Tis truth.

My noble country lays in ruins on the Sabbath.

Glory was a fleeting myth.

Jets from above wrecked my hootch.

Next time I won't screw the pooch.

I sympathize for your unfortunate loss

Don't worry, your glory and myths still makes you the bawse

Express is weekly chaos, and not for the faint of heart

5 days of 4 min turns and 2 days of talks.

As i gaze across a meadow
gearing my eyes upon a spruce
peering out of the ground

I think
if that spruce were not there
to what would i be gazing my eyes upon?

A strange trio of poets, for sure :)

His country was full of huts
which turned into blood and guts
The owner felt slighted,
His enemy invited
to munch on a bowl of his nuts.

Alas, a ghetto it was
he stood bravely nonetheless
one thing is for damn sure
the streets smelled like prostitution and manure
Thus, his enemies were dazed by fluffty sex filled musks

In righteous indignation did he rail
against the scurvy dogs who made him fail.
Honour is Dead! And giving up
he went and threw up in his pail

Kudos to all you poets! +10

LMAO

+10

A GHETTO? I prefer to look at it as affordable housing units!

Complete with red front doors.

section 8?

^ nose bleed?

sabbath? am i allowed to yell at Fatty about how the Israelites treat the Palestinians? wonder why sabbath ends in bath... does sab mean day? the day of bath? the day of cleansing...

buy some turrets Fatty.

Since you want poetry, i just wrote one about Deer hunting. Feel free to give your opinion on it.

Cold that stole my breath
Quiet still darkness
Nothing moves, quiet, cold, numb.

The King appeared on golden chariot
Great crown glowing, fog blowing,
Proudly marching down.

Closer, closer, on he came
Scratching here and scraping there
His kingdom did he claim.

Heart pounding, chest heaving, body trembling
Cold numb fingers grip the steel
A breath in, half out, a squeeze.

Smoke clears
A head appears
A crown on fallen King.

Quiet, still, cold, numb
Heart still pounding like a drum
Resting, asleep, a king did lie.