Poem Parlour

I tried a haiku...
But I can't think of any.
It's snowing on mt. Fuju.

 

i was scrolling through trolly poems and then i saw this one and I was like.... woah, that's good

 

Haikus are easy
But sometimes they don't make sense
Refrigerator

And a haiku about getting about of bed:

No, no, no, no,
No, no, no, no, no, no, no,
No, no, no, no,

 

I'm bad at haikus.
But I know the golden rule.
It's snowing on Mt. Fuji.

 

WE'VE GOT A 5-7-7 OVER HERE, I REPEAT, A 5-7-7.

 

I made a haiku
And this has been my haiku
*drops the microphone*

I see what you did there.

 

Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
I hate you.
That's it.

 

We live and we thrive joyfully
Yet we protect and we fight fiercely
No creature can overcome our might
None shall fear when living under our light
Children, men and wife
Reassured and living a happy life
Fruma sent us to watch over this land
To Hell and beyond ! let's go, my friends

 

Dolphins
Are
Not as
Kool as me and my pet
Elephant who likes to eat
Rice

The non
Hortizontal fact
Above is 0%
Not true

U scrub

-----

It's beautiful. I can't seem to find out why no one will buy my poetry book.

 

I like to haiku
But I'm unsure how to do
It's snowing on Mt. Fuji.

Roses are red,
violets are blue,
I have a gun,
get in the van.

 

11/10 would poem again

 

Noses are red
My toes are blue
There's lice in my pants
And the rats ate my stew
Ritherlas is a great leader
we are all well fed
Im being totally honest
No gun to my head!

I would like to thank our wonderful American spy friend for this amazing poem. Please move to Ritheropilis

 

A story untold, in a valley of gold
Where the stars blend into the shadows,
A man and his crew sailed mountains of blue,
though the waters where death-ridden shallows

Their mining picks, were straight as sticks,
As they sleepily moiled for gold,
But there blood ran red and, and there bodies out bled,
mountains and mountains of gold,

But never again did man come and see the towers of riches and pearls,
for the miners; all dead had had been stricken with dread
and there ghosts, saw the riches unfurl,

But when ground is soiled from bodies thus boiled,
none shall of think of these men,
for there adventurous soul, could never re-roll,
the deeds of there thieving hands

 

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Vodka is cheaper
Than dinner for two,
Сука Блять

This is a haiku
It is not very good I know
But it works so yeah.

 

Love is trash
'Cause them hoes be needin' cash
-Gandhi

 

My first sonnet, from August 25th of last year:

Sweetheart of yore, how could I but love thee
When thy wondrous kindness and eloquence
Were such as polished glasses to me,
Convincing me also of my own elegance?

Although thou art far, and not that much fair
No one hitherto could enchant me more,
No other’s beauty, nor talent nor flair
Could reach as thy soul did into my core.

I see nearly no resemblance of thee
In the fleetingness of all worldly beauty,
But no one can ever fail to see thee
In the lastingness of all great divinity.

In thee my darling likeness I behold,
Through thee, love to myself I first bestowed. ​