Mousen's Poem Thread.

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Mousen's Poem Thread.

Post by MousenHeath on Sat Jul 10, 2010 5:54 pm

Going to post all poems here. Please post comments, <3 Constructive criticism the lot. So Here we go.
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The Cheshire Mimebones

Post by MousenHeath on Sat Jul 10, 2010 5:58 pm

Unfortunately, Sir,
I am completely and utterly mad Sir,
You see?
Completely and utterly mad.
And to expect a sane answer from me, Sir,
Would make you as mad is I.
Why am I mad, Sir? You ask, you ask.
Why am I mad, Sir? You ask, you ask.
Because I own the Cheshire Mimebones, Sir,
You see?
I own the Cheshire Mimebones, you see.
Also Sir, I do believe I am lost, Sir.
Yes, lost, Sir,
Lost in Wonderland

(Sig poem for Evelon My first poem ever. It's my favourite too.)
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Venus Flytrap Syndrome

Post by MousenHeath on Sat Jul 10, 2010 6:00 pm

She got lost in your eyes.
taken by suprise.
you left her bleeding.
like every other girl.
you left her crying.
once they get lost in your eyes theres no going back.
your a butterfly, with a venomous sting.
a venus flytrap awaiting prey.
you use your eyes to lure them away.
A waiting game to see when they'll crack.
You say you love them.
Then push the away.
you say you love them.
then leave them bleeding.

I came along.
I beat you at your game.
I was playing angler fish.
pretending to be prey,
you got lost in my eyes.
You loved me
But suprise suprise.
It was I pushed you away.
now you lay bleeding
saltwater blood.


A broken heart,
saltwater seeping throgh the cracks.
I just hope you wont leave her bleeding next time.
Just don't leave me bleeding
And I'll do the same.


Early one. No good. It ain't nonsense.


Last edited by Mousenheath on Sun Aug 15, 2010 2:20 am; edited 1 time in total
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The Game.

Post by MousenHeath on Sat Jul 10, 2010 6:02 pm

Things never change.
Do things ever change?
In this sorry messed up game
Where the most pathetic win
A game where everybody speaks
And nobody listens
They speak with a forked tongue
In this sorry, messed up game.
Where the best liar wins
It's a sorry messed up game.
But things may change

Its buiness of lieing
Speaking and deciving
saying things you don't mean
so you can leave them bleeding
It's a sorry messed up game
Will things ever change?


There has to be someone out there
someone like me.
Who relizes his is just a sorry messed up game
Where things never change
It's a sorry messed up game
Where things must change.

Everthings the same
in this sorry messed up game.
They call it life.
But what kind of a life is this?
Nobody want to live this,
messed up, sorry game
But things have to change
Something has to break
In this sorry messed up game.

It's a bit crappy and predicable, but it was an early one. Very Early; this is the last of my teenagery Style; before I stray onto nonsense. o3o


Last edited by Mousenheath on Sun Aug 15, 2010 2:19 am; edited 1 time in total
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Patchbones Nursery Rhyme

Post by MousenHeath on Sat Jul 10, 2010 6:03 pm

Down where the pumpkin patch is.
Where the Patchbones live
And the hoogleysnakcs go romping.
Along with the frizzifraters.
Is a wise old oak tree, sat in an owl
The more the Jabborwocky spoke, the less he saw.
And the hoogelsnacks go romping.
Oh yes with the Frizzifraters too.
You may think me mad.
Oh yes you may.
But just remember this:
Never bet agaist a phchic Khuna.
Then you'll get your way.
Unless the Romping Hoogleyfratters and the Frittersnack decide.
Insanity is a gift my friends, my dearest oldest friends,
and when the time comes my glorious, ludocris friends,
use it well.


I did get a Patchbones; and this is my sig o3o. (on Evelon x.x)


Last edited by Mousenheath on Sun Aug 15, 2010 2:21 am; edited 2 times in total
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A Twisted Tale.

