This is the first edition of the verses contributed to the Poetry section
in MWM.
LSN
-----
An MWM Verse Collection
---
When people say, 'I've told you fifty times,
They mean to scold, and very often do;
When poets say, 'I've written fifty rhymes,'
They make you dread that they'll recite them too;
Don Juan, Canto I, CVIII
FOURTH CITIZEN:
Tear him for his bad verses, tear him for his bad
verses.
Julius Caesar, III, 3, v 30
---
Crappy Poem (or A Poem About Crap.), by Grey Mouser
To some it seems we're living in an age
Of moral accidie and ethic shame;
Perhaps, to others, some post-modern game,
A masquerade upon a gilded stage.
What verdict then when time turns back the page?
Will future judgement seek to portion blame?
What most our children?s children will inflame
If grandsire freedoms fashion them a cage?
Shall we allow the motif of our time
To be the waste from industries' increase,
The junk which soon must clutter every street,
The effluence which taints our worldly clime?
Or shall we strive to bring a swift surcease
To all this waste before our chances fleet?
The Poet's Dilema, by Grey Mouser
Now, should 'decrepitude' be simply 'age';
And is 'ignominy' more apt than 'shame'?
Should 'mettlesome' be chosen over 'game';
And would 'proscenium' outrival 'stage'?
Does 'folio' look down on humble 'page';
'Incriminate' exceed its brother 'blame';
Or 'conflagrate' outshine perhaps 'inflame';
'Incarcerate' improve upon mere 'cage'?
And does 'the fourth dimension' transcend 'time'?
'Intensify' improve upon 'increase'?
Would 'thoroughfare' too fancy be for 'street';
'Environment' be better fashioned 'clime'?
'Cessation' might indeed surpass 'surcease',
But 'naval forces' surely should be 'fleet'!
In the God-forgotten torrents of this age, by Mikey_C
In the God-forgotten torrents of this age
No sin is as unfashionable as shame;
Morality's an old, exhausted game
As we writhe naked on the public stage,
Our lusts spread out across the sprawling page.
There is no cause or basis now for blame;
We have a solemn duty to inflame
Those passions once cramped in their hidden cage.
Old libertines have waited for this time;
Their sybaritic credo seeks increase,
Exhorting us to 'do it in the street',
With no respect for polity or clime.
But can this sea just rise without surcease
And all be swept away by tides so fleet?
Her hand wrinkled by the trappings of age, by HawkLord
Her hand wrinkled by the trappings of age,
She cries for all the hidden shame
That she acquired playing her foolish game.
Now she will leave her stage,
Try to turn a new page
And at last she will take the blame.
What more could she do, she would only inflame
The ones she held in her emotional cage.
How long will she continue to waste her time,
While day by day her enemies increase.
She's lost her way, doesn't know what street
This is, she's seeking a different clime.
She cries, calling faintly for surcease.
But inside she knows the end will be fleet.
The Whining of Gerontius, آ© 2004 by LSN
Recaptured past? It brings regrets of age,
Tableaux comprised of dormant angst and shame:
Inconsequential as some puerile game,
Or just dismissed as long surmounted stage.
Amnesia's facile. Time to turn the page
And not to seek receptacle for blame.
Old conflict or injustice can inflame
Or prison equipoise in passion's cage.
There're better ways to spend one's meagre time.
So gauche to dig up matters that increase
The traffic on that psychic two-way street.
Inter, forget, go seek more pleasant clime;
A change of place and mood can bring surcease
And hope the river passage shall be fleet.
All Together in the Altogether, آ© 2004 by LSN
The time has come for every sex and age
To put to death our heritage of shame.
Our earthly sojourn's nothing but a game,
A ribald farce to play out on a stage.
Our lines we write at random on the page
Of life, and let our betters take the blame
When honest revels thwarted lusts inflame
And shock their puny demons in their cage.
Come, show your disregard for space and time,
And let your love of anarchy increase.
Our nakedness we'll flaunt upon the street.
Hot flesh and blood will conquer frigid clime.
Of lifeless rules our spite will give surcease.
