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Forums / Response Poetry

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It seemed like the appropriate place to put this. I'm simply looking for poetry to pique my interest. Name of the game: see a poem, make a poem in resopnse to it, no matter how corny. These don't have to rhyme or have meter. The most extreme of vagueries or extremely clear cut. I do this simply to see how long it'll go. May the responses commence!



Pedal to the metal
and scaling the cruise
Jam on the brakes,
tight turns and
oh, so tight curves
Red death is playing the guitar
on the Last Highway
so fast and so loud that
the head has yet to spin.
Play me baby,
Play me like the strings
between the cocaine high
and marijuana smoke
and don't stop.
please, don't ever stop
cuz death might find us
and I ain't ready for
this road to end.
Stock up the booze and
heart pounding music
cuz we're not stopping till
we reach
the last highway


Come on, guys, this is just an opener! We all know this is going to degrade into some of the weirdest stuff imaginable, that's what I want! Play the gaaaaaaaame!

Last edited by [Viajera] on June 22, 2006

vip
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Catholic school girls all but babies
selling at yer porch all the delicous cookies
you laugh at them, emotionally dumb
as they pull out a magnum,
twenty iches long
the hole in yer chest, as you watch
and bleed to death
the blood fill their shoes!

fucking school girls, mang.
staff
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thumbs and toes and hooves and shoes
and paper with hats on a schoolgirl cruise
and giraffes and monkeys and five kangaroos
and some really bad covers of late 40s blues
and about ten shots of bonita's cheapest booze
and underpants stews and underpants stews!!
i found some vapid tissue paper with matching hues
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Inner blues are exposed to air
and as cadmiums they drop.
His flesh writhes, his heart is singing,
his voice explodes before the silence.

My work here is done.
vip
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I kill bitches in the Morning
I kill bitches in the Evening
I kill bitches at supper-time.
If you need bitches to be a kill't
I'll kill bitches for ya anytime!
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Okay, theme of DEATH..... hmmm...


I have noticed no more -
the scant difference between light and dark.
The colors elude me and I live
in the space between the mottled grays and
marred blacks of night.
Ever since the cord was cut,
and who was I?
but to have held to knife.
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