My Cirq Du Freak Guy

Mr. Puke-Alot
Likes To Eat Lots Of Jaffas And Shortbread
Makes Meals Out Of His Mouth
****** Star Chef
He Wears A Gourme Chef Apron And A Chef Hat The Apron Has Black And White Checks
On It
He Can Puke Out Anything His Puke Can Melt Even The Hardest Strongest Of Steel
When He Pukes Up A Tube It Takes It To A Fountain And The Fountain Makes
PUKE FOUNTAIN Then He Jumps In And Swims In It
THen Cirque Du Frak Bring Out A Goat And He Pukes All Over It And It Melts!

Poem Story

My Poem Story Thing!


The Dragonborn was staring into the eye of the dragon, its scales a dark greyish coulour, jagged like rocks,
teeth as sharp as iceburgs. Dragon born and the Whiterun guards and Iraleth the Dark Elf that serves Jarl Balgruf The Great.

Dovakhin ( Dragon Born ) He unsheathed his shimmering sword Dovakhin shouted with Unrelenting Force
 The Dragon staggerd on the grass in fear the dragon loaded its scaly cheeks
with hot FIRE to burn Dovakhin ... the dragon let out the nastiest roar and burned the grass
''Sir were is Dovakhin'' One of the Whiterun guards yelled.

Suddenly out of the fire came dovakhin with his shield eventhough he was badly burned
the solgiers and him battled on for many hours the overwelming power of the dragon
although they were out manned they fought on.

This was it Dovakhin versus the Dragon, the Dragon made the first move shooting up into the air
it spiraled round in a cloud of ash above the Western Watchtower Dovakhin pulled out his Elven Bow
and shot into the cloud of ash a couple of times
The Dragon Gave out a yelp of pain the arrow was stuck in the Dragons Kneea drip of blood dropped onto
Dovakhins Lip he liked his lips and swallowed the Dragon crashed into the floor Dovakhin ran over to the Dragon and pushed his sword through its neck the Dragon was dead.

The End!   :)             

Ballad Dragonborn Comes

 Our Hero, our Hero, claims a warrior's heart 
I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes      
With a Voice wielding power of the ancient Nord art
Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes
It's an end to the evil of all Skyrim's foes 
Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes
For the darkness has passed and the legend yet grows
You'll know, you'll know, the Dragonborn comes


Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin
Naal ok zin los vahriin
Wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal
Ahrk fin norok paal graan                             <------- This Is The Translation Into Dragon Shout
Fod nust hon zindro zaan
Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal


Dragonborn Dragonborn
By his honor is sworn
To keep evil forever at bay
And the fiercest foes rout
When they hear triumph's shout
Dragonborn for your blessing we pray
Eventhough This Is On A AWSOME Game Called Skyrim
It Is Still A Ballad

If There's...
If there's one face I want to see,
so beautiful, so true,
one smile that makes a difference,
to everything I do.

If there's one touch I long to feel,
one voice I long to hear,
whenever I am happy,
or just needing someone near.

If there's one joy, one love,
from which I never want to part,
it's you, my very special love,
my world, my life, my heart.

- John Ragland -

I Love This Poem <~~~~ See What I Did There

Akutagawa, Ryunosuke

Green frog,
Is your body also
freshly painted?
I Like This One Because It Is Very Funny And Very Old

Woods at Night

By : Annette Bigger


Wild geese fly with the moon on their wings,
And a nightingale sits on a branch as it sings.
All is peaceful in the still of night, and the moon is shining very bright.

There's only a rustle of a breeze in the trees,
And to night for sure there will be a freeze.
For the air is crisp, so crisp it will snap,
At the slightest sound, rustle or rap.

An owl skims slowly o'er the treetops.
It slowly circles 'round a tree and stops.
It sits and surveys the forest floor,
Captivated by mystery and woodsy lore.

For at night in the forest there's gamey in the air,
And the wild fox now creeps out of its lair.
It yaps and the stillness is split with a knife,
Yet all else continues with no conflict or strife.

This Poem Is Very Relaxing and Very Descriptive

"How to Die"

Dark clouds are smouldering into red
  While down the craters morning burns.
The dying soldier shifts his head
  To watch the glory that returns;
He lifts his fingers toward the skies
  Where holy brightness breaks in flame;
Radiance reflected in his eyes,
  And on his lips a whispered name.

You'd think, to hear some people talk,
  That lads go West with sobs and curses,
And sullen faces white as chalk,
  Hankering for wreaths and tombs and hearses.
But they've been taught the way to do it
  Like Christian soldiers; not with haste
And shuddering groans; but passing through it
  With due regard for decent taste.
  By Anonomous

           I Like The Chill Of This Poem Its Very Sad

Heaven

 

Does heaven have a phone number?

Mommy went to heaven,

but I need her here today.

My tummy hurts and I fell down;

I need her right away.

 

Operator, can you tell me

how to find her in this book?

Is heaven in the yellow part?

I don't know where to look.

 

I think my daddy needs her too,

at night I hear him cry.                

I hear him call her name sometimes,

but I really don't know why.

 

Maybe if I call her,

she will hurry home to me.

Is heaven very far away?

Is it across the sea?

 

She's been gone a long, long time-

she needs to come home now!

I really need to reach her.

I simply don't know how.

 

Help me find the number, please.

Is it listed under "heaven"?

I can't read these big, big words;

I am only seven.

 

I'm sorry, operator,

I didn't mean to make you cry.

Is your tummy hurting too--

or is there something in your eye?

 

If I call my church

maybe they will know.

Mommy said when we need help

that's where we should go.

 

I found the number to my church

tacked up on the wall.

Thank you, operator

I'll give them a call.

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--Kenn Nesbitt

I Like The Format Of This Poem

           The School Day Begins    
     It's Monday morning at 7:01.
     You’re still half asleep; your homework’s half done.
     Your shower is cold; your oatmeal’s dry.
     Your mother forgets to kiss you good-bye.
     You’re walking to school; it’s thirty degrees.
     Your fingers won’t work; your toes and ears freeze.
     Your zipper is stuck; your left sneaker squeaks.
     Your backpack strap snaps; your soup thermos leaks.
     You slip on school steps; you trip in the hall.
     The toilet floods in the bathroom stall.
     The gym door is locked; library’s the same.
     The principal greets you by the wrong name.
     Your classroom is hot; the coat rack is packed.
     Your bean sprout is dead; your clay pot is cracked.
     Your pencils are dull; the sharpener jams.
     Your fingers get crunched when your desktop slams.
     Your math partner’s gone; your neighbor is rude.
     Your teacher’s again in a crabby mood.
     The morning bell rings; it is 8:01.
     Come cozy up to the whiteboard,
     Another school day’s begun.   

   By: Anonomous

I Like This Poem Because That Is Kinda What Happens
And The Ryming Is Very Goo