In a world of words

I have to say, you have been having a run on good threads! Without you, I would be on the threads where people would ask me "Who the "f" are you?"
 
you're only as pretty as your prose.

Toute ce qui n'est point prose est vers, et tout ce qui n'est point vers est prose.

Moliére: Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme.

(All that is not prose is verse, and all that is not verse is prose.)

Poetry should be prettier.

Mine isn't.
 
Toute ce qui n'est point prose est vers, et tout ce qui n'est point vers est prose.

Moliére: Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme.

(All that is not prose is verse, and all that is not verse is prose.)

Poetry should be prettier.

Mine isn't.

The biggest disconnect with poetry is that it can sound really pretty but not say a damn thing, at least when I try.
 
The biggest disconnect with poetry is that it can sound really pretty but not say a damn thing, at least when I try.

My better poetry is mere parody. My latest, posted in the Poetry forum:

Apologies to Pope

To wake the love by tender strokes of hand,
To raise the prick, to make it proud stand,
To make man, kind in conscious love bold,
Relive over each scene, show what they behold:
For this the Erotic Muse first marked the page.

Parody of Prologue to Addison's Cato.
 
My better poetry is mere parody. My latest, posted in the Poetry forum:

Apologies to Pope

To wake the love by tender strokes of hand,
To raise the prick, to make it proud stand,
To make man, kind in conscious love bold,
Relive over each scene, show what they behold:
For this the Erotic Muse first marked the page.

Parody of Prologue to Addison's Cato.

We have a poetry forum? People actually sit around and discuss poetry? On purpose?
 
Max Miller The Cheeky Chappie

He would leave the last word out for the audience to finish and blamed them if they laughed.

When roses are red,
They’re ready for plucking.
When a girl is sixteen,
She’s ready for … ‘Ere!

He would then say, "I know exactly what you are saying to yourself, you’re wrong, I know what you’re saying. You wicked lot. You’re the sort of people that get me a bad name!"

[On Literotica he would have to say 'When a girl is eighteen' but not in England.]
 
there once was a girl named ann thrope
who loved to pick up the soap
when she bent over
she showed us her clover
It was all we could do not to grope

A poem about me.
I'm so flattered.
If only those words
actually mattered.
 



"Live long and prosper."



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