Crappy B-day

[MyNecroticSnail]

Gematria

Thirty-four flames on the moon pie
dimly do they shine.
Champagne, noo! Paper cups - Nehi
I count eight, maybe nine.

A coven in the moon pie night
A celebration of poetry dying
A scene of some demotic rite
of writing without even trying

The nabors heard 400 wails
of pallid verse and livid rime
and pyled off the trail, the entrails
of Miss Muse, a crime

(Count to here, do you smell the burning
of numbers undergoing fucking?
Really now, no fucking ducking
The numbers real, you should be learning.)

scene so horrific, marked by star,
the five points of nether heaven.
The trod of twenty feet, bizarre,
sixty-eight empty shoes, eleven

barefoot with a hundred lame excuses
of who, what, where; alibis
of how they could not murder muses.

After all the truth is lies

And four sadly equals seven.

(Count to here, do you smell the burning
of numbers undergoing fucking?
Really now, no fucking ducking
The numbers real, you should be learning.)

bait & switch, what day is it?
Comments please, is the rhyming OK, and did I get the numbers right?

 

[Tzara]

.....

.....

 

[MyNecroticSnail]

.....

.......
.......
Thanks, maybe

 

[Tzara]

.......
.......
Thanks, maybe

You're welcome, maybe.

Try reading it backwards.

ένα αριθμημένο παιχνίδι που οι έφηβοι δεν θα μάθουν να παίζουν

 

[MyNecroticSnail]

You're welcome, maybe.

Try reading it backwards.

ένα αριθμημένο παιχνίδι που οι έφηβοι δεν θα μάθουν να παίζουν

I saw the original,
I ain't no Da Vinci
I ain't no Fibber Nochi
I ain't even Italian
I'm Romanian and we don't like mirrors here

 

[Tzara]

I'm Romanian and we don't like mirrors here

No? Fear Apu?

I'll give it some further reflection, then.

 

[MyNecroticSnail]

No? Fear Apu?

I'll give it some further reflection, then.

Ah, an anagram to weigh
~Homer
on the range

 

[Tzara]

Ah, an anagram to weigh
~Homer
on the range

Angiogram or sigmoidoscopy? Whey carefully, it curdles when soured.

 

[MyNecroticSnail]

Angiogram or sigmoidoscopy? Whey carefully, it curdles when soured.

Ouch
I going
~Homer

 

[ghost_girl]

you are such an interesting, albeit a teeny bit "different" in a good way..

anyhow, I know you only value "intellectual observations and crit" so this post iwll be limited due to my substandard poetry critiquing ability ( due to bein' uneducated, an all).

okay....

I found the way you have woven Gomer Pyle into this poem an absolute work of cynical genuis.

Iw ould bear your cyber-poetry kids but Ive been fixed,


bye

g_g

 

[ParrotDee]

Gematria

Thirty-four flames on the moon pie
dimly do they shine.
Champagne, noo! Paper cups - Nehi
I count eight, maybe nine.

A coven in the moon pie night
A celebration of poetry dying
A scene of some demotic rite
of writing without even trying

The nabors heard 400 wails
of pallid verse and livid rime
and pyled off the trail, the entrails
of Miss Muse, a crime

(Count to here, do you smell the burning
of numbers undergoing fucking?
Really now, no fucking ducking
The numbers real, you should be learning.)

scene so horrific, marked by star,
the five points of nether heaven.
The trod of twenty feet, bizarre,
sixty-eight empty shoes, eleven

barefoot with a hundred lame excuses
of who, what, where; alibis
of how they could not murder muses.

After all the truth is lies

And four sadly equals seven.

(Count to here, do you smell the burning
of numbers undergoing fucking?
Really now, no fucking ducking
The numbers real, you should be learning.)

bait & switch, what day is it?
Comments please, is the rhyming OK, and did I get the numbers right?

Are the numbers 451 and 666?
A book burning satanic cult of children from Mayberry murdering muses?
Where ever do you get these ideas?

 

[Maria2394]

Are the numbers 451 and 666?
A book burning satanic cult of children from Mayberry murdering muses?
Where ever do you get these ideas?

hey Parrot- ( LMAO)

the SNAIL MAN is a friggin genius,

I KNEW I saw something like that in thar, being from mayberry an all