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Joined: 5/27/2004
Msg: 1
The Poetry Barn and EateryPage 1 of 246    (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41)

I thought I'd be nice and set a little corner for my poetic drivel instead of polluting the forum with a ton of threads. Anyone can come on by and tell me I'm full of it, or not. Here we go with poem #1:


The Pious Poet

I've read a lot of poems
and heard a lot of songs.
Many were composed through pain and strife,
the grief hanging wrong.

I like words with power,
stanzas with rythmic sound.
Keeping the beat within a structure,
discipline is bound

Poems need to be yelled,
standing up on the desk.
Hollering above the silent din,
get it off your chest.

Pants around your ankles,
can of beer in your hand.
railing against the establishment,
angry at The Man.

Tie yourself to a chair
and let your mind roam free.
The words will stand large in your mind's eye,
so let them be seen.


Stay tuned for more.
Joined: 5/27/2004
Msg: 2
Re: GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 6/3/2004 9:37:31 AM
Baked fresh every morning. Looka what we got hyar! Dum de dum....

The Morning Dump

I used to laugh at this part
of my father's ritual.
If he didn't crap by 5:35 am,
The day was shot.

As I get older I understand
the importance of a good crap.
The release of the previous days
detritus and leftovers.

The harder, the better.
Bran is the key.
Strong coffee never hurts either.
Make sure there's paper.

A book is needed to distract
the mind from the body.
Release the biological clutch
between Brain and Bowel

Sometimes I need a seatbelt
for my oft-punished toilet.
The towel bar has been pulled off
in a fit of colonic power.

Eyes get misty, the book is dropped.
Bite that lip and bear down.
Feet out straight and sing a song.
Do I see Jesus holding paper to me?

The ritual completed, the day is light.
And so am I. A good thirty pounds.
More bran and more coffee.

Flotsam and jetsam.

Wizard air freshener saves
the paint from peeling.

Begin the day.
Joined: 5/27/2004
Msg: 3
Re: GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 6/4/2004 2:53:08 PM
I meant to be here sooner, but some jerk scheduled a meeting at 7:30 am. What freak does that on a Friday? I mean, really. Tard.'s another from the depths:

The Kid Next Door

He runs wild and shirtless,
screaming throughout the day.
His mother chases him,
threatening his name.

Sometimes he makes it out the door.
Sometimes he gets as far as the street.
Sometimes he's at the curb.
Fear stops his feet.

His young Pavarotti lungs are quiet then.
There is no screaming to be heard,
apart from his hysterical mother
and the power of her word.

He hovers there, toes in the abyss.
His flabby legs look ready to leap.
He sways in the breeze of the cars.
His mother blasts a shriek.

He whirls around almost falling over.
His eyes are huge and watery.
He's earned a curse that might be his first word.
He shrieks like he's won the lottery.

Now he's toodling around the backyard,
shrieking at the family cat.
The feline comes here often,
to get away from all that.
Joined: 5/27/2004
Msg: 4
Re: GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 6/5/2004 7:51:33 AM
Ah, Saturday. Could there be any finer day? Well, there is Sunday...

Just a short one today. The weather is far too nice to be here staring at this screen. I'm making this one up as I go.


Recipe for Disaster

Two cups of strong coffee;
and one large bowl
of oatmeal.

Two bran muffins on the way.

Bike for 40 minutes;
and agitate well by avoiding
heavy traffic.

Oh, how one pays.


Have a good weekend, peoples.
Joined: 5/27/2004
Msg: 5
Re: GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 6/6/2004 7:56:59 PM
Sunday. Rainy Sunday. Bleah.

Just have time for one half-assed haiku:

Poetry collapse
Like watching your parents snog
Leaves me feeling flat

Joined: 5/27/2004
Msg: 6
Re: GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 6/7/2004 8:28:42 AM
Gawd, it's still berloody raining. We got no rain for three years and then we have to consider building arks and finding two of every animal...

You know what time it is? Uh-huh:


Broken Pedal, Severed Cable

Overcast, in heavy traffic.
Biking against the grain.
Small against the hugeness.
It's beginning to rain.

The light looms near.
The brakes are pulled.
I hear a snap.
My mind is lulled.

Faith in physics
Doesn't permit me to believe
That I can't stop
Even to breathe.

Trucks loom near
Train sounds too
One choice now
Traffic, I flew

As sure as God's got sandals
Off my pedal snaps
Flashing past the cars
Wishing I could crap.

