Uhmmm, unintelectual Drivel?
Warning the following might cause great anger and possibly an urge to assault the author.
Please be warned that the following content might be upsetting for:
Poets in general
Feminists
Men
Women
Hacks
People who write or speak in Heroic verse
Goths, Emos, and other suburban creatures of annoyance
Religious people
People who enjoy the so called poetry on Buses
Anyone who feels their time is important
People who like puns
People who dislike puns
People from Sudbury
and finally to anyone with good taste!
First man:
Peace love brother, let the joys of god wash over you. Who are you?
Second Man:
I am the darkness of life’s dreams. I am deaths cloak; I was that which god forgot.
Fourth Man:
Why speak in verse, so un-lyric like Sirs?
You should Rhyme In this space you witless curs,
Those accents, those cloths disturbing my sleep
Silence fools and my good graces you keep
Continue to speak tasteless rogues, my sword
Shall slay your fashion and your unborn word.
Voice: What happened to the Third Man and is that Iambic pentameter? Who speaks in Heroic verse?
Woman:
Your male pentameter is just a reflection of your penis.
My roar shall free my sisters from the oppression of your useless words.
My
------Butterflies
---carry-----
Me
------to space
--for god
-----------is waiting for us.
Voice: Crazy feminist much?
Second man:
This place feels more wrong then my life normally does. What curse has wrought my mortal soul? Why am I doomed to suffer in this place and all others?
We are merely insects we live to grow and make the fascist hive bigger. But where is my oppressor?
Voice: Fascist? Wow man you’re so Emo.
First man:
I see my sister that you trust in God as well; He is good and shall come for us soon. Rhyming man trust that He shall come, do not resort to violence.
Voice: Wait a minute you all seem like weird stereotyped poets.
Radical Feminist poet:
Oh shut your mouth God is dead, She was beautiful till you and your kind killed Her you Macho pig Bastard.
My Vagina
----cry’s
-----for
--------------------misuse
---men
-----see not
---her rain…..
Voice: Ok that’s just weird. Although the rain might have been caused by Condom-sation?
Classical Hack Poet:
All are insane. Ripe for my steel to twain,
your blood and hideous art, now shall rain.
Emo Poet:
Take my life I don’t need to live. What is my life but a random play list of my Ipod.
Zealot Poet:
God do you hear me? I am yours come and take me.
Voice:
I’m not sure what’s creepier you or the feminist.
TransPoet:
The rose was
as red as
blood when we
danced the tango
the night we met.
Voice:
You must be the third man. Wait a sec that’s not poetry, that’s description chopped into little bits. Damn you TransPoetry!
Emo Poet:
It’s even darker in here then in my heart. What abyss are we living in?
Radical Feminist Poet:
My leg hair
….. raise its own
…children
…….. without the ass hair
That is man.
We live in a Chauvinistic suburban testicle.
Voice:
Sudbury?
Zealot Poet:
My God has spoken to me and has said I must slay the unbelievers.
TransPoet:
The shiny sword
of the hack
made to hack,
swings in the air
but hits nothing but air.
Voice:
Ok stop that you’re scaring me.
I’m stuck in a dark room with a bunch of bad poets and they don’t listen to me. I run and I just end up at the same place. I’ve heard the word slay way to many times. It’s like I’m in some kind of crazy English students mind.
Voice two:
You are and you aren’t. I guess you can say you’re dead.
Voice:
I’m dead?
Emo Poet:
I can die knowing my life was a dark hole of despair but that my verse will live on forever. The word can not die.
Voice two:
You are the embodiments of all the Poetry that was written and quickly forgotten.
Voice:
But I’m not a poet or poetry.
Hack Poet:
You are not poetry, you do not rhyme.
I will live forever and you are slime.
Voice Two:
You are the embodiment of every English students attempt at poetry. You cover more ground then all the others. Thankfully few people read you and you know that you’re not that good.
Student Poet:
So I suck, I know it and I’m still stuck with these guys… uhm People? Who are you then?
Radical feminist Poet:
“People” is no better then “guys”. It still has the sound Pee and that is your penis. Oppressor of language!
My…..
Voice two:
I am the narrator that comes in to explain stuff and end this weird semi deranged commentary before the reader gets too pissed off at Eric.
Student Poet:
Who is Eric?
Narrator:
He’s part of you and the author of this weird reality.
