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Poems 4
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ݱ12 Oct 90±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±_ROR_-_ALUCARD_±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±Ý? Þ°
Ý Ý A Þ°
Ý The 4th Edition of POEMDOX! Ý ?Þ°
Ý A ßßßßß°
Ý Poems collected from the Mithril Hall & various 415 bbs's.. Tfile Þ°
Ý Distribution Þ°
ÜÜÜÜÜ Written by: Several people as you'll see. Centere Þ°
Ý? Þ ^^ Aka, I'm too loaded to type all their - RoR - Þ°
Ý A Þ_____________________________________________names.....______________Þ°
Ý ?Þ Shawn-Da-Lay Boy Productions, Inc.úúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúÞ°
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From :Pressed Rat #16
To :All
Subject :Back to poetry
DateTime :12:13 am Sun May 13, 1990
{ to be sung lightly }
Ohhhhhhhhhhhh.............
Thanks to ALice, our Big Fnordian Babe!
yes, thanks to Alice our Big Fnordian Babe.
If not for alice, our world wouldn't be the sabe.
Oh where are you, my little reindeer hoof.
I said where are you now, my little reinder hoof.
I'll grind you up and put you on my roof.
What time is it, boys, 'zit time to go home yet?
Wha timezit boys, time to git home yet?
I'd better bet my best on someone's fret.
naw, I cannae sing the blues when I am dry
yes lord, I cannae sing dem blooz awhen I dry.
If I don't get some soon I'll never try.
Ahem!
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From :Swing #445
To :All
Subject :shit
DateTime:9:48 am Fri Jun 08, 1990 (C:\BBS\MSGS\C-29209.1)
Watched by the Blind
Where ever I go,
Whatever I do,
I am never alone.
I do not know who they are,
Those who watch me.
They could be anyone, or anything.
What could they be?
I turn quickly,
But I catch no glimpse.
Whoever are staring,
Hasn't given me a chance.
To see them, to know them, as he does me.
It's said I'm paranoid,
or something with my head.
It must me pressure.
All's been said.
People just don't understand,
But I know they see.
They notice everything,
That I say and I do.
I can hide no secrets from them.
They need no clue.
They too have lived my life,
Through different eyes.
Eyes I cannot see, but they see me.
I know they are judging
My every move.
Whatever I do,
What things I choose.
I cannot satisfy them.
They always disapprove.
For all of my life,
They will frown upon me.
How do I know of these beings?
Those I cannot even see?
But I tell you I know them.
They're apparent to me.
How do you define sight?
Is it just with your eyes?
Can you really see a man
As he really be,
If you simply use eyes to see?
That is the difference
between them and me.
They use their eyes,
I really see.
People preach
"Don't look skin deep."
From eyes that "see" light
Is where darkness may sleep.
As people begin to depend on this illusion,
Darkness may awake.
An original S\/\/I|\|G poem.
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From :Dark #363
To :All
Subject :More Comunards
DateTime:9:12 pm Tue Jun 12, 1990 (C:\BBS\MSGS\C-29079.1)
FORBIDDEN LOVE
Our love is like forbidden fruit
But we take each bite with pride not shame
In this garden where the bitter poison rots.
But all the same...we shall
Stand so strong so proud
Give in to predjudice
Behind closed doors we have to kiss
But I long to hold your hand in the rain.
Watching accepted lovers expressing tenderness
and joy
Makes an anger stir in me for something I can't
truly have
Like a young boy who's denied his favourite toy
I just want to scream, just want to scream
And demonstrate my resistance
Our love is like forbidden fruit
But we take each bite with pride not shame
In this garden where the bitter poison rots.
But all the same every day brings another tear
Behind each stare lies a hidden tear
Someday soon we will have our day
Until then our love forbidden stays
Our love is like forbidden fruit
(Somerville/Coles)
T.Dark
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From :Doctor Murdock #2
To :All
Subject :..
DateTime:5:24 pm Wed Jun 13, 1990 (C:\BBS\MSGS\C-29061.1)
THE WICKED SEED
-----------------
Children play and mothers pray
Evil sleeps in the young
The hidden past may die at last
While the devil holds his tongue
The curses remain and the souls are stained
Tortured eyes of old men show true
The furrowed tear may disappear
But memories always brew
The Son of man will learn to hate
Thus the seed of sin will germinate
There's no room for love in a heart of rage
And the book of sorrow has yet another page
Ride into battle and slaughter the cattle
The numbers, not names of men
A bloodied hand and the soiled sand
And the reaper strikes again
The glow of demise shines in your eyes
You've sipped the wine called death
Now spill your shrill and then lie still
And forever hold your breath..............................................
- Doctor Murdock
(06-13-90)
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Foom! Foom! Foom your whole goddamn Room!
From :Pressed Rat #16
To :All
Subject :WHooopS!
DateTime:12:47 pm Tue May 15, 1990
Forgive (worship)_ my Idiocy, folks.