Time got
strange then.
strange then.

I made it.
I eventually limped by
To the curb
Sat to sigh.

Joined: 5/27/2004
Msg: 7
Re: GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 6/7/2004 2:20:52 PM
My English prof used profanity to express his concerns about my style. Fortunately I was a little plastered at the time and didn't mind so much. Now, it's a labour of love and I don't have to drink as much vanilla extract to get going.


Joined: 5/27/2004
Msg: 8
Re: GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 6/8/2004 9:52:14 AM
Howdy-do. Another day, another poem. My poems are made fresh every morning usually during ungodly boring meetings. Remember, don't settle for the real thing -- choose GoatSmell's Fake Poetry of the Ordinary. You'll be glad you did.


Fibre, I Challenge Thee!
(With very humble apologies to Lewis Carroll)

“The time has come,” the plumber said.
“To talk of many things.”
I had a feeling he’d point to the ceiling
And point out the telltale rings.

“Your pipes are clogged, and that is wrong
Your toilet doesn’t seem to flush.”
I’d have to write cheques or offer him sex
Just to get the water to rush.

The ceiling he poked with a pencil he had
And the surface gave way.
“There’s the leak, the drywall is weak
This might take all day.”

He left to get his wrench and hammer,
A screwdriver, shovel and a spanner.
I wanted to lament but felt curiously spent;
Fibre caused the matter.

Shatner said: “Take the All Bran Challenge”
And I stepped up to the plate.
Two weeks later and feeling greater,
I realize the mistake I had made.

This place is old, built when time was new,
Many things aren’t malleable.
My body can deal with dietary zeal
The plumbing, however, is fallible


Another meeting before noon? Damn! Up, up and awaaaaayyyyyy!
Joined: 5/27/2004
Msg: 9
Re: GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 6/9/2004 9:48:23 AM
Mornin'. Here's a nice little ditty I wrote just after lunch yesterday. It sounds best if you shout it out in a Patrick Stewart "tea, Earl Grey, HOT!!" voice. I don't care if you're at work, just do it. DO IT!!


One Hideous Lunch

Lungbutter and chives!

What is this upon my fries?
The waitress isn’t telling,
And the cook always lies.

Lungbutter and chives!


Auf wedersehen. See you later, eh?
Joined: 5/27/2004
Msg: 10
Re: GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 6/10/2004 8:24:07 AM
My morning journey to work always provides me with inspiration. You know those signs with the removeable letters? There's probably a name for them, but be darned if I can remember it. Well, never leave one unguarded, especially in a university town like this one. The miscreants can be clever and subtle.

Of course, I can't remember what the sign said before and after the letters were rearranged.
I think it was a ceiling fan place with some kind of annual sale. Pretty forgettable, really. Like this little limerick.


Sign of the Times

I’ve seen a sign: “Try our Sodomy”.
I don’t know what it means.
Someone one thought better,
And rearranged the letters.
Now it reads more clean.
Joined: 5/27/2004
Msg: 11
Re: GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 6/11/2004 9:46:55 AM
Good morning all. Another day, another poem. Just like an enema at 6:00 am, it gets the heart racing.

It's raining here and I've spent the better part of the partially-gone day biking back and forth from work to home. Needless to say, it makes me feel rather reflective...not to mention damp.

Here ya go:


The road less travelled
Now has a
McDonald's along it.


See you tomorrow.
Joined: 5/27/2004
Msg: 12
Re: GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 6/11/2004 7:23:18 PM
Awww..shucks. I ain't nuthin' special.

No one would publish this stuff. Is there a market for horrible poetry?
Joined: 5/27/2004
Msg: 13
Re: GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 6/12/2004 9:39:21 PM
Man, what an awful day. It brings forth a haiku:


A day like this should
Be framed in a toilet seat
Swear to God it should.


Fah! Beh! Yarg!
Joined: 5/27/2004
Msg: 14
Re: GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 6/13/2004 10:06:21 AM
Morning. I've got to do some a-fixin' in the rain. Yippee! I created this ditty while walking to the nearest farmhouse yesterday. I removed the curses and the fomaing-at-the-mouth parts to enhance its artistry:


Requiem for a Fuel Pump

Oh, my fuel pump
It squirts the fuel no more
It's crap.

It left me in the bush
With nothing but a bad mood
and 4000 pounds of useless metal.

