How about a poetry thread?

Behold the duck.
It has no cluck.
A cluck it lacks.
It quacks.
 
simon ess said:
We've found the cultural level then?

:)

Mary had a little lamb
It was always gruntin'
She tied it to a five bar gate

Edit

I decided the last line was probably a step too far.

:D
Click to expand...


ROTFLMLO

Indeed! titter ye not fellow TP'ers it was always going to go this way! Even I thought it was too cultured...:D


After re reading your Mary had a little lamb........ I dont have the vocabulary to make it rhyme, I admit I am not vulgar enough to make it work.....<felling sheepish> :jawdrop:
 
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From Catullus, the Roman John Cooper Clarke, on owning a nice house.

The Mortgage: to Furius
Furius, your little villa’s not exposed

to the southerlies, or the westerlies,

the savage north-wind, or the easterly breeze,

but truly to fifteen thousand two hundred cash.

O terrifying and destructive wind!

If Catullus didn't like someone, he told them.

A Suggestion: to Vibennius
O first of the bath-house thieves

Vibennius the father, with sodomite son

(since the father’s right hand is dirtier,

and the son’s arse more all-consuming),

why not go into exile, to some vile place?

Seeing the father’s pillage is known

to us all, and the son’s hairy arse,

you can’t sell for a farthing.

Free for All: to the Regulars and Egnatius
Lecherous tavern, and you its regulars,

nine pillars along from the Twins’ pillars,

do you think you’re the only ones with cocks,

the only ones who’re allowed to trouble

young girls, and consider the rest of us goats?

Or, because a hundred or two of you sit in a row, you,

dullards, that I daren’t b****r two hundred together?

Think on: I’ll draw all over the front

of the tavern with your leavings.

Because my girl, who’s left my arms,

whom I loved as no other girl’s ever been loved,

for whom so many great battles were fought,

is there. You, all the rich and the fortunate, love her,

and, what’s so shameful, it’s true, all the lesser ones,

all the adulterous frequenters of by-ways:

you, above all, one of the hairy ones,

rabbit-faced offspring of Spain,

Egnatius. Whom a shadowy beard improves,

and teeth scrubbed with Iberian p***.
 
Llamaman said:
Behold the duck.
It has no cluck.
A cluck it lacks.
It quacks.
Click to expand...

Edit: I misremembered the second line;
Behold the duck.
It does not cluck.
A cluck it lacks.
It quacks.
It is specially fond
Of a puddle or pond.
When it dines or sups,
It bottoms ups.
 
He was my North, my South, my East and West.
My working week and my Sunday rest.
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song.
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

Of course made famous by a certain Brit flick but still great lines.
 
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Sorted it.
 
bilston refugees.jpg

By Brian Bilston - Now read it the other way, from bottom to top.
 
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