UnPoetia/Selected poem

<choose>
<option>
Under the sheet that covers me,
::White as the snow but black as night,
I beg all visitors that be,
::"Close the door and turn off the light."
In the grip of ambivalence
::I've often winced and cried aloud.
Asked to bestow but a few pence
::I've hid within this bedding shroud.
Beyond this place of ruffled frills,
::Looms the horror of work and strife
But while me mum is paying bills
::I'm freed to sleep away my life.
It matters not that you berate,
::Or plead with me to set some goal,
I am the master of my fate
::I am the captain of my soul.</option>
<option>
:When, laughing, first I saw your pimpled face
:My tears could shake the spirits from their flask
:Those spirits played a joking little ace
:And drunken lust connived in me to ask
:
:While I was kissing you my eyes were closed
:From passion? No, from not wanting to see
:How bad my rep was surely to be hosed
:You kind of smell like drunken morning pee
:
:I want to leave and live inside a cave
:I wish I didn't know that you don't shave</option>
<option>Shall I compare thee to a Winter's day?
Thou art more unpleasant and more frigid:
Rough skin doth shape thy sagging breasts of grey,
And Winter's touch doth not leave me rigid:
Sometimes the bright glare of hot flashes shine,
And often am I burned within thy midst;
The seasons they change as thy looks decline,
And doubly whenever thy mood is pissed:
But my steady devotion shall not fade
Nor lose possession of thine hand once fair;
For I've grown accustomed to being flayed,
And living indoors, within thy dark lair:
So long as divorce ruins men like me,
I am thy slave; my life belongs to thee.</option>
<option>I met a roadie from an ancient band
Who said:—"Two fat and drunken legs did groan
Staggering through the blizzard toward the can,
And attached a bloated corpse, whose dim frown
And slurring lips no known words do command.
Should you see the bastard, alive or dead,
Barking at the moon or beheading things,
Say 'You're on in ten, or so Sharon said'.
Cos' on the marquee your name does appear:
For you are Ozymandias, he who sings.
Keep performing those old songs, but despair!
Nothing catchy remains: So add delay
And a choir to that wreck, tuneless and bare,
'Til the record sales do dwindle away."</option>
<option>Do not mow bleckly o'er that dust mite,
For that hyperspace bypass to make way;
Rage, rage against the dying of the mite.
Though Vogons build their roads for reasons right,
Phlegg creatures may be caballed on the way;
Do not mow wreckly o'er that dust mite.
Tiny germs must we strive to treat polite;
Their frail souls might we trounce by our survey;
Rage against the death of the parasite.
Wild spores we catch and stun from flensome flight,
And learn, too late, by our error we slay.
Do not mow bleckly o'er that dust mite.
But men deserve death for their blinded sight;
A predator worthy of being prey;
Rage, rage against the dying of the mite.
Reduce the heathen from their errant height;
Curse, kill them now with your machines, I pray.
Do not mow wreckly o'er that dust mite,
Rage against the death of the parasite.</option>
<option>Whose house this is I think I know.
She works down in the village, though.
She will not see me hiding here,
To watch her give a private show.
I know my wife would think it rank,
To hear about this monkey spank,
But in this joy I must partake.
I still require my daily wank.
She gives her ample breasts a shake,
And in my pants I feel an ache,
So to my lust I do succumb,
And free the prisoned garter snake. 
I gaze upon her unclothed bum,
And wish, dear Lord, I could have some,
Oh Mrs. Woods you make me cum!
Oh Mrs. Woods you make me cum!</option>
<option>Two roads diverged near a neighbourhood,
Packed with cars from bumper to bumper;
I parked my car, beside it I stood,
Then walked to the bridge, close as I could,
Near the others watching the jumper;
But waiting made me weak and weary,
Worsened further by the falling rain,
With spirits low and vision bleary;
I chanted "Jump!" to make things cheery;
But sadly failed in my lone campaign,
A policeman told me "Move along"
So I trudged back to my waiting car,
While contemplating the right and wrong
Of making someone wait all day long,
For you to bid the world au revoir.
I pressed the pedal and breathed a sigh
Crashing headlong through a neighbour's fence:
Two roads diverged at that place and I--
I chose the route never traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.</option>
<option>Do not shag gentle during that good night,
Youthful lust should burn and rave after close of day;
Rage, rage following the turning off of the light.
Though wise scholars in their minds know safety is right,
Because their getting laid was so unlikely they
Do not shag gentle during that good night.
Weak men, whilst observing with delight
Their frail Percys stiffening in this newfound way,
Rage, rage following the turning off of the light.
Wild men who cut down angels in their flight,
And learn, too late, there’d be a price to pay,
Do not shag gentle during that good night.
Diseased men who beareth plague and plight
Have infected sores that blaze like meteors ‘cos they
Raged, raged following the turning off of the light.
And you, my lover, there in the midst of your height
Curse, bless me now with your climatic groans, I pray.
Do not shag gentle during that good night.
Rage, rage following the turning off of the light.</option>
<option>
My First Address To The Common Man
:Good afternoon, take heed of my words
:I trust you are all in good mirth this fine day
:Don't worry; I wasn't threatened by yon cat-calling at birds
(Pause for Laughter)
:A man of my goodwill can quite comprehend yon savagery.
:Upon my first address to the common man I'm in good spirits
:I've made extensive studies of yon culture so's I don't feel out-of-place
:And shall judge yon most respectable class on only its merits.
:For yon information I've dealt with a fair few commoners before
:I've lived on Primrose Hill—they say that used to be –ahem– underprivileged
:From those experiences I can trust you don't hold me in detestation
:I've been here half an hour now and see nothing has been pillaged
:But there is one last note that I feel I must address:
:Please don't shank me. </option> </choose>
Category:UnPoetia