Randonimity

[Zarni]

i hope this shows a tad versatility, to go with virility, to end my soliloquy, i'll resort to humility and say that fertility is linked to senility, and loss of mobility with lack of agility, which in all possibility defies plausibility, but all the ability to block our capillaries stems from fallibility of us as humanity.

(that wasn't the poem, just a few random words i just spewed out)

Randonimity[/i][/b]

The giant red sun
Of another world shines,
Laps on the shore,
Of beaches divine.
In the distance see a door.
This door is called Eric,
He welcomes you now,
And into his world,
As we step on through.

Come travellers weary,
And others of ilk near-y.
Rest your heads and hair.
Unroll your nose,
And pull up a knee,
Let top of the bill
For entertainment be me.
I come from near,
I come from far,
However the fancy takes me,
My beautiful face you will not mar,
And straining too much could break me.

My wardrobe is bare,
Oh goodness me no!
The lack of more trees
Fills squirrels with woe.
Fear not though, for I,
In my masterful stance,
Cure all ills and wants
With an arrogant glance,
See how all is better,
And nothing is worse,
Because I have power,
And hate Damien Hurst.

Now Eric,
You lovely magic door,
Pass me a pen,
That happily I may smoke
My eyebrows away.
My elbows grow smaller,
As faster I go,
As all of the followers,
Of Einstein should know.
I like to break stuff,
The stuff that I break,
Is often, though seldom,
Not always awake,
Depends on my mood,
And how much fast food,
That day I consumed
To drive me up the floor.

Over the ceilings and across the doors,
Chasing the flies is such wonderful sport,
See how they dally, then flutter away,
Check out the mallies, in bloom every may.
For only a limited period,
See me standing on my head,
Then, when I get bored,
I stand on my toes,
Switching quite quickly,
Through eyes, ears and nose.
Finishing now, coz I start to ache,
Think I’ll go off
To the kitchen and bake,
Me a brand new thing,
Of chocolaty flavour,
I’ll invite you round,
And together we’ll savour,
The fruits of my labour.

Fear my overly large socks,
The melodies so sweet,
Curses of earbrows,
Especially that meet.
Good omens, bad tidings,
Great joy to the east,
How do you rise,
When you aren’t made of yeast?
Don’t answer my query,
No don’t even try,
Another bad pun and you’ll force me to cry
You wouldn’t want that,
You couldn’t get close,
You weak simple fool,
However you boast.

As sleep fills my eyes
And my head starts to nod,
I bid you farewell,
And to all a goodnight.

[sonnetinkinston]

That was almost as difficult as Faulkner to understand...

Which, coming from me, is a compliment, I assure you. I am one of the rare breed that actually finds his SOC work enjoyable, if difficult.

It's got a dreamy feel to it. Was that the intent, or did it just flow that way?

[Zarni]

i think i wrote it at about 3 oclock in the morning once before i went to bed, when i just had an urge to throw up words all over the page. thus was this, err, heap, of verbocity formed. it's really weird, and i don't understand it myself, but i'm sure if you sat there picking it to bits for long enough it would start to make some sort of sense.

what do you think of the new story?

[sonnetinkinston]

Still working through it. It's a tad lengthy, but interesting so far.