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Rocco's poetry thread

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Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes down;
It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own;
That heavy chill has frozen over the fountain of our tears,
And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice appears.

Byron :cool:
 
A limerick writer from Perth
Found his poems would always cause mirth
Their endings were poor
'Cause they stopped at line four

A limerick writer from Parkes
Found his poems got very bad marks
'Cause they stopped at line three

A writer from darkest Peru
Had his limericks stop at line two

His limericks stopped at line one
 
Wicket to Wicket
Stump to Stump
Nipple to Nipple
Flap to Flap

David "Bloody" Gower
 
My contribution for today:

At school, dreaming of Sunday;
Instead it's a Thursday.
How can footy be so far?
I can't even drive there in a car.
The Hawk will play, at the Stadium Colonial;
Will take Milne and the Saints to their funeral.
So won't these slow days go away;
So my Hawthorn can just play.

The Hitman
 

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Today's entry

BY GEE BY JINGO
DEAD SET IN THE FAIR DINKUM DEPARTMENT
TURN IT UP
THIS IS RAZZLE DAZZLE STUFF
OH CRUNCHING TACKLE
CHIPS OVER THE TOP AND REGATHERS
SIDSTEPS A COUPLE OF WOULD-BE TACKLERS
 
Here's one to the tune of "Bitch/Bloke" - written for a member of the Carlton FC who shall at this point remain nameless because he's actually put in a couple of good weeks since it appeared on The Blue View

Hack

Got picked again today
Don't know why, maybe the Devil had his say
I can understand how you'd be so confused
I know that it's true
I'm a little bit of everything
All rolled into one

I'm a hack, I'm a loser
I hang out down the boozer
I cannot kick the ball
Try and chase guys and I fall
I'm a dud, a waste of space
A dropped pastie is my face
You know you wouldn't want me
In the team at all

And here's another thing
I could be making room for Livs or Pickering
Yet the match guys think I'm gold
I play like I'm too old
I look just like a freak
But I'm playing every week!

I'm a hack, I'm a loser
I hang out down the boozer
I cannot kick the ball
Try and chase guys and I fall
I'm a dud, a waste of space
A dropped pastie is my face
You know you wouldn't want me
In the team at all

I'm a hack, I'm a nancy
Not one thing I do is fancy
Any other team would drop me
But you all have to cop me
I'm a disgrace, I am bad
I know it's pretty sad
But you will not get me any other way

I'm a hack, I'm a loser
I hang out down the boozer
I cannot kick the ball
Try and chase guys and I fall
I'm a dud, a waste of space
A dropped pastie is my face
You know you wouldn't want me
In the team at all

(repeat to fade)
 
The reigning champ is back!

Hey Rocco, do I get to annoint today's winner?

If not, here's my contribution for today:

This morning I boarded a train to the city at twenty-two minutes past eight
The 8.14 train had been cancelled, I learned, and I knew I was already late

So my mood was quite sullen, like Eddie McGuire when his precious Magpies get done
Or a man who falls into a bucket of nipples and ends up just sucking his thumb

It was one of those old train with cack-coloured carpet, mysterious stains on the chairs
And a unknown brown substance was smeared on the windows, obscuring my view of affairs

Needless to say that I stood in the doorway, since seats were most hard to come by
Jammed right up against a middle-aged bloke who'd neglected to do up his fly

There was no-one to talk to and no-one to perve on as the train chugged along toward town
And I noticed that practically all the commuters wore a grimace, snarl, sneer or frown

But there was one dissenter, an elderly chap whose remaining hair had turned grey
He was talking inanely and laughing aloud, but to whom, I can't honestly say

Sure he might have been crazy, he could have been mad, he was probably thick as two bricks
But at least he was happy, which put him one up on the rest of us miserly pricks

He bid us all farewell and got off at Hawksburn, which seemed quite curious to me
Cos no bastard ever gets off down at Hawksburn, there's bugger all stuff there to see

He alighted the train and the beeping sound signaled the train was about to depart
But before all the doors closed he stuck his arse back in and let off an almighty fart

The stench was the most indescrible scent I've had the misfortune to smell
It stunk even worst than Fremantle's decision to give the arse to Peter Bell

And as the man ran away, it suddenly clicked who it was that had left such a smell
It was old Brucie Ruxton, enjoying his first day of retirement from the RSL
 

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A limerick today;

There once was a dog named Jack,
Who ate too much and was fat,
The owners would try to walk him,
But he'd fall and start barking,
So instead they got a cat!

OK, I took that from my poetry english lesson ;).
 
This was one i made up a few years back at school too.

There once was a cat called Matt
Who was very very fat
He sat on a rug
Which had a flesh eating bug
And that was the end of that cat!

