|
Post by Stacy on Aug 14, 2010 18:38:01 GMT -5
Just write whatever comes in your head.
Like I started rhyming in the shower just now and came up with this.
Seth saw a ball the ball was very tall he went in the tall ball and there he saw a pall he began to fall pallor pallor what rhymes with pallor he asked falling fast and falling faster
he fell and fell and fell he fell straight down to hell in hell there was a bell and on the bell the devil played William Tell
an apple, an arrow a bending binding barrow full of wights and ha'nts and skellies with bony blinding bellies of which he could be pharaoh their bellies they would fill live on life and die to live
death death death seth seth seth in hell he plays the bells and he meets those who fell he feeds them to his skellies with their bony blinding bellies they dance and they sing and they have a ball and they are all very very tall
|
|
pinkfiend1
Full Member
Missing everyone
Posts: 467
|
Post by pinkfiend1 on Aug 14, 2010 20:09:01 GMT -5
that's good. It's quite funny whilst being sinister underneath it all. I always envy people who can rhyme. In my head at the moment:
Angel stared at the hovel in front of her. It was awful, only three rooms. How was she supposed to live in three rooms. Her sister Chastity was lucky she was cut off before daddy got into all that difficulty and was found swimming by some divers with one of his antique collectible cannonballs strapped to his waist.
Well if there was one thing Angel would not stand for it was living in a three room shack. She needed more than that. She deserved more than that. She had a right to more than that. And she knew just how to get it.
She could get rid of the one thing she'd be dying to since she found out about it, but she hadn't wanted to be rejected by her father, plus she wanted it to be legal. Chastity had favoured nectar, she had hated the idea of not being chaste. Angel couldn't wait.
Of course she'd done some stuff. Made out with all the richest most athletic boys, and a few of the geeks. Well her homework wouldn't do itself after all, but never gone all the way. After all being s girl's first meant something to a man, and she'd always wondered quite how far she could go before people thought her grey. Unsuitable to wear white on her wedding day. Well that would be far off in the future. Pity she wouldn't be able to blackmail the old business partners of her father. They'd all now she'd have as much to lose as they did. But there must be another way for her to make money from the one thing she wanted to do more anything. Do at least 26 times, after all that was her lucky number. The lucky number 26. The day she kissed her sister's boyfriend. The day she'd turned Chastity into a drinker. The amount of days she let her sister go before she told her father. The amount of days her sister spent in rehab before her despaired of her. The amount of billions she was set to inherit solely after Chastity went. Lucky number 26. Now which selfish, lying, still very rich ex business partner should make her only true first?
|
|
|
Post by 13pumpkin on Aug 19, 2010 16:08:08 GMT -5
I I want I want to I want to take I want to take up I want to take up a I want to take up a lot I want to take up a lot of I want to take up a lot of space I used to write this on my school book covers
|
|
ts8v2
New Member
Posts: 16
|
Post by ts8v2 on Aug 20, 2010 11:41:42 GMT -5
Head down, feet in front of each other. Just keep running. Don't stop. Never stop. Arms swinging, breath in time with feet hitting the pavement. In-out-out, in-out-out. The music of your soul, the sounds of the street. Car horns blaring, people staring, angry conversations, bad cell phone reception. All gone within a few strides.
Run, run until you can't run anymore. And then run more. And never stop. Not even when the pain has become unbearable, when your lungs are going to burst, when your feet feel like they have weights attached to them and you are slowly being sunk to the bottom of the ocean. Never stop. Because it makes you stronger. And you need to be strong right now. Because you have nothing else. No one except for you. And if you can't be strong for yourself, who can you be strong for?
Hot sun beating down upon you, rain dashing bullets against your bare skin, snowflakes kissing your arms with their cold lips. Not even then do you stop. You run until the sweat pours down your face like water from a faucet. You run until the sweat has made you pure again, rid your body of it's toxins, both physical, and mental. All you see is the gray pavement before you, endless seas of gray. You are a conquerer, an explorer, the concrete jungle belongs to you. Buildings blurring by, red, white, brown, grey, yellow. All mixed together with the blue of the sky, the green of the trees, the blinding orange of the sun. Those are the colors of your world.
And through it all, through everything, you run. And it is beautiful.
Just a random thing I thought of, sorry if it's a bit confusing, this is kind of my "scrawl" style of writing. Hope you enjoyed it! Stacy, I loved your (poem? I don't know, I guess I'll just call it a rhyme) It was lovely, yet chilling. I enjoyed it a lot. Lol, 13pumpkin, I have a bad habit of doodling all over my notebooks... maybe I'll take up that instead!
|
|
|
Post by mdpthatsme on Aug 27, 2010 12:57:12 GMT -5
You are the dark. You are the lie. You are anything that I spy. You are the start. You are the sky. You are everything that I cry. You are the light. You are the sun. You are something that can't be undone. You are the might. You are not fun. You are everything that can't be done.
|
|