Post by 9amirrorcan1canmirroram1Post by Loving GuyPost by 9amirrorcan1canmirroram1Post by Niles JarrettNothing is said
in these newsgroups.
So true, so true...and, that includes YOU!
Post by Niles JarrettAmong these terabytes
of useless information,
nothing is said.
"Nothing" among other things.
"Other things" among unsung heroes like me.
Post by Niles JarrettAnd Terra is dead,
Terra is dead.
Terra The Terrible is indeed dead.
However, "nothing" is still said.
It's in the title of your thread.
Lolz, I am not a poet just love reading poem, otherwise I could have
went on and on.... lolz
I'm what you might call a "housewife poet".
It's a term used to describe someone who
reads the word "poetry" in a newsgroup thread,
remembers that they've tried their hand at poetry
a couple times in high school, wasn't told by anyone
that it was bad or good, after a hit off a joint decides
that it must be good, decides to do something "crazy"
and post a poem, is told that it sucks by more than
one group member, knows that it does suck but
takes in personal and decides to stick around and
make everybody's life miserable because, after all,
being a "housewife" is a pretty shitty job anyway.
Oh, and I'm a dude...same dif, though.
: )
So, anyway...perfect title to a thread where "nothing is said."
Ho, hum...I don't mind making journal entries here.
Usenet is dead and
Nothing is said
Isn't it sad
You're not my dad
You're just another father's son
Hanging from the vine
Whining, winning, pining, pinning
Dining, digging, dogging, dizzy
You're a frame rate on an empty canvas
You're a piss stane on the aprocot
You're the missuse of the moose
You're the talked down touch down
You're april without her showers
You're the long lost dutchman's mine finally found
and nobody's around to care
You're the smear on Disrali's gear
You're a heavenly father spanking his daughter
You're laughter with a single tear
You're the special sperm olympics javalin jumper
You're the zoloft in the xolar,
the xena at the zennith
the zippidy and the dooda
and the snap shot of the bohemeth
You're wrong on the price is right
You're the lobidoty of a lobotomy and the epitome of the crust
You're a virgin surgeon with vigina envy
You're the will of the lisp on the crisp cusp
You're the standard standing ovation with zero elation
You're the never ending story that's o so ever boring
You're the bird turd stirred into the cattle feed
You're the mark on the marxist's fang in the carcass
You're the edible in the inevitable
the curly in the burly
the crammed inside the camera
the shackle round the debacle
You're the juice on the noose
the prose in the nose
the kick-in the stick
the fat in the matter
You're the anus in the famous
the clock in the cock
the lock in the stone
and the break of the bone.
You're the clearance of appearance
You're the cosmology of dichotomy
You're the clever in whatever
You're the smile on a dog
just like in that one song
But, I wouldn't know about that
my people are better than you.