 |
Poems On Site: 198,500+ Comments On Poems: 427,000+ Forum Posts: 105,000+ |
Custom Search
|
|
|
||||
| Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 01-June 10:47:01 AEST | ||
|
|
||||
|
|
||||
|
|
||||
|
Array
(
[sid] => 17342
[catid] => 1
[aid] => Mick
[title] => Ecce Homo Flagrante Delicto Of Skedaddling, Go!
[time] => 2003-05-10 06:05:00
[hometext] => The title is Behold the Man In the Act of Skedaddling, Go! This is Latin
[bodytext] => Scrambling athwart, trying to thwart thimble heads,
he, pale, bald, blond, balloonish but paramount fabled foiler, flies the fence, hence his floatish quality, and continues his chaotic eggs dash. The head thimble head rallies the column of open-horn faced toadies, running like fettered washers, to use their ample quads to leaps his, the yolk sprinter, short and wooden castle wall, scarcely a barrier, at, all, and…they do, and continue to pursue the haggard lam, less laggardly. On foot after foot travel plan, he, the foiler, hastens his pace an’ widens the space separating him and the gent d’armes, the blue cloaked bastards, the red B. Arnolds, hobbling all the while, thanking all the while the perfectly circular, perfunctory slayer bruise, piercing his ample quad. Catapulting more marmot, or similar to their head, shaped keen kamikazes toward he, the obtuse stray in the street, rapidly and repetitiously, and riddling and ricocheting off the road; the thimble heads are goaded into goring, attempted, the amphibios, he, the canine. What happens next? He, a once gallant presence, who considered gallivanting a persevering hobby, a thing that which nothing could top, a key to a music box to turn, to drowned out the monotone drone of daily life, ceased his scuttling, by a force beyond himself; -instead- he, spheroidal crown, leaked and shone of brutality, and shone of raspberry buttered cornbread, and shone of chastising ink, and an incandescent ring blazed and burned and bit the opaque night in three, and he laid, a speeding toward, a sessile body to the earth; twitching, desperate: for relief from despondency, for make-believe to steal him away, for home and hearth; not this asphalt heath. The thimble heads call in the five red boxes, the bearers of breath and sheets, needlessly. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 183 [topic] => 25 [informant] => TropicaDextrose [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => MiscPoems )
|
Menu
· 
Poetry
Community
Members
Areas
Reference
Search
Top
Others
Poetry is much like a great photo, a single "moment in time" capturing many feelings and emotions. Yet, they are very alive; creating stirrings within the readers who form visual "pictures" of the expressed emotions within the Poem. ©
Opinions expressed in the poetry, comments, forums etc. on this site are not necessarily those of this site, its owners and/or operators; but of the individuals who post items to this site.
Frequently Asked Questions | | | Privacy Policy | | | Contact Webmaster
All submitted items are Copyright © to their submitter. All the rest Copyright © 2002-2050 by Your Poetry Dot Com
All logos and trademarks in this site are property of their respective owners.
Script Generation Time: 0.052 Seconds. - View our Site Map | .© your-poetry.com