It lies there, on the table.
It's lifeless holes
Feeding nothing, taking nothing.

It died young, only five years old
Untold litres of gasoline later
It is hushed.

I commend it to recycling.
I commend it's efforts.
I go forth and purchase anew.


Tomorrow, then.
Joined: 5/27/2004
Msg: 15
Re: GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 6/14/2004 7:48:59 AM
Morning. I had an interesting ride to work today. You tend to see more when riding a bike downtown rather than in a car. Some things are interesting, some aren’t. Some are just plan disgusting. I saw something that inspired me. Heck, with the appropriate clothing, a stiff wind can inspire me. But that’s another story and for another day.

Don't eat while reading this:


Oh Frigging GROSS!

Bag of puke!
There on the street.

Liquid laugh!
Almost at my feet.

I have to alter my trajectory
To not disrupt thy fearful symmetry.

Who barfed!
On the concrete?

Some knob!
Who should be beat.

Only a person with failed telemetry,
Could have caused such gross obscenity.


See you tomorrow. Kisses to the women and virile man-hugs to the guys.
Joined: 5/27/2004
Msg: 16
Re: GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 6/14/2004 10:12:41 PM
Remember to let alcohol be the wind beneath your wings, young grasshopper.

Now get writing!

And thank you for the kind words.
Joined: 5/27/2004
Msg: 17
Re: GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 6/15/2004 9:13:18 AM previous statement didn't mean to infer that people should get plastered morning, noon and night. My poetry is inspired by shovelling 6 to 8 poptarts (chocolate, usually) and going for a 6 kilometre bike ride. After that, liberal amounts of coffee and some goawful boring paperwork...well, then you get something like this:


According to Spam

According to spam, I am a shell of a man;
My penis lies small and still.

I really should care about losing my hair;
The cure is this little pill.

I am too fat, I need a hat or an autographed bat;
The South Beach Diet cures the ills.

You could go really far in this new car;
Just think of the open thrills.

I lack muscle and could fancy a tussle
In that blonde model’s alabaster hills.

They don’t understand the measure of a man;
Disappointment in me, it instils.

Yet they send me this crap so I may one day snap;
And give them all my dollar bills.


And until tomorrow....
Joined: 5/27/2004
Msg: 18
Re: GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 6/16/2004 8:43:47 AM
Good morning. How are ya all? Really? That's great.

Well, our fnal dragon-boat practice was completed last night and we ran a kick-arse practice race against some arrogrant college students. Well, that is until we got hung up on a sand bar. The officials promise us they'll crack open the dam a little and raise the water level so that won't happen on race day. Or so they say.

This leeeettle ditty had been kicking around in my mind for some time. I used to know someone who melted when she heard a Sting song (a Sting-a-long?). Her absolute favourite was Fields of Gold. I like it too, actually. But that didn't stop me from creating a parody. No, she doesn't speak to me anymore.

With apologies to Sting (who's real name, I think, is Gordon Sumner):


I Returned My Empties Alone

You'll remember me when the case is full;
Twelve brown bottles of barley.
She forgot herself as the beer went down;
And we lay in the ditch some more.

So she took a swig, her third bottle now;
Twelve brown bottles of barley.
She darn near barfed but held it back;
And we lay in the ditch some more.

See the love grow high as the beer did flow;
Twelve brown bottles of barley.
It was liquid lust and it burned like fire;
But I returned the empties alone.

Will you stay with me? Will you lend me cash?
For twelve bottles of barley?
She forgot my face when the beer ran out;
And I returned the empties alone.

I always made promises lightly.
I know I told her I was rich.
I told her of the keg at home;
But I returned my empties alone.
I returned my bottles alone.

Many years have passed since those drunken days;
Twelve brown bottles of barley.
I forgot myself in a blurry haze;
And returned my bottles alone.

She did forget of me when no booze flowed;
Twelve brown bottles of barley.
I hope her roommates did take notice of me;
They can call me on the phone.

And I’m so desperately alone.
Somebody please throw me a bone?


Melina said I'm a maestro, I disagree. Her poetry outshines mine any day of the week. I have the words but no heart. Melina has more heart in her words than I could muster in a lifetime.

To thee, O Poetess, I humbly bow.

