Gosh, That's Terrible
Two pots are sat having their lunch break. One turns to the other, and says "Hey, did you hear about Gary.
3rd Year Joint Hons Geography-Archaeology student. Currently figuring out how life works.
Two pots are sat having their lunch break. One turns to the other, and says "Hey, did you hear about Gary.
Lashing at my window, Viciously it hails. The amount of noise it's making, It may as well be nails..
#beginningline From behind the clouds and out of sight, the cylinder appeared. Except, it wasn't really a cylinder, more of a hollow tube. A hollow tube, with ridges.
Writing for the sake of writing, Throwing words onto the page, Trying hard to make sense of it all, Fighting a nervous rage. Surely this should get easier As I write more and more.
There once was a limerick written, With which it's author was smitten. The structure maintained, New words ordained, A plethora of verse in one sittin'..
#turquoise #colourchallenge The turquoise porpoise Is quite a thing to behold. Watch out for it in your fridge, Or indeed anywhere cold.
Oh my goodness, She spoke to me. Tell me this isn't true. My mouth is full Of delicious cake. Whatever shall I do. I should respond, But how exactly. My voice is blocked by food.
Lean, mean, And septic green, Mushy cucumber Makes fridge unclean. Old, cold, Fluffy with mould, Wear rubber gloves Before you hold. In, bin, The fruity sin, Retched stench Comes from within.
My computer just turned itself off, Which I thought was rather odd. I suppose I would know what was going on, If I wasn't such a lazy sod.
Think, not sleep. Stand, bend, plunge Into the mosaic of your thoughts. Drift, Drowse, Doze Amongst the flowers. No logic here, No inhibitions. Eyelids heavy, Spirit light.
To my sweet (potato), Thankyou for being there for me (in my stomach). You bring me such joy (and nourishment), and it is hard to imagine life without you (my little Ipomoea).
Thrown in at the deep end, Land without a splash. There's no water where I am, Just cables and a system crash. No idea what to do, A vertical learning curve.
Nine times nine is eighty-one, So is twenty-seven times three. This is also the total number of posts On Opuss belonging to me. One-hundred-and-sixty-two when halved Is equal to the same.
.......................DD. DNND. DNOOND. DNOMMOND. DNOMAAMOND. DNOMAIIAMOND. DNOMAIDDIAMOND. DNOMAIIAMOND. DNOMAAMOND. DNOMMOND. DNOOND. DNND. DD.
Why does the rainbow get so much fuss. It's not like the colours are new. You can find them, after all, In other places too. Red in the flesh of a tomato, Red in the mark of a knife.
Juggling a glass of water, It's easier than it sounds. The trick is not to catch the glass, But let no water hit the ground. Juggling two glasses of water, An exciting trick to see.
If pears were square, And bananas were round, Wouldn't that be something Quite profound. You could stack up your fruit, All nice and neat. Then being pear-shaped Would seem quite a treat.
So much to say, Don't know where to start. Speak from the head, Or speak from the heart. Start first with my feelings, Or first with the facts. So much hinges on How my audience reacts.
To not recognise your reflection, Is to lose track of yourself. A confusing mental projection Can be bad for your health. The stranger in the mirror, The shadow on the wall.
You stare up through the ceiling, Wondering if there's a God. You feel like David Bowman, Alone in his space pod. You stare down through the floor, Wondering if there's a Hell.
Today's the day I update, Install Craig 2.0. Open up birthday.exe, Click ok, and away we go. I will miss Craig 1.9, Its familiar teenage layout.
I remember my favourite picture, A rectangle, all in white. I pinned it to my white garden fence, Hidden in plain sight. I left it there for all to see, Yet many passed it by.
07:15, I'm awake, Sleep, more sleep I must take. 18:00, oh no, oh no. Where on earth did the day just go. Two hours later, I'm unpacking my suitcase just to feel like I've done something productive!.
Sacramento and Aberdeen, Are many miles apart. 4959.1 in fact; Tomorrow my journey will start. 10 hours, 18 minutes, I'll be in the air, Then jetlag will greet me at home.
It's funny How long A second Can seem, Yet the next is quickly gone. They can Drag by At a Slow pace, Then suddenly the minute is done.
One minute poetry, First thing that comes to mind. Suddenly all those clever words Are very hard to find.
