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A Terrestrial Cuckoo


What a hot day it is! for

Jane and me above the scorch

of sun on jungle waters to be

paddling up and down the Essequibo

i our canoe of war-surplus gondola parts.


We enjoy it, though: the bats squeak

in our wrestling hair, parakeets

bungle lightly into gorges of blossom,

the water's full of gunk and

what you might call waterlilies if you're


silly as we. Our intuitive craft

our striped T shirts and shorts

cry out to vines that are feasting

on flies to make straight the way

of tropical art. "I'd give a lempira or two


to have it all slapped onto a

canvas" says Jane. "How like

lazy flamingos look the floating

weeds! and the infundibuliform

corolla on our right's a harmless Charybdis!


or am I seduced by its ambient

mauve?" The nose of our vessel sneezes

into a bundle of amaryllis, quite

artificially tied with ribbon.

Are there people nearby? and postcards?


We, essentially travellers, frown

and backwater, What will the savages

think if our friends turn up? with

sunglasses and cuneiform decoders!

probably. Oh Jane, is there no more frontier?


We strip off our pretty blazers

of tapa and dive like salamanders

into the vernal stream. Alas! they

have left the jungle aflame, and in

friendly chatter of Kotzebue and Salonika our


friends swiftly retreat downstream

on a flowery float. We strike through

the tongues and tigers hotly, towards

orange mountains, black taboos, dada!

and clouds. To return with absolute treasure!


our only penchant, that. And a red-

billed toucan, pointing t'aurora highlands

and caravanserais of junk, cries out

"New York is everywhere like Paris!

go back when you're rich, behung with lice!"

- Frank O'Hara, Selected Poems (Carcanet Press)

When close friends speak ill of close friends

they pass their abuse from ear to ear

in dying whispers -

even now, when prayers are no longer prayed.

What sounds like violent coughing

turns out to be laughter.

Shuntarō Tanikawa

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Thought I'd drop an ending line,

For my heart is giving signs,

Feelings that fail to define.


It seems it is almost time,

To give a dance for a dime,

And to make me feel sublime.


Deliver me from my mind,

Free me from repeating rhymes,

And kill me for one last climb.

There are four lights!

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At a diner in jolly old Perth

The owner knew not his food's worth

He sold without care

His delectable fare

For the least weighty prices on earth


The mayor of Perth, he did find

The diner's fine food on his mind

He marched into town

Then went and sat down

A new favorite meal for to find


But nay, this poor legend of Perth

Did not know quite what he had birthed

As he shoved down his gob

The food, like a slob

Quite rapidly grew the man's girth


The fellow began to to feel load

As food, in his gut, took abode

He began to expand

And alas, the poor man

With a thunderous sound did explode.


- Yours Truly

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I had a cat named Snowball.


She died, she died.


Mom said she was sleeping.


She lied, she lied.


Why oh why is my cat dead?


Couldn't that Chrysler have hit me instead?


"We don't call them loot boxes", they're 'surprise mechanics'" - EA


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Night is gone,

Morning’s long.

Find your feet and make the beat.


Building’s cold,

Smell of mold.

What a way to fade the days.


Mind is numb,

Air is glum.

Pass a sheet, rinse and repeat.


Time is still,

Take a pill.

Mad despair, try not to care.


Day is done,

Rain has come.

Earn your pay and die away.


Bottled dreams,

Silent screams.

Dull the pain, forget again.


Cry alone,

Seeds are sown.

Make your peace, a life to lease.​

There are four lights!

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Out of the night that covers me,

Black as pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever Gods may be,

For my unconquerable soul,


In the fell clutch of circumstance,

I have not winced or cried.

Under the bludgeonings of chance,

My arms are broken, but unbowed.


Beyond this place of wrath and tears,

looms but the horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the year,

Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.


It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate,

I am the champion of my soul.

Non Nobis Domine, Non Nobis, Sed Nomine, tuo da Glorium

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I wrote a haiku while depressed about a year ago







Whenever I cry,

I find that's the only time,

I feel anything

Life is just a time trial; it's all about how many happy points you can earn in a set period of time

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Roses are Red

Violets are Blue

I'm bad at rhyming

Washing Machine


Lol lame someone already made that joke in this thread :D

Life is just a time trial; it's all about how many happy points you can earn in a set period of time

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For longer than I can remember

I've been looking for someone like you

Someone with a head like yours and a torso too




"We don't call them loot boxes", they're 'surprise mechanics'" - EA


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