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Robert Ippaso Mar 2019
Yes, I love beer
And beer loves me,
We’re as thick as thieves
As honey is to bees.

I can’t help but wonder
What life would be
Without this golden amber,
Not a world I’d like to see.

Every sip a luscious joy,
Food for body, mind and soul,
It warms in winter, cools when hot,
As water is to ice, as fire adores its coal.

But now they claim it hampered,
My judgement in my youth,
A baseless common slander,
Insulting and uncouth.

A lifetime spent in service,
As a bastion of the law,
A judge regaled with honor,
Not just a man of straw.

So what I had a tipple
And sometimes a few more,
It livened up the party,
With a drink I so adore.

As to these accusations
That somehow I blacked out
I just can’t help but wonder,
How folks could not this doubt.

A father and a husband,
A friend to countless girls,
A man of faith and principle,
Tarnished by innuendo’s swirls.

So let this be a lesson
To all young pups today,
Consider each and every action,
Beware of what posterity may say.
Robert Ippaso Mar 2019
Chuck and Nancy quite the couple
They work in tandem and speak as one,
Like two fly’s buzzing in unison
Into my space have they now come.

A New York hack and a California dreamer,
Their single purpose to stop me in my tracks,
Just when the nation needs my talent most,
All I hear from them are quacks.

There’s a national emergency
With heathens at our gates,
Rapists, robbers and molesters,
The basest form of life’s primates.

But my wall will stop them,
To protect us all,
For them to try and block it
Takes truly quite some gall.

The fight’s not over,
I’ll win this yet,
Upon the outcome
You can now bet.

Our darling lovebirds
Need watch the sky,
As this great eagle
Comes swooping by!
Victoria Feb 2019
Once upon a midnight,windy,
Graveyard heavy, tombstone weary,
Rose a man of great renowned-
The writer of which works can be found
Classroom sat in many a volume galore.
As the news and folk declare-
The dead whose lungs again took in air,
The writer who now stood before-
T’was Poe (and raven) of “Nevermore”.

“So if it be daemon, omen, curse or hex-”
In deciding action next, he spoke forth these words of old,
“I have been given further morrow, time of which furthers my sorrow,
Yet if I may this new life borrow- borrow perhaps to bring prose more-
In the hope,to continue prose more-
Pen to paper I’ll restore.”

Many a night spent struggling to create rhymes anew,
Edgar realized how language had changed,
For **** no longer meant to slay, and his beloved had turned to bae!
On his desk the perched bird had flown-
To say these words in had it flown-
Quoth the Raven “Just use Rhymezone.”
Alice Jan 2019
I
Begin by getting out the ***.
The bigger, the better.
But a standard one will do.

II
Next, bring out the grounds.
The darker they are, the more
Bitter they'll be, the more
Satisfying it'll feel when it's drunk.

III
Fill the *** with split tears to the brim.
Anymore and it'd overflow.

IV
Place the *** in the coffee maker,
Oven, or the microwave.
Whichever will boil fastest.

V
While the water is boiling
Place the honey on the counter.
The sugar was always too
Sweet for you.

VI
Once it's been properly steeped,
Let your hands hover cradled around
The ***. So that you may feel the heat,
But not be burnt.

VII
Once the water has cooled to 451 degrees
Write down the words you meant to say
Tear them and drop them into the ***.
If it doesn't smell like regret, you're doing something wrong.

VIII
Once you've scowled sufficiently,
Make sure to take a sip from the ***.
If it still tastes like it used to,
Pour in a cup of honey or salt.
Stir to dissolve.

VIIII
By now the water should taste
Of bittersweet regret.
Take out the biggest spoon you own
And collect a tablespoon of the
Lightest grounds, and eat them.

X
The lightest grounds will taste
Of laughter and of smiling.
They’ll taste of roses blooming in your chest
And of the sun kissing your skin in winter.
The darkest grounds will feel
Like thorns.

XI
However, you’ve had your fun
Now, it’s time to stir in the
Darkest grounds.
There’s no need to filter them,
After all, it’s only instant coffee.