"A moa with a mower Is a fine and dandy thing." Said the man before me, Who made my doorbell ring. "A moa with a mower. Don't be so absurd.
Three words, Three little words, Is all it takes To end the summer. 'Back to school'. I stand at the window, Watch the children pass.
................Wibble....................................................................Wibble......... ..........Wibble........................... ..............................Wobble......
The night. Longer than the day, In more ways than one. It comes quick, and slick, Black paint, oily, thick. It replaces light with nothing, An absence that is whole.
It's 6:30 AM. But not where I am. Here, it's 10:30 PM. The more I think about this, the more wonderful this concept becomes. Here, in California, I am getting ready for bed.
His eyes are ruined. Bloodshot, strained, unfocused. They have forgotten all colours. All colours bar orange. The never ending orange. His chest heaves with the effort of moving. His lungs creak.
I have been gone, Gone far too long. Strayed from the path, No map to guide me back. I have stumbled through the trees, I have floundered through the rivers.
I’d like to plan the world a trench And mark it out with string Get out spades and whet the blades Lift up the turfing.
I haven't had time recently, To visit my favourite bench. The green grass of the park of Opuss, Has been replaced with a trench. An archaeological trench, to be precise, Is where I have been this...
Two views. .sweiv owT In. nI. Out. .tuO A glimpse. .espmilg A Snapshot. .tohspanS Clear. .raelC Silent. .tneliS Private. .etavirP Public. .cilbuP Separate. .etarapeS Intrusive. .evisurtnI Idle.
Was it In the closet. Or there By the chair. I've lost My other sock Can't find it Anywhere. Did it camp By the lamp. Fall in To the bin. Is it snug On the rug. Hide and seek It will win.
"Your toupee Is in my teepee. Please get it out of there." "Why has your teepee Got my toupee.
The first time you hear that song, You know that together you belong. Who is this song by, what is it's name. To find that song becomes your aim.
@sjw #household "They're fabulous, darling, a work of art, I can see that they came straight from your heart.
My parody of Sting's 'An Englishman in New York'. Purely meant as a bit of fun - try reading it along with the actual song.
I woke up this morning to quite a surprise, At first I thought I'd broken my eyes. My life's canvas is blank, completely wiped clean, I've simply no clue what this might mean.
Quiet you. I try to write poetry. You trip up, I write peotry. #purepoetry.
Were-Pet. You trip, It rip. Pity. @brownowl2012 #purepoetry.
Peter worry Terry, Terry worry Peter. It were trite witter, Petty quip o' Twitter®. @brownowl2012 Howzat. #purepoetry.
We all remember that fateful day, When Miss Pronunciation finally got her way. After pushing the monarch to abdication, She took control of our good nation.
"Good grief Son, your room is a mess!" Said Mother to Son one day.
Let's pretend we're young once more, Race each other to the shore. Bury our feet in the sand, No need for a spade, just use your hand.
"Salutations, my dear citizen!" Proclaimed a bass voice loudly.
Half-formed sentences. Incomplete ideas. The poet's mind flits between them all, A nervous butterfly not sure where to land. Everything is inspiring.
Hand-dryer, why do you torment me so. Hot air is all I want you to blow. I put my hands beneath your spout, Yet no hot air is coming out. Leaky tap, why do you torment me so.
The hardest part of writing poetry Is not making sure it all rhymes. It's not even checking your spelling, Nor being topical with the times.
The story that I am about to tell Is one of great sorrow. I recently made a terrible mistake, And now I fear, toast is my foe. I awoke and rose from my bed, My stomach ready for food.
That patch of grass under a tree, which on a sunny day you sit upon, only to find that a dog has preceded you and left a little present.
That patch of grass under a tree, which on a sunny day has just the right amount of sun and shade. That bite of a sandwich that perfectly combines bread and filling in a glorious culinary combination.
Another wonderful surprise greeted me when I logged in this morning. Thanks to the hugely positive response to 'Thoughts', I won Opuss of the Day.
Having been away from Opuss for a while, I have spent some time tonight browsing all the excellent material that has been posted.
I was part of a line once. Deliberate, straight, and happy. Fluorescent orange on dark grey. Stretching forever. But no more. Alas, I am now alone. There is no longer any line. There is only me....
"Oh this is so typical of Mr Past," Exclaimed a voice quite irate.