I meant to say not Salvator Dali who painted with fans etc,
but Jackson Pollack. So boot me or kiss me, son of Bleat!
I am the victim of Vlad the Impaler,
a punctured man, I.
Through the holes in me may you count the pieces of sky.
The golden waffer-thin painting in my head
has been laid to rest under the rug,
and the roof was made from a bed
wherein slept an enormous gelatin bug.
But Alas! Whence from this morbid place
Once came a legion of that metallic race,
Now there merely oozes a small remain
of those who said they wanted it plain.
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From :Sid Gnarly #6
To :All
Subject :The land o' else
DateTime:1:27 am Sun Jun 24, 1990 (C:\BBS\MSGS\C-28767.1)
There once was a little girl named Alice
she was very beautiful with long wavy blond hair
and sparkling blue eyes that were oh so nice
she was the most beautiful, fairest of the fair
she had nothing to do one day so it was time for her to pay......
A VISIT TO THE LAND OF ELSE!
HAHAHAHAHAHA.. screams doctor murdock in the back room
Shroom-city huh?
Where could that be?
You don't know?
no, I don't
Then you must be the most NORMAL human being on earth!!!!
Welcome to the land of else the stealer of a thousand demented souls...
how may I help you today
I would like you to count my toes
but sir, how about just fingers.. okay?
this is a bunch of bull.. haha
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From :Jamal Feldstein #553
To :All
Subject :pomez (muhahh)
DateTime:3:18 am Wed Jun 20, 1990 (C:\BBS\MSGS\C-28868.1)
I sawed my left leg off last week
I don't recall the pain
My grimy shoes don't hold no more
I hear the falling rain.
My life it drips out on the floor
It seems my mind just came
The bluebirds are an open door
And now my left arm's lame.
The mushroom calls, I answer it
The acid will do fine...
I hear a coffin made-to-fit
And I suspect it's mine.
So don't look glum, just savour it
When you see how I croak.
You'll see that some life's fulla shit
And some life's just a joke.
----> Highpriest of Ferret, JAMAL.
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From :Jamal Feldstein #553
To :All
Subject :Babnblings of insane
DateTime:3:29 am Wed Jun 20, 1990 (C:\BBS\MSGS\C-28867.1)
I hate the world,
I hate my face
I hate the whole damn human race.
I hate the towns,
I hate the cars
I hate chicks who hand out in bars.
I hate the clean,
I hate the filth
I don't know how to rhyme that.
I hate the poor,
I hate the rich
I'm sure YOU understand that.
Or are you fatnin from the @poor
or stealin from the rich?
Is your life an open door
Or are you just a bitch?
Do you walk down a city street
And say you poor dear asshole
When you can't give a flying fuck
That nothing rhymes with 'asshole'.
Your poetry dams up the place
We can't see the green grass
So why don't you come over here
and cut you wrist with glass?
You never listen, damn you, cunt,
I hate your bloody head
Why don't you blow up the whole world
And free your mind instead?
What's thAt you say? I'm getting lame
My po-em don't hold water
Well, why dint you jes say so, bwoy,
And stop the senseless slaughter
Of langyoowage and grmmar too by my unwitting fingers
And help me plug up this old loo
the heady stink still lingers.
Don't stop me now,
I'm on a roll
I'm on the run,
out of control
This poem is getting out of hand
And I can't stop my zoomin hand
So shoot me please before I make
A bugger-up of tjhis here break.
aaaaarrrgghhhh!!
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From :Dark #363
To :All
Subject :Bed Time Tales
DateTime:4:40 pm Sun Aug 19, 1990
The three little pigs
Were blown out of their digs
And their houses and huts were despoiled.
The Wolf huffed and puffed
Till the pigs cried enough
How can this wicked monster be foiled?
Two piggies were eaten
Before he was beaten
Down the chimney the wolf was hard boiled
It's no wonder why I turned out like I did
Remembering my bed time tales as a kid
A boy strong and proud
Climed way up to the clouds
On the product of magic bean spillage.
Brave and Defiant
He swindled the giant
Who's wealth came from plunder and pillage
Then he picked up an axe
Gave the bean-stalk some whacks
And the giant almost crushed the village.
It's no wonder why I turned out like I did
Remembering my bed time tales as a kid.
In the dark of the night,
I wake with a fright
The blanket over my head.
You say I'm insane
But it's stuck in my brain
Those gremlins under my bed.
Some call it obscene
But the violence on screen
Fits the internal turmoil and drama.
Those buckets of gore
Were spilled ages before
George Romero, Hitchock, Marty Palma
And our fears and our stress
Through-out time's been expressed
By the fairy tale's symbolic trama.
It's no wonder why we turned out like we did,
Remembering our bed time tales as a kid.
T.Dark
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From :Dark Nite #12
To :All
Subject :poetry.
DateTime:5:32 pm Sat Sep 01, 1990
VICTORS
What will become of us?
