The Poetry Thread

Admin.

When you're a Alpha, you're an Alpha all the way!
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The three must-be-queers and the cuck.

@The New Holliday is gay
He fucks @Admin. in the hay

@Larry Loungelizard is centred
He plugs @Admin. ‘s mouth bented.

The radio is playing under the barnyard hen…
“It’s raining men…hallelujah!”

@Corky is there too…tugging away, using his own shit for lube.

Buckeroo…fuckeroo!
Whats the matter my little tasmanian devil, did the Tilapia have a headache tonight?
 

Blandscape

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Let me tell you what you have done,
when you gave up your right to succumb,
to the interest that only interests you,
and an ability to simply scrape one view.

In the media you taught yourself respect,
you forgot about the self neglect,
where hope was forged in a fire of worth,
as you looked upon a shameless flirtatious birth.

That ostracized the hope that you once had,
when you respected more than your opinion demands.
 

The Countess

Hood with it
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Let me tell you what you have done,
when you gave up your right to succumb,
to the interest that only interests you,
and an ability to simply scrape one view.

In the media you taught yourself respect,
you forgot about the self neglect,
where hope was forged in a fire of worth,
as you looked upon a shameless flirtatious birth.

That ostracized the hope that you once had,
when you respected more than your opinion demands.


You’re still a boring Jew fag
 

Larry Loungelizard

I appreciate irony as long as I'm not it's victim.
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There once was an old man from Sprocket,
Who went up to space in a rocket,
The rocket went bang,
His gonads went clang,
And his ass ended up in his pocket.
 

Breakfall

Such is life...
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There once was a man from Calcutta,
who fell asleep in the gutter.
The tropical sun burnt a hole in his bum,
and melted his ballz to butter!

Yo…change it up!
 

chew the fat

Fluent In Sarcasm
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[] STOP []

I feel a throbbing deep inside
Feel hot, aroused, and wet
I cannot run, I cannot hide
And I break into a sweat ...

I'm always super in the mood
Feel like I'm gonna pop
Constantly, I'm feeling lewd
Why can't I make it stop ...

At times, I don't know what to do
Feel desperate and sad
I honestly don't have a clue
Afraid that I'll go mad ...

Most people do not understand
Why lust feels like a sin
It was not something that I planned
I just can't seem to win ...

I just want it to go away
So I'll just grab my toys
Play with myself all freaking day
My moans make so much noise ...

Since orgasms are just about
The only thing I need
I don't much care if I'm too loud
And I'll pick up the speed ...

I sometimes think I might be lewd
A sinful girl, I'm sure
But though I know that I am screwed
It's what I must endure ...

I pray to God, please make it stop
Please make it go away
I just can't take much more of this
Oh please, don't make it stay ...
 

The New Holliday

Now With 25% More Infinity
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A fav of mine fer its troof
.. One of @Blandscape 's own.

The foundation of so many a modern observation.
. How one feels for the lil beastie.

To a Mouse​

By
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On Turning her up in her Nest, with the Plough, November 1785.

Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim’rous beastie,
O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi’ bickerin brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee
Wi’ murd’ring pattle!

I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion
Has broken Nature’s social union,
An’ justifies that ill opinion,
Which makes thee startle,
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
An’ fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen-icker in a thrave
’S a sma’ request:
I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave,
An’ never miss ’t!

Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!
It’s silly wa’s the win’s are strewin!
An’ naething, now, to big a new ane,
O’ foggage green!
An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin,
Baith snell an’ keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste,
An’ weary Winter comin fast,
An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro’ thy cell.

That wee-bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!
Now thou’s turn’d out, for a’ thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the Winter’s sleety dribble,
An’ cranreuch cauld!

But Mousie, thou art no thy-lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men
Gang aft agley,
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
For promis’d joy!

Still, thou art blest, compar’d wi’ me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But Och! I backward cast my e’e,
On prospects drear!
An’ forward tho’ I canna see,
I guess an’ fear!