Yes I know its very lame. lol ;)
 
May I contribute this pearler from my son Addy who penned it at age 3 sometime last year.

It's called Remote Control


Remote control remote control
Always talking like a troll
Always talking like a troll

Alwaaaaaays, be a troll.
 
I couldn't be stuffed reading this whole thread so it may have been done already, but one of my favourites from the flick 'Idiot Box'.
"You are an idiot, you are a bitch,
You 5hit me to tears..........
I'm goin' to the pub"

And a newie

You could change the colour of your hair
Dark glasses cannot hide
There's no amount of make up
Could ever properly disguise
The one thing that you could not change
No matter how you tried
I caught you out, I recognised
The thing you just can't hide
You tried to mask it with your false words
You turned bull5hit into an art
I should have seen what was really there
In your deceitful sluts heart
 
Originally posted by PrincessPark
Here's one to the tune of "Bitch/Bloke" - written for a member of the Carlton FC who shall at this point remain nameless because he's actually put in a couple of good weeks since it appeared on The Blue View

Hack

Got picked again today
Don't know why, maybe the Devil had his say
I can understand how you'd be so confused
I know that it's true
I'm a little bit of everything
All rolled into one

I'm a hack, I'm a loser
I hang out down the boozer
I cannot kick the ball
Try and chase guys and I fall
I'm a dud, a waste of space
A dropped pastie is my face
You know you wouldn't want me
In the team at all

And here's another thing
I could be making room for Livs or Pickering
Yet the match guys think I'm gold
I play like I'm too old
I look just like a freak
But I'm playing every week!

I'm a hack, I'm a loser
I hang out down the boozer
I cannot kick the ball
Try and chase guys and I fall
I'm a dud, a waste of space
A dropped pastie is my face
You know you wouldn't want me
In the team at all

I'm a hack, I'm a nancy
Not one thing I do is fancy
Any other team would drop me
But you all have to cop me
I'm a disgrace, I am bad
I know it's pretty sad
But you will not get me any other way

I'm a hack, I'm a loser
I hang out down the boozer
I cannot kick the ball
Try and chase guys and I fall
I'm a dud, a waste of space
A dropped pastie is my face
You know you wouldn't want me
In the team at all

(repeat to fade)
Click to expand...

Absolutely marvellous effort that, really super stuff!
 

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Can I join the limerick fun?


There was a great Captain from Wagga
who picked up a blondie to snog her
his Vice came in, screaming
"that's my wife you're reaming
in the Deputy Vice Captain's bogger!"
 
Originally posted by roobear
Can I join the limerick fun?


There was a great Captain from Wagga
who picked up a blondie to snog her
his Vice came in, screaming
"that's my wife you're reaming
in the Deputy Vice Captain's bogger!"
Click to expand...
Some classy work right there,
Performed by our shinboner poet roobear.
 
DCFC is the winner of yesterday's poem of the day. DCFC you are a very talented artist, well done.



Originally posted by Danny Chook Fan Club

This morning I boarded a train to the city at twenty-two minutes past eight
The 8.14 train had been cancelled, I learned, and I knew I was already late

So my mood was quite sullen, like Eddie McGuire when his precious Magpies get done
Or a man who falls into a bucket of nipples and ends up just sucking his thumb

It was one of those old train with cack-coloured carpet, mysterious stains on the chairs
And a unknown brown substance was smeared on the windows, obscuring my view of affairs

Needless to say that I stood in the doorway, since seats were most hard to come by
Jammed right up against a middle-aged bloke who'd neglected to do up his fly

There was no-one to talk to and no-one to perve on as the train chugged along toward town
And I noticed that practically all the commuters wore a grimace, snarl, sneer or frown

But there was one dissenter, an elderly chap whose remaining hair had turned grey
He was talking inanely and laughing aloud, but to whom, I can't honestly say

Sure he might have been crazy, he could have been mad, he was probably thick as two bricks
But at least he was happy, which put him one up on the rest of us miserly pricks

He bid us all farewell and got off at Hawksburn, which seemed quite curious to me
Cos no bastard ever gets off down at Hawksburn, there's bugger all stuff there to see

He alighted the train and the beeping sound signaled the train was about to depart
But before all the doors closed he stuck his arse back in and let off an almighty fart

The stench was the most indescrible scent I've had the misfortune to smell
It stunk even worst than Fremantle's decision to give the arse to Peter Bell

And as the man ran away, it suddenly clicked who it was that had left such a smell
It was old Brucie Ruxton, enjoying his first day of retirement from the RSL
Click to expand...
 

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Rocco's poetry thread

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