XII
Pick up the *** in shaking hands and
Pour it all out into your preferred mug.
Frown at it and huff angrily as you watch
Plumes of smokes rising.
It smells just like he did.

XIII
Consider throwing the steaming mug at the wall.
Picture the shards mixing with the mess it’d make.
Imagine how it’d feel to hear the sickening crack
Of it shattering.
Consider it, but do not act.

XIV
Finally, you’re done.
You should feel proud of yourself.
Now, the best part, after all it’s like they say.
You’ve made your brew,
Now drink from it.
Written circa October of 2018.
Sketcher Jan 2019
Condolences,
Today is the day,
Dangerous circumstances,
Are soon on their way.

From the brains in your head,
To the feet in your shoes,
You are soon to be beat,
And you're soon to be bruised.

You'll have blood on your head, crusted into your hair,
No wounds will ever heal, not the cuts or the tears,
With your head leaking brains and red stained white cleats,
The athletes will beat you while you're out on the street.

They'll touch all of your ups,
And they'll touch all of your downs,
From the back to the front,
From the tip to the crown.

They'll open you there,
Wide open and bare.

Outside things will happen,
They will continue to do,
Things that mess with your head,
Because you are a Jew.

And when things will happen,
Don't worry, don't stew,
Just go along with,
Whatever happens to you.

OH!
THE ****'S YOU'LL MEET!

You'll be up on your way,
To see some pretty sights,
Then a **** will show up,
And knock out your lights.

You'll lag behind, because you don't have the speed,
The whole gang will jump you, they'll do it, indeed,
Wherever you go, you'll fight the best of the best,
They'll use their fist to rip your heart out your chest.

Except when they don't,
Because sometimes they won't.

They will be high or drunk or maybe just blue,
They'll be so sad and depressed, they'll do nothing to you.

They will either hang themselves,
or pray in the church,
They will put down their weapons,
and stop the search.

Upon leaving the church,
You'll surely feel a thump,
And chances are then,
That you've just been ******.

A special kind of ****,
That will leave you stunned,
While it's up in the ****,
You'll scream, "This isn't fun!",

You'll feel the reaming of Muhammad and Mark,
One is a light skin, and the other, rather dark,
They'll tear through your **** like it isn't a sin,
Then they'll turn you around and take you for a spin,
And a slurp, and a choke, until the stuff drips down your chin.

When they finish, will you have the strength to fight,
Or will you barely be able to tell left from right,
You'll be so dizzy that you think you might be blind,
It must have been too much ramming from behind,
After they're done, they'll keep you in prison confined.

You will get so confused,
While they're booming the bass,
Riding you faster, at such a neck-breaking pace,
Riding the throat then spilling all over the face,
Then they leave you in shock, in this dark humid place,
Dark... humid... place...

...just waiting and waiting,
As the seasons come and go,
And cars will come and go,
And people come and go,
Some people ask, "Are you okay?",
and you say, "No.",
You continue to just wait.

Wishing that you were just white,
Instead of a Jew that gives off a fright,
To every non-Jew and hater despite,
Religion or if they're dead or awake,
So you still lay there in anguish and ache,
You'll soon get the nerve to pull up your pants,
And then you'll walk south until you reach France,
Every step is a throbbing pain in your ***.

NO!
YOU WILL NOT GIVE UP!

Somehow you'll escape,
The praying then spraying,
Removing all hope,
Whatever was remaining.

As you leave Germany,
you will say goodbye,
But you were too loud,
And you were stopped by a guy.

The man screams out, "HAULT!", as you begin to run,
And now you realize that the great chase has begun,
As you are running away, you trip and you fall,
Still wanting to flee, away you sluggishly crawl,
You feel the mans hands grab so you beg and you plea,
You loosen the grip, stand, then pinned against a tree.

Rammed into the wood,
Knocked out, this is no good.

I'm afraid you'll be caught,
And chopped up in a stew,
This is bound to happen,
No matter what you do.

Very Dead!
Whether you like it or not,
Dead will be something,
You'll be in the ***.

And when you are dead, there's a very good chance,
That a necrophiliac will find romance,
He'll steal your body with his swiftness and brawn,
You'll make him say, "I do want life to go on!".

