Avant-Garde Slam Pseudo-Poetry!

Write one line of a poem. Try to make as little sense as possible. Don't stop in mid-thought like you would in a "Silly Story" thread; write a complete line. You can continue the theme of the line above you, or you can write something entirely irrelevant and random.

I'll start:

The apples of winter tasted putrescent.



Edited by Anthony H. - July 23 2010 at 14:40

If life was a two-story tall barber shop, would Darwin have been wrong?

Tarquin Underspoon wrote: Pringles. Underclothes.   The beaver    sees certain      things that I        cannot see          because I am             not the beaver.   Salt.   Muffins.   .....but then again, how do I know for sure?

I felt as though I could have defied gravity itself. So I did coz i'm so badass.

This is a poem
It does not exist.

They entered the stadium as others
They left as equals

They entered the stadium as others
They left as dream makers

They entered the stadium as hopefuls
They left as the defeated

But they were still more of a team than England.


(And were unbeaten).

He left, softly on the dull shrug of an eternal concrete mixer.

I gnaw on the foot of courage.

My girlfriend said I was a pedophile the other day...

I told her that was a very big word for an eight year old.

And then she beget numerous swans, whom flew in unison toward the beating sun, 'til all were cooked, dead.

"so," continued the swimming pheasant, "as you have no doubt noticed by now, my heart is a hand grenade; every beat could potentially kill you and me both"

"Perhaps," mumbled Jacob, totally ignoring his charge, "I could woo her with my nasal tracts"

But we all know the end results, or lack thereof.


Edited by Captain Clutch - July 24 2010 at 03:57