Your Angst at World Suffering - Post Your Poetry Here

THE DOOM


Day in day out we pump it out,
the toxic loads of doom.
We see a tree and chop it down,
we have to make more room.

With numbered days in endless ways,
we study and refine.
New and ever better ways,
to speed forth our demise.

Since caveman one clubbed caveman two
and thought "What a good idea".
We've been making room for doom,
and more ways to spread fear.


And now our days, they slip away,
we fight, kill and abuse.
We cant get on and so we bomb,
those with different views.

So we fight wars, break natures laws,
and leave love far behind.
We wonder why the planets dying,
you beginning to see why?

We just dont care either here or there,
one way or the other.
As long as beer is in the fridge,
our bellies lined with blubber.

We see THE DOOM there on the news
and think "gee..thats so so sad"
..but pass the chips and the spicy dip...
and change the channel dad!

that was shit

hey, bet you're invited to LOTS of parties! LOL
You're in Israel, I don't know what that feels like, so I'll cut you some slack, but it's a bit too harsh. I think the trick of writing is to get the point across to feel the intestines being picked out without SAYING it. Plus I'd give up the e.e. cummings stuff.

Liked this, well done!

it's not original, but here's some Yeats:

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in the sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

corporation?
or coruptorations?
all they do is satiate the initiate
who is willing to pay to pave their way
glorious capital...
who will laugh after the fall?
not the one for many...
the many for the all...
except for the TRUE one.

it only works if the uppers appreciate the downers and they maintain the truth instead of lying to inflate their pockets and books...

<< middle class who is upset with the liars who seek only to further themselves. It hurts the whole when they're a metaphor for a mole... digging themselves into karma's debt at our deficit... we're their soil and they don't even know it...

Oh freddled gruntbuggly
Thy micturations are to me
As plurdled gabbleblotchits on a lurgid bee.

Groop I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes.
And hooptiously drangle me with crinkly bindlewurdles,
Or I will rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon, see if I don't!


"Vogon poetry is of course the third worst in the Universe. The second worst is that of the Azgoths of Kria. During a recitation by their Poet Master Grunthos the Flatulent of his poem "Ode to a Small Lump of Green Putty I Found in My Armpit One Midsummer Morning" four of his audience members died of internal hemorrhaging, and the President of the Mid-Galactic Arts Nobbling Council, survived by gnawing one of his own legs off. Grunthos is reported to have been "disappointed" by the poem's reception, and was about to embark on a reading of his twelve-book epic entitled My Favorite Bathtime Gurgles when his own major intestine, in a desperate attempt to save life and civilization, leaped straight up through his neck and throttled his brain. The very worst poetry of all perished along with its creator, Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings of Greenbridge, Essex, England[2] , in the destruction of the planet Earth."

bovva'd ?


there will be no doom
there will be no war
there will be no bogie men knocking at this door


your lies are unfolding
your past lies all clear
you are standing at the edge of your own doom , my dear

it's too late to change teams
it's too late to hide
when the actions you sanctioned are nailed to your side

so i'm not botha'd by doom
not bovva'd by lies
not bovva'd by you turds or you pesky flies

i know in this game , your chips are all spent
your show is curtailing
the cleansing firmament


so , i'm not truly bovva'd
coz you're well and truly done
and guess what's just happened ?



we just went and won

boovah'd???? sry, unfamiliar term... btw I love EDM in yall's country!

Sons of Light
Sons of Dark
The battle now begins
on the battlefield
of your living room
your yard and your schools
No where is safe
Because of the mocking
Because you turned your
backs on the ones who suffered
Now we see
how it all ends
in black, red and white.

Friends 'Poetry',


[link to www.youtube.com]

I note you just arrived on the 17th in time for 'fun'.

Hoo.k.

I arrived prior just didn't announce it. What is the 17th?