PS: Chuck! I missed my daily man-hug. Where are ye at?
Joined: 5/27/2004
Msg: 19
Re: GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 6/16/2004 9:53:39 AM
Then let us bow humbly together,
in awe of our respective talents.
Together, we can share
the lofty heights of our views
on the great and the small events
of our daily lives.

You have made my week, Melina. Even a goat needs appreciation from an artist such as yourself.

Hm...two poems in one day. I'm getting ahead of myself.


Joined: 5/27/2004
Msg: 20
Re: GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 6/17/2004 9:16:21 AM
Mornin' I had a bit of a writer's block this morning. Even with those 6 poptarts and a hard ride to work, I was still coming up with nothing. The secret is coffee...lots of it. That and donuts. Not the standard chocolate glazed ones, the jelly-filled ones produce the best results for defeating writer's block.

Alas, here it is:


I went to the well of poems,
that seemingly inexhaustable supply.

I was perplexed as dipped my hands
and they both came up dry.

Usually time in front of a computer
helps my creativity run high.

Not to mention the morning meetings
that are so painfully dry.

Just when I stop looking or being profound
my ennui runs awry.

All I have to do is sit a bit and not think
and a poem comes to mind.


Hey, I promised myself one a day until I'm dead. They don't have to be all purty n' stuff.

Until tomorrow....
Joined: 6/3/2004
Msg: 21
Re: GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 6/17/2004 10:52:22 PM
I am not a poetry dude, so I'll have to keep mum here. But it seems you really have the knack for it.
Joined: 5/27/2004
Msg: 22
Re: GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 6/18/2004 8:44:43 AM
Why thanks, ticketoride. Coffee is the fuel, boredom is the ignitor. After that, I just need some minor inspiration. Heck, even a good lunch will spark the creative propellant I've built up over the morning. Like this:


A Small Ode to a Roast Beef Sandwich (autobiographical)

I anticipate the daily noon meal
The morning is spent pondering its course
At $5.99 it is a steal.
I am at work purely by force.

When the noon whistle dares to come around,
I'm beside myself with unrestrained joy.
I leap from the chair in one large bound,
Trampling the poor, young copy boy.

Down the hall and down the street, lunch awaits.
Passion pounds the pavement and I arrive
At the good deli to meet my fate;
Into a table I will dive.

My lips quiver in anticipation;
My arse contacts the cushion of the chair.
The waitress asks the timeless question.
Beef I want; my end stands on hair.

Wafer-thin layers of hot roast beef, placed
Upon a firm bed of very wet lettuce.
(How my tiny overfed heart raced)
Nine-grain bread packed with detritus.

The hidden clumps of horseradish, divine.
With a side of home-style fries and gravy,
The experience became sublime.
The beef, I think, made me crazy.

Semi-orgasmic, I loudly proclaim:
"This is the best sandwich I ever had!"
Semi-conscious and hardly contained
The pleasure had driven me mad.

The heat of the moment swept me away.
I realized somehow my pants came off.
In a swirl of gastronomic fray,
The patrons, chef and waitress coughed

I collected my wits and up I rose.
My pants over my shoulder, heard to say:
(With a glob of gravy on my nose)
"Good sandwich. See you next Thursday"


I haven't quite gotten the hang of poetical punctuation, but I still have fun with it.

Tomorrow, tomorrow...I'll see you'
Joined: 5/27/2004
Msg: 23
Re: GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 6/19/2004 8:31:20 AM
Mornin' again. Another ditty sprang to mind early this morning. Today is race day. This is the day when paddles are seized and me and 17 other people are going to row a big, heavy boat against the current for fame and glory. Wish me luck.

So, just after getting a prepatory beer in, I came up with this freshies. It's so fresh, it still has hair on it:


I ne'er do this regularly,
because of working life.
This small can of beer
would cause me undue strife.

Today is Saturday
and things must be done.
It's six a.m. and
I'm off to have some fun.

So this wee can of
barley and hops and foam.
Will start the motor,
into wilderness I roam.

Prithee, O' sweet beer,
be gentle to my condition.
With your strength,
I will win the competition.


 uday bhanu
Joined: 6/18/2004
Msg: 24
Re: GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 6/19/2004 9:29:04 AM
U both stay at same place ??????
 uday bhanu
Joined: 6/18/2004
Msg: 25
Re: GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 6/19/2004 9:34:56 AM
Ahhh i wonder u came frm where a load of crap is present

I mean to say how can u take his autograph if u dont meet so i asked u where u both guys stay
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