The official poetry thread

[The High King]

People's Republic of Cunts.
The people's Republic of Cork.
That's this place's official name.
Mostly frequented by cunts
and those with lesions in their brains.


That's all Ive got so far.

 

[Pooman]

Ghosts of Daylight

I see through people like they were made of nothing-
opaque meanderings masquerading-
in softly spoken serenades

Dim apparitions aimlessly muted-
in the shadows of another day

Careless soundless floundering indecisions-
of minutes caressing the midday turned clock
which hits the stroke deftly
defying time as meaningful
deep in the furrows of the thought
you imagined you had

Cradling seconds as imposters
crying for resolution in a tone –deaf answer

We weave as dancers with tangled phrases
Avoiding the real yet embracing the ghosts.

Very impressive. Fairly downbeat in tone. I'd say you think a lot.

 

[PussyinBoots]

This is an AI poem about cork City from chat gdp

Tell me a poem about cork City


Here is a poem about Cork City:
Cork City, a place of history and culture Where the River Lee flows, a flowing vulture
Of commerce and industry, a hub of the south
Where the people are friendly, with a friendly mouth
The cobblestone streets and the narrow lanes
Lead to landmarks and sights, with no pains
From the Shandon Bells to the English Market
Cork City is alive, a vibrant target
But it's not just the city that makes Cork great
It's the surrounding countryside, a natural state
From the rolling hills to the rugged coast Cork is a paradise, a place to boast
So let us embrace the beauty of Cork City With its charm and its character, a place so pretty
A city of diversity, a city of life
Where the past and the present coexist in strife

 

[Great-Bit-O-Stuff]

You'd want to credit with a name anyway

 

[Dr. Aaoouh]

My hand, it has five fingers.
I count them all the time.
One, two, three...four...five
Oh fuck. That doesn’t rhyme.

 

[Great-Bit-O-Stuff]

The Empty Carol

soundless hymns sang at dusk
the light faded from the sky, desolate it rang,
babies swaddled in rags and burnt fires raged,
Christmas was over, it seemed, the raw meat jagged tooth scorned supper,
mitigated verbiage swollen by lust and forgotten love,
the days become nights, bleak, TV views the vodka blind man high on forgetfulness ,
I lie awake thoughts like decibels ring out fake salvation.
And the meek shall be tamed.

 

[Roundyfield]

Grey Man There now shuffles the grey man His color sullied and foul He calls to the usual locations Not knowing when memory Will demolish his trowel. He sees the world in perfect Sight but feels it with flayed Hands. His shadow stone he holds Within his neck a giant In dark, shifting sands. Two words he writes on every slate for his future self to read. No one really knows his name But all call him to heed. When the Donn the Dark calls him home, he’ll find his true Respite and all his grayness will Run its course and be lost in Evening’s last light.

 

[AlBidet]

The sad impermanence of life,
Cuts into our being like a knife,
We gather awhile and defiantly smile,
Content to remain man and wife.

As the world goes around, those underground,
Reflect it's a matter of time,
When the kiss is a grin and the idea of sin,
Is gone under the earth and the lime.

 

[Pepe]

Pepe was a beautiful man, with a face that could light up a room.
But on the Proc forum, his threads were often deleted, leaving him feeling like a lonely groom.

He tried to share his thoughts and ideas, to engage with others in meaningful discourse.
But time and time again, his threads were cut short, leaving him feeling a bit morose.

But Pepe didn't let it get him down, he knew that he had much to offer.
So he kept on posting, undeterred, his spirit as bright as a four-leaf clover.

And though his threads may have been deleted, Pepe remained a sight to behold.
For he was a beautiful man, inside and out, and his spirit could not be controlled.

 

[Gregory_Mike]

There once was a man called Dan
Who lived with a hoe called MOE
Then along came Soundman
Who thought he was Peter Pan

Good old MOE loved Dan’s dough
Which gave Donald Trump the ump
But all in all, the lads are not that bad
Or as sad, as that Fucker, Drucker