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50% |
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| ill write for it |
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| Total Votes : 8 |
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technojoe
Butterfly
Joined: Jun 09, 2007
Posts: 13
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 Posted: Wed Aug 27, 2008 1:59 pm Post subject: aspie poetry |
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who wants to have a aspie poetry competition?.....theeme...  loss.....the first forum moderator to view this will be judge...who's up for it? |
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Sand
Phoenix
Joined: Sep 16, 2007
Posts: 2035
Location: Finland
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| Posted: Wed Aug 27, 2008 9:10 pm Post subject: |
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| Although I write poetry frequently I rarely write to a theme. My poems start with some sort of seed - a funny rhyme or strange idea or some other catchy beginning. It grows from that and my aspie condition has only a peripheral influence. |
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spudnik
Ain't I a Stinker
Joined: Feb 20, 2008
Posts: 3774
Location: Calgary, Alberta Canada
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| Posted: Wed Aug 27, 2008 9:35 pm Post subject: |
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| Grunthos the Flatulent wrote: | Ode to the Small Lump of Green Putty I Found in My Armpit One Midsummer Morning
Oh, lump of green putty, how green art thou
And putty-ish, and small, and lumpy, and greenish
What doest thou in yonder armpit
That is not that yonder, because it is mine
Perchance thou can stand the stench
That flows out from my armpit
Which has not been washed for many a year
And caused the murder of many innocents
Through death by gas.
Or smell.
'Tis a wonderful midsummer morning
Not fit for snuggling up in armpits.
In sooth, there are better places to be
For something as putty-ish, and small, and lumpy, and greenish
As yourself.
And now I take you out
And I look at you
And marvel at your putty-ish, and small, and lumpy, and greenish
Self.
And I smell you.
Your wondrous aroma fills the air
Like a passing zephyr
And kills the bacteria frolicking with gay abandon on the desk
Behind me.
And I touch you.
Ah, your delicate body depresses under the gentle touch of my finger
And falls apart, but I stick you together again
And you are whole once more, my love.
Once again resplendent in your full glory
Putty-ish, and small, and lumpy, and greenish.
And I listen to you.
But you make naught a sound.
Just the gentle vibrations that all things give out
In this universe in which we live.
The subtle assurance of your existence
Flows into my eardrums
And out again, finding its passage
Blocked by a Babel fish.
And I taste you.
Slowly, you slip down my tongue
And the amylase in my mouth reaches out to digest you into glucose
But it cannot; for you are not starch,
But green putty.
And you make your life's journey
Down my oesophagus
Towards my stomach
Where your fate awaits you.
The gastric juices bubble up
In long-anticipated anticipation.
And digests you, oh lump of green putty.
And you are gone
Had you ever been here before?
That is a question without an answer.
Farewell, my love.
I will miss you.
Your putty-ish, smallish, lumpy-ish and greenish
Self.
See if I don't. |
RIP Douglas Adams
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