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Pokern
 
 
Today's poems [6.28.04]

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There was a Serbian romp
Who asked NATO to make her a bomb.
    But she caused no explosion
    And the smell of corrosion
Made Albanians flee to Hong Kong.

1.   Vote:    Category: Politics Send this poem to a friend




There was an old maid from Bruton 
               Who had the bad habit of pootin'. 
                    Her sphincter was weak, 
                    Her wind she couldn't keep--- 
               This tootin' old spinster from Bruton. 

2.   Vote:    Category: Elderly Send this poem to a friend




There was a young lady named Clair
Who possessed a magnificent pair.
Or at least so I thought,
Till I saw one get caught
On a thorn, and began losing air.

3.   Vote:    Category: Women Send this poem to a friend




               There was a young monk from Dundee 
               Who hung a nun's cunt on a tree. 
                    He grabbed her fair ass 
                    And performed a high mass 
               That even the Pope came to see.

4.   Vote:    Category: Religion and Church Send this poem to a friend




To quote, or not to quote;
That is the question.
Whether 'tis cluefuller on the Net to re-post
The tos and fros of diverse opinions,
Or to take arms against such attributions,
And, by excision, end them. 
                             To trim, to snip:
No more, and by a snip to say we end
The widows and the thousand orphaned words
That posts are heir to,  'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished.
                        To trim, to snip.
To snip, perchance too much. Ay, there's the rub,
For in that joyous chop the sense we lose
When we have taken out the fluff and dross
Must give us pause. 
                     There's the factor
That makes calamity of so long threads.
For who would bear the tos and fros of chat,
Th' cascader's screed, the geek's anality,
The pain of misplacÚd tags, the reeking trolls,
The cliquiness of in-jokes, and the flames
That studied satire draws from clueless fools,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a mere bobbit?
                     Who would cudgel brains
To write a piece, witty and thoughtful too,
But that the hope of making people laugh,
That blessÚd gift of humour from whose touch
No traveller is safe, spurs on the soul,
And makes us rather bear those ills we read
Than carve them up,and mayhap lose the joke?

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And Usenet posters of great sense and content
In this confusion quote more than they should,
And lose the name of Clueful.
                               Read you, now,
The fair Emilia! [1]  Nymph, in thy reminders
Be all my posts remembered.

5.   Vote:    Category: Miscellaneous Send this poem to a friend



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