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Poetry |
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Bernard Cribbins - a Disturbing Psychological Study
By Kingrat
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Bernard Cribbins collected ribbons
He stored them on a glass bottomed boat
Bernard Cribbins collected ribbons
They were eaten by a man-eating stoat
Now some of you may find this rather amusing, but some of these ribbons had been cribbinses family heirlooms for many a generation.
Bernard Cribbins who collected ribbons
Searched high and low for the stoat
Bernard Cribbins who lost his ribbons
Grabbed his knife and his coat
A lot of readers may think this a little over the top, for the destruction of a few tattered pieces of cloth. WELL YOURE WRONG.
Bernard Cribbins mourning his ribbons
Cornered the stoat in a barn
Bernard Cribbins blinded by Ribbons
Believe me he didn't give a damn
Enraged by the loss of close personal items, who can blame him. This gives reason to rage in modern society, which I think last summers blockbuster the hulk totally missed.
Bernard Cribbins without his ribbons
Cursed the stoat and his kin
Bernard Cribbins gonna cut to ribbons
That weasel-faced, goat-fisting, shit-eating, son of a donkey's......
Maybe all Bernard did have a few problems
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Bernard contemplates his moment of madness.
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Poetry - from...By Harry Slater
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epitomize silence
in the cold
in the dark
there are no words
only echoes of breath
flakes of dead skin
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Poetry - Care less? & No Matter By Lee Cassanell
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No matter what you do
No matter who you are,
No matter if you play the fool or even play guitar.
No matter if you talk to trees and they don't answer back,
No matter if your Girlfriend leaves or you don't pot the black,
Read more...
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Poetry - Eros a Rose By M.D. Tasker
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TONGUE TO TOOTHBACK
TIP OVER RIDGES TO SMOOTHNESS
SLACK CONTACT
FIRMING SLOWLY
REPEATING
TONGUE AND TOOTHBACK
Read more...
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Poetry - A Dead Dove, With A Number and Two Lives With One Rejection By Mackenzie Cale
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Every breath you take catches in my skin
Lifting startled hairs, ghosting like a forgotten truth
Blissful in its simplicity.
Every startled gasp is a call
In a language I'm sure only I understand
Read more...
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Poetry - When all of You are Dead and Gone
By John Crooks, MRCVS, Beverley.
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When all of you are dead and gone
They'll still tell tales of Immobilon Don
So settle down - fill your glasses, of course
And I'll tell you the tale of the unlucky horse.
Everyone was helpless, the owner upset
No one could catch it, not even the vet
Read more...
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Poetry - Averse to Hull. By Anthea
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In native tongue,
You hear the sound.
No aspirate,
No vowel so round.
Aint no drop't aitch,
At you we hurl.
Our sacred river, 's known as ULL.
Read more...
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Poetry - Never to Last and Reality. By Amy, 16
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The tears which have been shed.
The plates which have been broken.
The time has now come,
For the vows to be unspoken.
Lets go back in time.
Back to the church.
Find the book of divorce.
Read more...
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Poetry - Lady of the Night. By Anthea
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Stockings of finest Shantung Silk
May keep your legs from cold,
But heed not the bitter pill:
You know that you were sold.
>From waterfront to back-street,
>From Kowloon to Timbuktu,
When into the shadows dart my eyes
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Poetry - A Satire of Carol Ann Duffy's Valentine By Jason Karlson
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Not a cabbage or a radish
I give you a banana
It is a tasty snack wrapped in yellow skin
It promises nutrition
Like the opening of a box of weetabix
Read more...
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Poetry - Abortion. By Amy, 16
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The day that she told me,
Came as quite a shock,
She didn't want the baby,
Both our worlds had quickly stopped.
She hadn't told her parents,
Nor her sister or her brother,
Read more...
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Poetry - She Stands Framed, Duality and Undulating Pulses .. By MD Tasker
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UNDULATING PULSES
EBBS EDDYS WHIRLS TIDES
FLUX AND FLOW, SEASONAL GLORIOUS RIDE
ATOM THUMP ELECTRON BUMPING
HEART STOPPING
CORPUSCLE POPPING
LEAF FALLING SUN STOPPING
Read more...
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Poetry - You can take the boy out of the council estate... By Lee Cassanell
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Pass me a chocolate,
Make mine a tea.
Eyes on the tele
Plate on your knee.
Kids in the garden
Shirts in the wash
Caring if Beckhams cheating on Posh.
Read more...
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Poetry
- Somebody and Pictures at an Auction By Maurice Fairfield.
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Somebody sentenced me to life some time ago.
For something I can't remember doing.
Now as my sentence dwindles to its close,
Freedom no longer pulls me as it did.
My cell though cramped, is cosy,
And the meals arrive on time.
Also, I have grown used to them.
I have some cell-mates.
Read more...
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Poetry - The Nurses Visit By Nadie.
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My voice is lost,
no-one hears me.
Well meaning,
tearing out my heart,
middle aged ladies,
'where did you buy these cushions?'
I'm dying inside,
Read more...
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