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Linz's Mario Book—Updated!
Obleftivist Yawon Bwook says Donald Twump is "THE villain of our time." Which of the following best accords with your view?
Yes he is
He's not a villain but a hero
Putin might be a bigger villain
The mullahs might be bigger villains
ISIS might be bigger villains
Ugly Wimmin might be bigger villains
Black Lives Matter might be bigger villains
Snowflake moronnials might be bigger villains
College professors might be bigger villains
Fake News outlets might be bigger villains
Pomowankers might be bigger villains
Obleftivists might be bigger villains
None of the above—specify
Total votes: 9
Make My Poetry Flow Again
Submitted by Marty on Sun, 2005-12-11 22:09
Make my poetry flow again –
It's blocked by a dam of despair.
I lack what nature gave to man –
A soft smiling creature to repair
The torn, tired garments and bloodied shirts,
The pain of the climb, the wounds of the battle –
The blow of that fight that throbs and hurts,
The heroic stand, the brave saber-rattle
That heralds the charge to reach my goal,
Stretching the limits of will and control.
Feet wielded to rock, heart to heaven wide
All this and more, and none by my side.
I disbelieve what my mind's eye sees.
Do you partake of earthly form?
Will my innocent hand pass through your cheek?
Can your ears divine what I would speak?
Do you sit immobile on the head of a pin?
Are you the prize that I might win
For all I made myself become?
For the endless toil that led me from
The road to hell on which I was born?
The mediocre place where my soul, forlorn,
Dared forge a dream amidst the smell
Of those resigned to live in hell?
Are you just the mirage of a noble old man
Whose brain, not constrained to that which is real,
Devises a tale of young love, a plan,
To banish defeat, to make him yet feel
That, maybe once more, the curtain will rise
And he'll stand center stage reading his line
Cloaked by the ancient chivalric guise
That allows him a fleeting taste of the wine
That lives forever in the hearts of the young –
And after, he must go to his grave unsung?
I cry my urgent call, sweet dove
And pray I rightly read your chart.
In truth, I'd die embalmed in thy love
And glad be buried in thy heart.
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