Havent done one of these in a while.
Post "Poetry" or "Prose" if you want to play.
Someone else will give you a prompt/idea/setting/whatever, then you have to write either poetry or prose based on that.
Only rules are whatever you write needs to all fit in a single post, and your time limit is 10 minutes.
If you roll trips you get to name your own prompt.
poetry (what are the requirements to be considered poetry? does it have to be in meter and or rhyme, if so....prose)
poopie pants
poetry
Ah, the steamy load of life
a trifle here, a truffle there
full of happy times and despair
and sometimes both at once
to sit or stand is oft a question
and when running errends
or even at work
what have you eaten and drank
and wherest might be the potty port
Yes, so oft, the pains of life, the joys of life
surge deep within the earths bowels
brewing, stewing, spurting, storming
a sunny day here
a monsoon erupting near volcano there
a rumble in the jungle, tis what it is
and then, when after a night of drinking at the bar
why not, sitting on stool, surveying the compatriots,
why not have some fun?
why not play a game or two?
why not stew in your own homemade brew
and doth protest the stench of this modern way
the same old same old
the neat and tidy order
the prim and proper clean
the cologne and body wash and spray
why not look at the women next to you in the eye
and while asking her if you may purchase her a drink of choice
start to, of course while thinking of her sweet flower bud,
contribute soil to such a nearby land
in hope roots might grow between you
as, perchance, a conversation starter
as so likely too, you should, if there is no comment on the matter
begin to loosen your belt, and hoisting your jeans to the heavens
shout at God and say
"is this what you want from me, is this what we have brought things to, is this what my life has come to?!"
and see if this bier maiden be not impressed
or obsessed due to the increased pheromones in air
and to really show that fairer sex, who is boss
and who wants what with what they think
and what have you
with this feminism business
rip her from her chair, and slide your pants onto her legs
and they said chivlry is dead
in this relationship she may wear the pants
a ski slope
very good, very nice
poetry
poetry
cocaine
the world through a child's eyes
A child
what a dumb retarded fucking stupid cunt
the world through its eyes
ignorance and animalia stupidity
what innocent beauty and splendid wonder
crying in the store
shouting in the parking lot
shitting pants
drawing on the walls
what wonder and sacred majesty
the poetry of the earth
truly as God intended
flows through a childs mind
in perfect perpetuity
a constant razzmatazz
fluttering through the heart nodes
bewildering with the highest pleasures
endless days melding together of adventure
and cosmic beauty displayed from sea to sea
from star to star
from ear to ear
a smile, a laugh, a love, a lot
a butterfly, a beetle, a stink bug, a bee
swinging from trees and the blue skies and rain
is all a movie, all a play
ah, the endless days
to ring around a rosie garden and
become an angel in pink petals
to be so gay with the ew girls
gay meaning happy of course
blessed blessed life and love
how we long, and short
endless time is youth
a child lives forever
there are only children
relatively grown old
poetry
crack
bang
splatter
shatter
zip
zash
a zinger zipping
overload
more more
now
now
now
or never
now
or never
more
faster
faster
zippy
woooooo
yes
yes
yes
go
go
go
please
now
faster
a zing zang
zippity
yes please
and running, lights
shimmer
the bright
sprinting through the darkness
the discoball explodes its semen a million times a second
the lover, my lover
all my lovers
my friends explode and love it
my lovers spin in circles and lay on the carpet
I dash, dashingly, forward
always forward
always
always
go
yes
faster
now
nor never
never never
always say never
to not now
gooooo
please go
ok, we have arrived
we have arisen
obtaining the sacred shield
the holy oak
the splintered cell
the shattered moon
blinding my inner eye
invigorate me
dance me into moonlight
turn my temple into stained glass
caress my moon beam
tap my treasured chest
beating, beating
ruffle my fluffy feathers Daddy
tickle my naughty fancies mummy
engulf the night
love the night
caress the moon night
I followed her 4 stops
we walked tenderly, we kissed heroically
holding her lips like a seagull does its clam
and tossing it down towards the rocks
we
were
kinds
recklessly dashing
dashingly
tailored suits and pies
champagne at sunrise with the crisp lux
on horizon
the blanket in the park under the cherry tree
oh across the harbor your were dancing
in the shadows of the tallest buildings
and all I saw was you
that eve
Prose please
amazing
erectile dysfunction
the rise of technology and the subsequent fall of humanity
Somebody write prose about a man named Wilbert B. Zeltser.
prose poetry
a man named Wilbert B. Zeltser
The pumped-up collar, the pumped-up shoes; he’s groovin’, he walks one way and moves another, he’s whipping his pompadour at you now; he is Funkmaster Wilbert B. Zeltser. He grabs the microphone like it's his honey, leans in real close to the audience, and says: "Hey how's it going?"
It was then that the ninjas burst through the ceiling. The patrons ran and screamed, but Zeltser knew what they were after: the Funk Portal. He fought them off one by one as they leapt onto the stage. He was able to disable them all, save for one, who struck his side with a devastating blow.
"No!" shouted the Funkmaster. His foe had made it to the portal.
The ninja laughed, and told him it was too late.
"No!" shouted the Funkmaster, but it was too late.
The ninja stepped into the portal and was shot back out as a smoothie of blood in the process. The Funkmaster cried in his new red suit, devastated that he had let an innocent ninja perish.
the time limit is devastating
In hindsight it looks like everyone else went over, so here's take two:
The pumped-up collar, the pumped-up shoes; he’s groovin’, he walks one way and moves another, he’s whipping his pompadour at you now; he is Funkmaster Wilbert B. Zeltser. He grabs the microphone like it's his honey, leans in real close to the audience, and says: "Hey how's it going?"
It was then that the ninjas burst through the ceiling. The patrons ran and screamed, but Zeltser knew what they were after: the Funk Portal. He fought the feinds off one by one as they leapt onto the stage. He was able to disable them all, save for one, who struck his side with a devastating blow. In a ninja-like voice, the ninja laughed and told him it was too late.
"No!" shouted the Funkmaster, but it was too late. The ninja stepped into the portal and was shot back out as a smoothie of blood in the process. The Funkmaster cried in his new red suit, devastated that he had let an innocent ninja perish.
its good, I didn't read the second version yet, but I liked the first, hopefully you didn't change any of the good stuff into bad ;) . And I think you should keep running with it and write more