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Looked outside- pretty stormy night..
Nothing of the sort
Scattered on the paper..
There's funk a brewin', and it's quite a sight..
Yon wind is howling, with thunder prowling
Nearby.. scattered.. on recycled skies..
That was the test- that thinger right there..
A tap on the window on a night like that
Will send you to wonder or frightful despair..
"Hey!" said God..
"What's up?" said God..
Pretty strange, that.. what say?
"H-hi." I said rather meekly.. "Is that there piece of work yours?"
God looked confused.
"N-no- yonder.. storm.. thing.." said I..
"Hm? Oh.. heheh.. yes, that.. cookin' me up some poetry I am..
Meteors, torrents.. the whole shebang..
World peace and lovin' and all that I can..
And naught but a storm in the eyes of a man."
He sighed as he sat in the garden, taking up most of it.
He's bigger than you'd expect.
God seemed sad.
"Do me a favour m'good man.. when you wake up you'll probably think
This was all a dream and all that j
Upon closer inspection,
This is not the place
Where the birds gather to embrace the
Beat of the wind,
And to sing the song of the heart..
But I\'ll find it.
Today I got out a little piece of paper
And I wrote \"my future\" in the middle,
And I made a little paper airplane with it
And I looked far away, right at the spot with the trees
Near the foot of the mountain where the pretty
Sky meets the trees and I flew my plane
Right at it.
If you were rushing to and almost late for the most important meeting of, say, your career
And you saw Jesus on the way,
And he asked you to stop with him to admire and/or bask in the flowers
On some kinda yummy, sunny day..
That'd be weird.
I see you've played Knifey-Spooney before..
If war is bad
And love is good
Where people die
When evil should
And greed resides
Where giving could:
Why does man post
Where life once stood?
Yeah. Like, a flag or whatever. Imperiamism and all that.
Yeah but, post?
Hey, shut up. I don't tell you how to write..
I don't think God would want people to bow to 'im if he approached 'em,
I don't think he's got anything against athiests, coloured folk, gays, remarried folk, or even Microsoft,
I don't think he wants you bitchin' at any of 'em on his behalf,
And I don't think he'd be very good at Pong.
I mean, his hands must be what, a carpark wide?
If you were God.. would you ask say, me, to bow to you? I mean, for k
Ri Ra agus Ruaille Buallie
As older grows mine anxious mind, my shelf grows ever heavy;
I've won your love, the Nobel Prize, some crayons and a Chevy,
But still the loot I crave seems not to graze the skills I levy,
There's not a rhyme within my mind that wouldst earn me a Devvie.
Give the man a banjo and a funky, funky cat..
He can tailor suits and major moots and live within a hat..
He's got no purple cipher and his mushroom has no mat..
But still he spiels like a clockawork wheel and here's a song about that..
Words never were for wording,
And wording not for him,
And words and hymns that never were,
Were wondering when he'd win..
So if you see a peacock,
And wonder if it's me,
Then gizz' a call upon my phone,
At some time after three..
Where'pon I'll say- Confound it man,
Take thou me for some bird?
I'll state that I'm a camel,
And I'll rhyme it with absurd..
If words were writ for wording,
And wording wrote to me,
I'd write a word that rhymed with bird,
At some time after three..
Confound me if I seiz
Lost in the purest and deepest regions of the ocean,
There's a really pretty, shiny, shiny stone.. I believe..
And I'd like to find it before I die..
Calm and a subtle wind prevail
In an olden house in a shimmering vale,
And a calm and a swish and consistency fails
And the house becomes warm at the pace of a snail..
The house that was perfect in every detail.
But the swish turned to howling,
The warmth became snarling,
And clawing and burning
And raging and growling..
And a blaze,
And an endless maze,
And a red like no other
In a smothering haze
As I run and I stumble
Away from the rumble
To nowhere at all
As my only home crumbles
Five steps at a time,
With a leap and a fall
To the base of a stairway
To nowhere I stumble
I twist and I tumble
To a home
And to nowhere
Take me home
I want to go home
Away from the red- from the hideous red!
And I awoke-
And you weren\'t there..
Cars travel in lines and lines,
And each one tries its best to look
Like the next,
Until the next is flung from the path
In a spiralling frenzy,
Taking with it a few souls,
Some spilt lemonade and a
Few more from the lines and lines.
Just one of those things that you hear about
On the radio-waves,
Or that you can just about see
At the side of the road
Screaming \"Nothing to see here, lads\" to the
Beat of a hundred and twenty flashing blue
Lights, every minute.
But it\'s never, ever real.
It\'s just one of those things..
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More