Don’t worry all this ends now.
Please be warned that the following content might be upsetting for:
Poets in general
Feminists
Men
Women
Hacks
People who write or speak in Heroic verse
Goths, Emos, and other suburban creatures of annoyance
Religious people
People who enjoy the so called poetry on Buses
Anyone who feels their time is important
People who like puns
People who dislike puns
People from Sudbury
and finally to anyone with good taste!
First man:
Peace love brother, let the joys of god wash over you. Who are you?
Second Man:
I am the darkness of life’s dreams. I am deaths cloak; I was that which god forgot.
Fourth Man:
Why speak in verse, so un-lyric like Sirs?
You should Rhyme In this space you witless curs,
Those accents, those cloths disturbing my sleep
Silence fools and my good graces you keep
Continue to speak tasteless rogues, my sword
Shall slay your fashion and your unborn word.
Voice: What happened to the Third Man and is that Iambic pentameter? Who speaks in Heroic verse?
Woman:
Your male pentameter is just a reflection of your penis.
My roar shall free my sisters from the oppression of your useless words.
My
------Butterflies
---carry-----
Me
------to space
--for god
-----------is waiting for us.
Voice: Crazy feminist much?
Second man:
This place feels more wrong then my life normally does. What curse has wrought my mortal soul? Why am I doomed to suffer in this place and all others?
We are merely insects we live to grow and make the fascist hive bigger. But where is my oppressor?
Voice: Fascist? Wow man you’re so Emo.
First man:
I see my sister that you trust in God as well; He is good and shall come for us soon. Rhyming man trust that He shall come, do not resort to violence.
Voice: Wait a minute you all seem like weird stereotyped poets.
Radical Feminist poet:
Oh shut your mouth God is dead, She was beautiful till you and your kind killed Her you Macho pig Bastard.
My Vagina
----cry’s
-----for
--------------------misuse
---men
-----see not
---her rain…..
Voice: Ok that’s just weird. Although the rain might have been caused by Condom-sation?
Classical Hack Poet:
All are insane. Ripe for my steel to twain,
your blood and hideous art, now shall rain.
Emo Poet:
Take my life I don’t need to live. What is my life but a random play list of my Ipod.
Zealot Poet:
God do you hear me? I am yours come and take me.
Voice:
I’m not sure what’s creepier you or the feminist.
TransPoet:
The rose was
as red as
blood when we
danced the tango
the night we met.
Voice:
You must be the third man. Wait a sec that’s not poetry, that’s description chopped into little bits. Damn you TransPoetry!
Emo Poet:
It’s even darker in here then in my heart. What abyss are we living in?
Radical Feminist Poet:
My leg hair
….. raise its own
…children
…….. without the ass hair
That is man.
We live in a Chauvinistic suburban testicle.
Voice:
Sudbury?
Zealot Poet:
My God has spoken to me and has said I must slay the unbelievers.
TransPoet:
The shiny sword
of the hack
made to hack,
swings in the air
but hits nothing but air.
Voice:
Ok stop that you’re scaring me.
I’m stuck in a dark room with a bunch of bad poets and they don’t listen to me. I run and I just end up at the same place. I’ve heard the word slay way to many times. It’s like I’m in some kind of crazy English students mind.
Voice two:
You are and you aren’t. I guess you can say you’re dead.
Voice:
I’m dead?
Emo Poet:
I can die knowing my life was a dark hole of despair but that my verse will live on forever. The word can not die.
Voice two:
You are the embodiments of all the Poetry that was written and quickly forgotten.
Voice:
But I’m not a poet or poetry.
Hack Poet:
You are not poetry, you do not rhyme.
I will live forever and you are slime.
Voice Two:
You are the embodiment of every English students attempt at poetry. You cover more ground then all the others. Thankfully few people read you and you know that you’re not that good.
Student Poet:
So I suck, I know it and I’m still stuck with these guys… uhm People? Who are you then?
Radical feminist Poet:
“People” is no better then “guys”. It still has the sound Pee and that is your penis. Oppressor of language!
My…..
Voice two:
I am the narrator that comes in to explain stuff and end this weird semi deranged commentary before the reader gets too pissed off at Eric.
Student Poet:
Who is Eric?
Narrator:
He’s part of you and the author of this weird reality.
Don’t worry all this ends now.