Poems or Short Stories

I usually dream about fast cars.

Anyway, I like it.

Perhaps dg has........matured :shock:

Dg, matured? Hmm......

*picks up the phone* Hi satan, how's hell doing? No ice? Alrighty. *hangs up the phone*

Nope, not possible :P

Wait, sudden inspiration.....queue rock music

Oh, she's got the devil on speed-dial,
not worried 'bout rank and file,
yeah, straight to the boss with styIe,
she's got the devil on speed-dial.

...........Hmmm, somehow, I was expecting something better. Not sure which way around to put the middle lines either.

Wait, there's more.

Oh, she's got the devil on direct-line,
never a fee, never a fine,
yeah, it's okay calling anytime,
she's got the devil on direct-line.

Well I'm glad you think so highly of me. :roll:

Nice, alx.

Tedium

I pay for the car to drive to work
I drive to work to pay for the car

Mistakes

Pacing slowly down a hall
Thoughts directed inward
No rewind button

A step and a stop and start from the top
A twist and a twirl and go over it again
A sway and a swing and go down with turn
A skip and a hop and ease to a stop

A skip and a hop and ease to a stop
A wave and a tilt and sprint to a jump
A kick and a turn and slow down to a twirl
A step and a stop and start from the top

A step and a stop and start from the top
A twist and a twirl and go over it again
A sway and a swing and go down with turn
A skip and a hop and ease to a stop

A skip and a hop and ease to a stop
A wave and a tilt and sprint to a jump
A kick and a turn and slow down to a twirl
A step and a stop and start from the top

Sith_Fisto

That made my eyes spin

Anyway, here I go:

There was once a man named Jonsono who was a man.

He was top dog in his clan.

Back in New Zealand his granny boiled a potato.

Some pronouce it tomato, but he says potato.

It tasted so bad he smashed it through the window glass.

It flew like a rocket, right onto a donkey's butt.

END

p.s I swear it's profound

Well, it's obviously too profound for the likes of me :P

Let's see......

Once there was a group who believed in the creative-mind.
Always at threat from the rarity of their kind.
Simple and solid, was the temple they built.
Once filled with chants, now filled with silt.

As boots mark their step, among relics of old.
New eyes look upon the stories told.
Words pour into sight, like a heavy rain.
The people may have left, but the spirits remain.

Oh well, we can't all be profound :P

Welcome jon, feel free to light a few torches ;)