Post by MousenHeath on Sat Jul 10, 2010 6:14 pm

Jangling the key, the forest through wich he strode.
Rescuing fair maiden, as the stories told.
The thorned forests of calough
Shalamanks poisonous toad.
Avoiding the glare of a well thought trap.
Moonlight running down the white hare's back.
From the darkness springs new hope.
A gleeful feast on berope.
A trick? A trap? The maiden sleeps.
Unaware her rescuer comes
He rides in tarnished armour,
Battle worn, but not by him.
His fare mule gallops galore
His promise of food enough for her.
Zulay, the beast sleeps.
Grasses grow, hiding the deep.
Depths of the pond, knows no bounds
Sucking the unwary travveler down.
Thorns grow without roses.
He travells further more.
The tower stands alone.
He knows the beast well enough,
For he lost his head the time before.
Or was it the time after that?
Nonsence proud he travvels on
pumkin it it's place.
A headless horseman
A night in tarnished armour
Saving the sleeping maid.
The Beast,
Thet fight, the only way they can.
Chessboard layed the battle begins,
Wits sharp as pin ends.
The beast knows this is his last.
He has lost the fight.
Knocking the black king to the ground.
A feast awaits on Broghuway!
The knight in tarnished armour rides.
To save the maiden fair.
The tower looms, shreiking pinskies high above.
Undaughted he, climbs the stair.
Pumkin eyes, dark and bare.
The maiden she sleeps, dead rose in hand.
Her face pale as spirit be.
Hair, dark like the shroud of night.
Perfection inatainable?
She awakes, eyes flashing open.
Red like the setting sun.
Black lips, reveal pointed teeth,
Darkness surround.
Our knight he flees not.
For in a twisted fairy tail,
The death love each other.
The demon,
The knight ,minus his head.
For in a gothic fairy tale,
The light never will prevail.
The light sees our fears come true
While the dark lets our focus hide.
Lets the shadows play.
For in a Twisted fairy tale,
We can pretend everything is going to be...
Just okay...


Need I say any more?


Last edited by Mousenheath on Sun Aug 15, 2010 2:19 am; edited 1 time in total
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At the Bottom of the Garden.

Post by MousenHeath on Sat Jul 10, 2010 6:24 pm

Winter falls, Darkness through the setting sun, the mist rises.
Obsurcing the path.
Curing bad luck trod on the assembalance of an army.
Darkness rise
Through the many bogs and troubled dens
The army moves.
Many feet.
Faces pale, lips dark.
Female figures.
The last of the fighters
They come for an unknown call.
For the battle they see coming.
For the fight that takes them toward the last.

Mist falls, dark moons rise.
Following the pattern of too many years.
Undead and faltering they step on.
Unfeeling through the sad swamps
Bogs and lagoons, mud puddle toads
Boggling snakkers, faboos galore.
The run through the swamp,
Feet bare.
Eyes glint red, death by heart.
Souls of death rise above.
The wind cries a simple tear,
As the rain dismisses the mist,
All the fears, all the dreams.
Just a simple garden, stuck in the rain.
Imaginations will always run wild,
Given the chance to be free.


I love this one. <3


Last edited by Mousenheath on Sun Aug 15, 2010 2:18 am; edited 1 time in total
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Inspired by Inkdeath

Post by MousenHeath on Sat Jul 10, 2010 6:25 pm

The simple cover staring back.
Another book.
Another page.
A thousands words,
of many voices
One of millions.
Pages torn and ripped
Lying dead, the story broken
Another death,
Written in ink.


It's not very good. Inspired by the book title "inkdeath"


Last edited by Mousenheath on Sun Aug 15, 2010 2:17 am; edited 1 time in total
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Unfortunately Sir; the girl you just called is completely mad and cannot take your call right now. Don't ring back.

Post by MousenHeath on Sun Aug 15, 2010 2:16 am

At times like these I dread to think,
With out the soft light of a gentle nat.
And the high squeaking of a passing bat
And down the rabbit hole,
Where everything is at it's ideal.
What would we do with out our 2/3 seal?

And of course, my dear sir,
Everyting is so surreal.
It's a charmed Wonderland;
Where our dreams are close by hand,
It seems to be; the state of mind,
we must try to find;
Is that of a hatter;
or perhaps a kalahind.

It is nonsense you know;
In these poems of mine.
It seems to me, this one's rather fine.
The nonsense though is sensible enough,
That will never do! Bringout the moon's tea trough!
The bookmarks will dance with the rulers.
Under the light of the jewled molars.

The books! The books indeed!
Will line up with the hapiancheed!
The madness will play;
The hare will have it's day.

Under the sway of the moon.


It's official; I've finally stayed off "abnormal" and into "eccentric." No reason. Please don't ask.o3o. This is the rough draft. It's not perfect. o3o
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