31, 2010 Share Posted March 31, 2010 THE CRY by Michael Pain Here I am, doubting your existence, questioning your omnipotence. To you they plead their case, to all you refuse to show your face, in the eyes of the believers, the congregation, I am condemned to hell, deserved damnation. Because I choose to think freely, because I do not listen to the cries of the holy man Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
jobee Posted April 1, 2010 Share Posted April 1, 2010 One fine night, in the middle of the day, two atheists knelt down to pray. Hymn books opened upside-down, in Top Hat n' Tails, and their dressing gown. The in-verse lyrics from the page, sung happily with joyous rage. Two old friends, first meeting each other, (both my Grandad’s grandson’s sister’s brother.) With sufficient humility, to make them proud, in perfect silence, they roared out loud. “All things dim and dutiful, all tree cures smate and groll. All things dense and blunderfull, what good is a square ball?” Cursed by the blessing, and accepted by rejection. As welcoming as Ebenezer, (when it’s time to pass the collection.) Thanking God for their disbelief, from their heads up to their toes. And then with Pious reverence, they did pick each other’s nose. These two brave cowards stand as one In truth they are my father’s son. You students of genealogy, must unsurely disagree. For my Grandad’s grandson’s sister’s brother, Can be none other than….. Me! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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