The laws apply to laggards, not the fleet.
in MWM.
LSN
-----
An MWM Verse Collection
---
When people say, 'I've told you fifty times,
They mean to scold, and very often do;
When poets say, 'I've written fifty rhymes,'
They make you dread that they'll recite them too;
Don Juan, Canto I, CVIII
FOURTH CITIZEN:
Tear him for his bad verses, tear him for his bad
verses.
Julius Caesar, III, 3, v 30
---
Crappy Poem (or A Poem About Crap.), by Grey Mouser
To some it seems we're living in an age
Of moral accidie and ethic shame;
Perhaps, to others, some post-modern game,
A masquerade upon a gilded stage.
What verdict then when time turns back the page?
Will future judgement seek to portion blame?
What most our children?s children will inflame
If grandsire freedoms fashion them a cage?
Shall we allow the motif of our time
To be the waste from industries' increase,
The junk which soon must clutter every street,
The effluence which taints our worldly clime?
Or shall we strive to bring a swift surcease
To all this waste before our chances fleet?
The Poet's Dilema, by Grey Mouser
Now, should 'decrepitude' be simply 'age';
And is 'ignominy' more apt than 'shame'?
Should 'mettlesome' be chosen over 'game';
And would 'proscenium' outrival 'stage'?
Does 'folio' look down on humble 'page';
'Incriminate' exceed its brother 'blame';
Or 'conflagrate' outshine perhaps 'inflame';
'Incarcerate' improve upon mere 'cage'?
And does 'the fourth dimension' transcend 'time'?
'Intensify' improve upon 'increase'?
Would 'thoroughfare' too fancy be for 'street';
'Environment' be better fashioned 'clime'?
'Cessation' might indeed surpass 'surcease',
But 'naval forces' surely should be 'fleet'!
In the God-forgotten torrents of this age, by Mikey_C
In the God-forgotten torrents of this age
No sin is as unfashionable as shame;
Morality's an old, exhausted game
As we writhe naked on the public stage,
Our lusts spread out across the sprawling page.
There is no cause or basis now for blame;
We have a solemn duty to inflame
Those passions once cramped in their hidden cage.
Old libertines have waited for this time;
Their sybaritic credo seeks increase,
Exhorting us to 'do it in the street',
With no respect for polity or clime.
But can this sea just rise without surcease
And all be swept away by tides so fleet?
Her hand wrinkled by the trappings of age, by HawkLord
Her hand wrinkled by the trappings of age,
She cries for all the hidden shame
That she acquired playing her foolish game.
Now she will leave her stage,
Try to turn a new page
And at last she will take the blame.
What more could she do, she would only inflame
The ones she held in her emotional cage.
How long will she continue to waste her time,
While day by day her enemies increase.
She's lost her way, doesn't know what street
This is, she's seeking a different clime.
She cries, calling faintly for surcease.
But inside she knows the end will be fleet.
The Whining of Gerontius, آ© 2004 by LSN
Recaptured past? It brings regrets of age,
Tableaux comprised of dormant angst and shame:
Inconsequential as some puerile game,
Or just dismissed as long surmounted stage.
Amnesia's facile. Time to turn the page
And not to seek receptacle for blame.
Old conflict or injustice can inflame
Or prison equipoise in passion's cage.
There're better ways to spend one's meagre time.
So gauche to dig up matters that increase
The traffic on that psychic two-way street.
Inter, forget, go seek more pleasant clime;
A change of place and mood can bring surcease
And hope the river passage shall be fleet.
All Together in the Altogether, آ© 2004 by LSN
The time has come for every sex and age
To put to death our heritage of shame.
Our earthly sojourn's nothing but a game,
A ribald farce to play out on a stage.
Our lines we write at random on the page
Of life, and let our betters take the blame
When honest revels thwarted lusts inflame
And shock their puny demons in their cage.
Come, show your disregard for space and time,
And let your love of anarchy increase.
Our nakedness we'll flaunt upon the street.
Hot flesh and blood will conquer frigid clime.
Of lifeless rules our spite will give surcease.
The laws apply to laggards, not the fleet.
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