On he will go,
With his moaning and growls,
On he will go,
Stretching right towards your bowels,
On he will go,
Like a wolf he will howl,
He will awkwardly peck,
With his mouth like a beak,
Upon the great hole,
In which he took a leak.

On and on he'll strike,
Until all the white tar,
Comes out of his *******,
Dirtying his new car.

He doesn't own a horse,
But a car you can blow,
Because there are thirty *****,
Hanging off the window,
And the wheels are some *****,
That are hardened and cracked,
This is a normal car,
This car isn't abstract,
This car doesn't run on gas so it's quite the heft,
When it's pushed up hills with hands of the deft.

So... will you bleed?
Will you beg and plead?
(This Is Actually Zero Percent Guaranteed)

JEW! YOU ARE IN CHARGE!

This is your life, your way,
You're able to seize the day,
You can go to all places,
You can choose to leave or stay,
So please do what you wish,
And your life will be great.
Parody of Oh, the Places You'll Go. I'm not really sure where I was going with this. It's very random...
annh Dec 2018
O rapturous heart! O blighted spirit!
Content and malcontent, the same.
Seize not upon thy hapless circumstance to ponder,
But on Fortune’s fickle favour renew thy claim.

For love is best served when least remembered,
An inclination immediate and true.
No rank aftertaste of bitter bile for me,
‘Tis sweet Aphrodite I petition: ‘Grant me my due!’
A parody of the Romantic poetry of the late eighteenth- and early nineteenth centuries. Watched “Mary Shelley” last night - great flick and a bad influence. Up late faffing around with this rather than prepping for the holidays. :)
Sketcher Dec 2018
On the first day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, a couple caps of some broken knees.

On the second day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.

On the third day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.

On the fourth day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.

On the fifth day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.

On the sixth day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.

On the seventh day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, seven palms a-skinning, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.

On the eighth day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, eight grenades a-killing, seven palms a-skinning, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.

On the ninth day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, nine babies relapsing, eight grenades a-killing, seven palms a-skinning, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.

On the tenth day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, ten lords a-peeping, nine babies relapsing, eight grenades a-killing, seven palms a-skinning, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.

On the eleventh day of Christmas, the meat man sent to me, eleven snipers sniping, ten lords a-peeping, nine babies relapsing, eight grenades a-killing, seven palms a-skinning, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.

On the twelfth day of Christmas, the meat man gave to me, twelve brothers *******, eleven snipers sniping, ten lords a-peeping, nine babies relapsing, eight grenades a-killing, seven palms a-skinning, six obese a-weighing, five ****** things, four hundred herbs, three killed friends, two hands in gloves, and a couple caps of some broken knees.
Tried a messed up parody.
Sketcher Nov 2018
Three gay men were sleeping in a bed,
One got ***** and one gave head,
Momma was a *****, now she's dead,
No more parents, dads body in the shed.
Thanks Aeson.
Sketcher Nov 2018
Love,
Oh, It's a funny thing,
That makes my stomach ache,
And makes my heart sing,
And makes me feel like a peasant,
And sometimes a king,
It can be pleasant,
And it can sting,
It's a present,
It's a blessing,
But when I'm not present with the present,
Then i feel i tripped a string,
Like leaving heaven which has no pleasance,
Like messing with a wedding ring.
Influenced by Bo Burnham's "I **** *****".
Sketcher Oct 2018
Jack and Jill,
Wanted to ****,
Their father's other daughter,
She was brown,
And out of town,
So, they quickly planned her slaughter.

Just the thought,
Of her face brought,
My tears of hate to vapor,
Once she's dead,
I'll feel no dread,
I'll steal her will, that small paper.

I am Jack,
I will attack,
My dumb adopted sister,
In the night,
With my new knife,
Sure, I am considered bitter.

She walks in,
Penetrate skin,
With my sharp brandished weapon,
Blood pours out,
She doesn't shout,
Cause she's already in heaven.

Hid the body,
In the soggy,
Closet underneath the stairs,
People question,
My depression,
For my brown sister, no one cares.
Influenced by the popular nursery rhyme, "Jack and Jill".
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