I think it'll be a cool idea if everyone writes funny poetry. Lusternia, and non-Lusternia based. Just for s**ts and giggles.

There once was a person named Ray
Who played Lusternia every day.
He liked his tradeskills
And hated PKills
And worse, he hated the fae

um, try creative arts or whatever it's called here...

But that's only for Lusternian works. If it was there, I couldn't share this, a beautiful poem that emphasizes the delicate emotional state of the writer:


A Tragedy, by Theophilus Marzials

Death!
Plop.
The barges down in the river flop.
Flop, plop.
Above, beneath.
From the slimy branches the grey drips drop,
As they scraggle black on the thin grey sky,
Where the black cloud rack-hackles drizzle and fly
To the oozy waters, that lounge and flop
On the black scrag piles, where the loose cords plop,
As the raw wind whines in the thin tree-top.
Plop, plop.
And scudding by
The boatmen call out hoy! and hey!
All is running water and sky,
And my head shrieks -- "Stop,"
And my heart shrieks -- "Die."

* * * * *

My thought is running out of my head;
My love is running out of my heart,
My soul runs after, and leaves me as dead,
For my life runs after to catch them -- and fled
They all are every one! -- and I stand, and start,
At the water that oozes up, plop and plop,
On the barges that flop
And dizzy me dead.
I might reel and drop.
Plop.
Dead.

And the shrill wind whines in the thin tree-top
Flop, plop.

* * * * *

A curse on him.
Ugh! yet I knew -- I knew --
If a woman is false can a friend be true?
It was only a lie from beginning to end --
My Devil -- My "Friend"
I had trusted the whole of my living to!
Ugh; and I knew!
Ugh!
So what do I care,
And my head is empty as air --
I can do,
I can dare,
(Plop, plop
The barges flop
Drip drop.)
I can dare! I can dare!
And let myself all run away with my head
And stop.
Drop.
Dead.
Plop, flop.

Plop.

Ooh, I like that.

My 11th grade english teacher believed that in order to appreciate good poetry, we had to understand what bad poetry was. I wonder if I can find an ode to a mammoth cheese...

wait, did your teacher consider that good poetry or bad poetry?

Good!

That mean what I think it means?

It means...women are more likely to be regarded as friends or love is a lie. Or both. In context, it's "How can I like you if you lie to me?"

It's the worst poem ever written in the english language! How could you even THINK of that crud as good?

While my friend Anne Schwartz was giving a presentation on recycling in science class, I was thinking of dirty limericks. Here's what I wrote:

There once was a man from Bree
Who found that he just could not pee
He'd stand and he'd wait
But it just seemed is fate
That empty his bladder won't be

I passed the paper to my friend who will remain unnamed, and kindly requested a dirty limerick of his own making. He responded thusly:

There once was a man from Nantucket
Who wondered how well he could it
He bent and he strained
But with very much pain
He found that he just couldn't suck it

This sent me into a silent fit of giggles, of course. The definition of "dirty" now having been redifined, I took my own works up a notch. This one's my personal favorite:

There once was a man from East Sodom
Who drank beer that some qeer had bought him
He awoke the next day
In a dark alleyway
With a terrible pain in his bottom

I asked him to think of his own, and he said he had one but just couldn't think of how to finish it. While he was thinking, I wrote another, inspired by Fight Club:

There once was a man named John Knoop
Who had servants prepare him his soup
And every morn
They'd bring in some porn
And fill all his food up with goop

I passed the paper to my friend. After a while, I saw that he had written:

There once was a slut with big jugs
Who tasted her good boyfriend's drugs

I waited a while, and he couldn't get beyond that. Eventually he had crossed that out, and written

There once was a slut named Jill
Who tasted her boyfriend's pills
Later that night
Things didn't feel right

Seeing a friend in need, I quickly rushed to the rescue to finish the limerick, a shining knight of colorful humor.

There once was a slut with big jugs
Who tasted her good boyfriend's drugs
Later that night
Things didn't feel right
Now she thinks that she sees giant bugs

My anonymous friend was dissapointed, however. He expressed to me that he wanted this Jill to grow a penis. I wasted no time in rectifying my mistake. After all, with a gift such as mine, it is simply not moral to deny it to those in need.

There once was a hooker, Jane Long
Who took a hit from an odd-looking bong
Later that night
Things didn't feel right
She woke up the next day with a shlong

Also, though I didn't write this one, here is a personal favorite of mine:

There once was a man with Tourett's
Who had to go to the vet's
He said "my dog is quite ill
So I'm hoping you will
"

Yes, I like that last one too.

There once was a real tasty Merian
Whom a Magnagorian ate as carrion
He then quickly said
With a nod of his head
'It's a good thing I didn't bury 'im'


There once was a little Viscanti
Who had a big fight with his auntie
She said 'I hate you
Now go live in the zoo'
And now he lives in a shanty

Jack and Jill went up the hill
To fetch a pail of water
Jack got horny, Jill got corny
And now they have a daughter!

Jack and Jill
Went up the hill
To have a little fun
Stupid Jill
Forgot the pill
And now they have a son!

Jack and Jill
Went up the hill
To smoke some marijuana
Jack got high, unzipped his fly
And Jill said 'Do you wanna?'

Gah. Stop. Necroing. Threads.
(Or I'll tear you to shreds and you'll need meds!)