There is no answer;
Only the sound of the wind
Moving through the trees.
And choking dust beneath our feet.
The furnace burns throughout the day;
We suffer in agony as women in Labor.
But we die with the birth,
for our child is war.
Now we fathers move forward
to meet our fate
In open fields and jungle paths
strewn with death;
And call on the name of our God,
Who will not hear our pleas.
We pile high the dead
Into a pale bleached mountain,
and swing our bloody bayonets
skyward to honor the victor,
Who looks through red-rimmed eyes.
And, in time of pain, we die,
And, somewhere other than home,
Our names and faces are one.
Under steel fear equalizes.
One is One.
What will become of us?
In the end, Valhalla is our hell,
and heaven is obscured
In our agony of pain
Homeward bound in aluminum tubes
We know that in victory
There lies a promise of defeat.
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From :Poet Master #747
To :All
Subject :Sensations
DateTime:6:50 am Sun Sep 02, 1990
Sensations cascade over my turmoiled mind.
I wander around the ruins of within,
Surrounded by dark, forboding walls.
Pillars of pain, cracked with relief.
Drains of despair with leaks of hope.
Adobe of agony made with sands of sorrow.
I look at my sand castle in the air,
But there is no water to hold it together.
But those walls came crashing down
And two have become one.
Poet Master
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From :Doctor Murdock #1
To :All
Subject :Blueberry Pancakes
DateTime:2:45 am Tue Sep 18, 1990
..hold magic. People are group animals who spend most of their lives
eating blueberry pancakes. <-- Direct quote from my psyche!
Reich!
Reich!
Real rats are never clean;
And real dawgs are always mean;
Mushrooms are always blue;
Otherwise they do nothing to you;
Little blue men on the moon;
Visit on tuesday to paint my room;
Aqua.
Clouds swirl and swirl and swirl;
Hookahs twirl and twirl and twirl;
Potions always keep, keep, keep;
Dormice always sleep, sleep, sleep;
Each beach has a story;
For every grain of sand;
Each Worm hole has a exit;
To The Land;
of Else
To see Alice there's no need to run;
Just dial 685903 and then a 1;
You'll hear a beep and then a squeak......of a door;
RoR;
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From :Chick #184
To :All
Subject :Munchies
DateTime:12:11 am Fri Sep 21, 1990
So, I'm walking down the street
with a skip and a hop.
And I walked right in
to a donut shop.
And I picked out a donut
right out of the grease,
And I handed the man
a five cent piece.
Well, he looked at me
and he looked at the nickel
and he said "This nickel's no good to me"
"There's a hole in the nickel,
and it's all the way through."
Said I, "There's a hole in the donut too."
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Name: Pressed Rat #57 @5
Date: Thu Aug 30 17:57:20 1990
Speaking of foyne foyne spirits, I was just discussing the Fossil Pigs with a
friend of mine, a former high priest (he converted to Alarmism some time ago)
and he informed me of the following incantation to protect your ancient wines
from deteriorating:
Oh yes my friend, I think it's time
To stop the aging of your wine.
A wine can only get so old, you see
Before it gets too vineg'ry.
And what could help us in this our
To keep our wine from going sour?
The Fossil Pigs, I must suggest,
Let's summon them, and do our best.
At first you'll need a wooden spoon,
Two insect eyes, a golden rune,
Three garnishes of floating herb
And goop collected from a curb.
Take the spoon in thine right hand,
And wave it all around the land.
Prepare the eyes of insect two
By adding in the herb and goo.
Stir quickly now, while chanting thus:
"I love to fuck asparagus!"
And while you say this, stir the stuff
Until you think it's had enough
Now spread it out upon the rune
And blithely sing a merry tune...
"Oh Fossil Pigs, Great Fossil Pigs,
My friends so high and mighty,
Pray won't you help me save my wine
and keep it righty-dighty?"
Stand back you now, and in the flash
Resulting as they smell your stash
You'll see a sign of their reply
And hear a sort of piggy sigh,
Whereon, you'll know that all is weller
In the wine within your cellar...
No more now shall you regret
That spirits turn to vinaigrette.
LaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLa.....
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From :Dittany Of Crete #828
Subject :Life Itself
DateTime:9:11 pm Tue Oct 09, 1990
I am sad, I know not why
Was Not Was does make me cry
"A joke" he says, but not for me;
Were Never Was t'would better be.
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From :Powerful Paul #100
Subject :What is NetHack...
DateTime:1:19 am Thu May 17, 1990
RE: Here's another...
Nethack is the totality of existence and experience squeezed into the
macroscopic paradigm of an ANSI game. It is the answer to every question, and
also the questions themselves. It is the expansion of the dnim, the taming of
the unicorn, the subjugation of the wizard, the power of the demon lord,
it's...........
NETHACK!!!
--PP
(geez, I must be more drunk than I thought...)
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Remember....Alice watches your every step....
