I'm not a poet and I know it
- Thread starter Fenner
- Start date
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G
God is in the house, so I don't care.
As for me and myself, I'll always be found there.
Without a care,without a strife, He's number one in my life.
And, if God is in the house and I don't care, then, who can stop me anywhere.
I'll go for Him from day to day, ring-a-ling-ling, the bells will be so well fastened, NO ALARM!
Here me speaking from a street corner now, 'If God's your Saviour, there's peace without a shout, YEAH!
And, so, here I walk on my way, God in me making this day go way OK, yeah, way, OK, yeah, way, way, way, OK. Hooray!
As for me and myself, I'll always be found there.
Without a care,without a strife, He's number one in my life.
And, if God is in the house and I don't care, then, who can stop me anywhere.
I'll go for Him from day to day, ring-a-ling-ling, the bells will be so well fastened, NO ALARM!
Here me speaking from a street corner now, 'If God's your Saviour, there's peace without a shout, YEAH!
And, so, here I walk on my way, God in me making this day go way OK, yeah, way, OK, yeah, way, way, way, OK. Hooray!
Thank you iTORE, for the compliment
But I'll also heed your warning
For to be displaced from this poetry-forsaken place
Would cause my prose to be even more boring
So I'll retain a sense of mediocrity
And not raise above the status quo
I'll keep in check what my pen does next
And not venture where good poems go
But I'll also heed your warning
For to be displaced from this poetry-forsaken place
Would cause my prose to be even more boring
So I'll retain a sense of mediocrity
And not raise above the status quo
I'll keep in check what my pen does next
And not venture where good poems go
Where, O where have my bad poets gone
Have they laid their prose to rest
Since they could not inspire or even conspire
To cause someone to be blessed
So what if our poems instill
A fear of bad poetry
At least that's something rather than nothing
So unleash it onto CC
Let not the lack of impact
From your poems weaken your pens
But continue to write simply from spite
So our awful works will have no end
Have they laid their prose to rest
Since they could not inspire or even conspire
To cause someone to be blessed
So what if our poems instill
A fear of bad poetry
At least that's something rather than nothing
So unleash it onto CC
Let not the lack of impact
From your poems weaken your pens
But continue to write simply from spite
So our awful works will have no end
A
Liquid warmth, so bitter sweet, pouring down my throat,
The coffee that stirs the sleepiest of sloths is going where good coffee goes.
But after said coffee, what shall it be? Juice, water or green tea?
For the coffee is no stand alone act, it is the friend that's a friend in need.
So I rub my chin, lift up an eyebrow, the cogs of this mind are winding,
To find a beverage to compliment my coffee, oh taste buds, for what are you pining?
To CC I come! With my tickling conundrum, the options are far too many,
Some advice would be great, but in return I have nil, for his woman does not even have a penny.
The coffee that stirs the sleepiest of sloths is going where good coffee goes.
But after said coffee, what shall it be? Juice, water or green tea?
For the coffee is no stand alone act, it is the friend that's a friend in need.
So I rub my chin, lift up an eyebrow, the cogs of this mind are winding,
To find a beverage to compliment my coffee, oh taste buds, for what are you pining?
To CC I come! With my tickling conundrum, the options are far too many,
Some advice would be great, but in return I have nil, for his woman does not even have a penny.
I
The collected works of Tintin via osmosis doesn't seem too expensive
even if he is on the other side of the globe and charges outlandish shipping & handling...
distance is a cruel mistress
but tea time in the land down under can always be brimming with scorpions and other little critters of doom
can it?
No. Those volumes of his works speak volumes to my soul
Lost reviews..where's Walt?
Polar bears that traverse my soul.
I don't care if C.S. Lewis himself buys me a one way ticket off this island
it's only a dream
like we died & went to heaven
or some misbegotten purgatory.
I never thought I would pen an abstract ode
to a CC member so near & dear to my heart
Thick as thieves
closer than a brother from another Mother
It's all good when yer' one under the Son
even if it's down under.
even if he is on the other side of the globe and charges outlandish shipping & handling...
distance is a cruel mistress
but tea time in the land down under can always be brimming with scorpions and other little critters of doom
can it?
No. Those volumes of his works speak volumes to my soul
Lost reviews..where's Walt?
Polar bears that traverse my soul.
I don't care if C.S. Lewis himself buys me a one way ticket off this island
it's only a dream
like we died & went to heaven
or some misbegotten purgatory.
I never thought I would pen an abstract ode
to a CC member so near & dear to my heart
Thick as thieves
closer than a brother from another Mother
It's all good when yer' one under the Son
even if it's down under.
A
With blood shot eyes, tapping, I type, percussion is rich as my fingertips touch light.
Strumming a song, as I am typing along, this orchestra rings true of this technological prison.
Oh Laptop so fair, can I help but stare? The light that illuminates your screen, a screen too long to be a square.
You have me all bound, in love so profound, from your slow ability to load and your inability to produce good sound.
You set me on course, my compass for true north, memorising my favourite links and CTRL-Z-ing when I bring remorse.
You load Microsoft Word, when the call for paper work is heard, you understand my needs and desires to unleash my inner nerd.
Strumming a song, as I am typing along, this orchestra rings true of this technological prison.
Oh Laptop so fair, can I help but stare? The light that illuminates your screen, a screen too long to be a square.
You have me all bound, in love so profound, from your slow ability to load and your inability to produce good sound.
You set me on course, my compass for true north, memorising my favourite links and CTRL-Z-ing when I bring remorse.
You load Microsoft Word, when the call for paper work is heard, you understand my needs and desires to unleash my inner nerd.