It's that great time of year, When my work is all done. The freedom I've longed for Has finally come. What shall I do now. Where should I start. This freedom both scares me And brightens my heart.
Come closer children, gather round, And hear what I have to say. Though this story may seem odd to you now, It will all make sense one day.
I came across the concept of 'pilish' yesterday, and was quickly intrigued. From my understanding pilish prose follows the numbers of pi, so that each word matches the next number e.g. 3.14...
I've just hit 40 likes for my latest poem. Wow. Thankyou so much. It really means a great deal to me that you guys appreciate my work, and it has given me extra motivation to keep on writing.
Something happened on Monday at 6:00. Or was it Tuesday at 9:00. Whenever it was, the important thing is That something has happened to Time. I think that Time is broken. It was my birthday yesterday.
The very mention of its name strikes fear into my heart. It means many things. Sleepless nights. Baked beans and pasta. For breakfast. Scrumpled paper strewn across the floor.
Ideas flicker in the dark of the mind, Brilliant, fleeting, and Gone. The candle stands, Just out of reach. Waiting for the match. For the spark. For the flame.
I really should be sleeping, But I'm just lying here instead. Staring at the darkness, Thoughts floating through my head. All the things to do tomorrow, All the things I didn't do today.
The deadline is set, But it's three weeks away So there's plenty of time To go out and play. The deadline draws nearer, Now two weeks to go Yes, I know it's coming, Believe me, I know.
Imagine if you had no thumbs. There would be so many things that instantly became more complex... Like shaking hands. Opening a door. Playing Jenga. Holding your iPod or iPhone. Any phone in fact.
Two seagulls, a father and son, are standing on a lawn. "Dad, I'm hungry..." moans the little seagull. "Tough luck." replies his father.
You may have noticed, my friends, a certain delay In my posting of a new Opuss today. Fear not. I've not left, I couldn't do that, Opuss is my favourite metaphorical cat.
As I strolled down the street one evening In the distance I saw a large crowd Getting closer I saw a man on a box Waving and shouting out loud.
So, I've emailed a poem to Opuss...no posting yet. It worked straight away before, so if it isn't here by tomorrow, I shall post it manually!.
I got a little surprise when I logged in to Opuss today... I am now rank 100 and have 100 followers. (I know the counter says 93 but I double checked haha.) Thankyou, and hello to any new followers.
The saying goes that "the pen is mightier than the sword". Interesting then that 'sword' is a simple anagram of 'words'..
Wouldn't it be nice, to one day be the person being quoted..
It arrives suddenly, Without warning. Rising from the deep, Clouding your mind. Feel the power it gives you. The heat. The energy. Searing through your veins. It should hurt, but it does not.
A career made on opinions. His opinions. Unlike other peoples', his opinions mattered. Especially to him. His opinions made him who he was. They opened doors. They made him new friends.
One wig is a loner Two wigs are a pair Three wigs are a funny crowd Four wigs... so much hair!.
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Is it one word. Or is it two. How ever it should be, I'm saying it to you. Thankyou for following me. Your feedback really means a lot :).
I know the high-rise you live in I know the lifts don't work I know you hate the neighbour's cat Especially it's smirk.
I open the feed, and gorge on the words. I gaze in wonder at the conjured images, laugh heartily at the witty jokes, feel humbled by the life stories.
In the centre of the wall, a single red light flickered on. The small, black speaker below it crackled into life, and a cold, metallic voice filled the room.
"The human brain is composed of at least 300,000,000 nerve cells, each an independent organism.
There once was a man and his dog Who loved to walk in the fog One day they were walking And chatting and talking And then he fell over a log..
If I plant a tulip bulb, a tulip will grow. If I plant a daffodil bulb, a daffodil will grow. If I plant a light bulb, what will grow?.
Thankyou to everyone who is already following me/commenting on my posts. I never expected such a positive and instant reaction when I joined Opuss - I'm looking forward to seeing where this leads :).
Did you hear about the family who lived in a tyre. They popped it, and now they live in a flat..
I wonder if a humble speck of sand so small tiny microscopic is aware it is part of something bigger.
I just downloaded Opuss yesterday, so I'm still in the exploratory phase. I think I may have found the repost button haha...Give me time, and I'll figure it out!.
Sitting on a park bench Looking for pigeons to feed, Ignoring the crumpled newspaper That I brought to read.