Melancholy

HENCE, all you vain delights,
As short as are the nights
Wherein you spend your folly:
There's nought in this life sweet
If man were wise to see't,	5
But only melancholy,
O sweetest Melancholy!
Welcome, folded arms, and fixèd eyes,
A sigh that piercing mortifies,
A look that's fastened to the ground,	10
A tongue chain'd up without a sound!
Fountain-heads and pathless groves,
Places which pale passion loves!
Moonlight walks, when all the fowls
Are warmly housed save bats and owls!	15
A midnight bell, a parting groan!
These are the sounds we feed upon;
Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley;
Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy.

-J. Fletcher (1579-1625)

A welcome note and an angry ode

I know...it seems as though I'm the only one here who knows how to type :-|

Anyway, ladies and gentledoodles, please put your hands together for the Famed Loser, Ax.

Hoping you are a better member that some donkeys I can name :rolling eyes:


That being said, I want to share a poem with y'all. I'm not proud of it. And I don't think its good. Ususally when I write a poem, I try to poet myself in the shoes of the person I'm writing about. I try to decode/morph my feelings. This time its real. Its not a beautiful poem. But its something I think I should always remember.

The Red Umbrella

I had a red umbrella
and what did I do?
I bought some black paint
And covered it for you

The next day was wicked
As cold as could be
The wind attacked my umbrella                                   (sooooo unimaginative)
And snatched it from me

In that sea of black ones
Mine was nowhere to be found
I held back my tears
I didn't make a sound

Thought you would come help me
Show that you care
But you just stood there and laughed
With that cold, icy stare

I asked you what happened
Did I do something wrong?
I saw you pick up an umbrella
Next moment you were gone.

(dedicated wholeheartedly to SHITHEAD. Hope your life sucks, manbitch!)

img: theb-line.blogspot.com