Craft Stickers!

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1. Lucas - December 31, 2010 at 6:02 pm

   ‘Super-Natural’ is a name rather for a comic that a poem as far as I’m concerned.I love the first paragraph, wonderful!second: is very good but ‘spat on from high’ for me doesn’t really flythird sounds to me as if you had suffered from a slightly blurry mind (Fungus offered solutions… ? Awareness, a gained compromise…?) we’re still talking poetry, aren’t we?I was never offered anything by fungus…fourth: ‘The victim are never the wise’ what makes you say that? The first two lines I love, the third I don’t get, the last is a bit first degreethe fifth : first two lines a bit esoterically Gothic,the last two again pseudo scientificso for me: first too big of words, then too little provelast: starts with that sci-fi aspect again, that we have ‘Respect flowing’ (never had that either) you may want to consider that poetry does not mean ‘no-sense’Than the last two lines you definitely torture me:’Mother is eternally fertile’…????And then The End : God and you – buddies and wisewell good for you, lucky me you put God firstwhat I mainly missed in your work is : sense and emotion (yours or mine)keep the good work up. all the best to you
2. Kobbs - January 1, 2011 at 5:38 am

   That’s pretty good! It’s deep and meaningful.. I don’t think that it would make a good pop song but I could imagine someone like Evanescence singing this! This is just coming from a music lover I’m not a songwriter or anything Good job!
3. redpepper_088 - January 1, 2011 at 5:35 pm

   Great job !!!! good wording sounds like something that could have been in my book of stuff i write It is a hobby of mine to write short story’s and poems and such don’t stop you have a gift and a passion for writing
4. Kelley Anne - January 2, 2011 at 5:21 am

   That is so stupid. It could not happen. The air resistance and engine compression at 100 mph is so great that, even going down a steep hill, the motorcycle would quickly slow down without giving it the gas. It would be like applying the breaks. And the guy would break even more by shifting in lower gears.In less time than the conversation took, without any breaks except air resistance and engine compression, the motorcycle would have slowed down to 30 mph.
5. zTeve - January 2, 2011 at 5:29 pm

   it puts up the question mak because we’re supposed to be asking questions
6. Cynthia LY - January 3, 2011 at 5:32 am

   Ignorance is bliss means: Not knowing is better than knowing and worryinghttp://idioms.thefreedictionary.com/Ignorance+is+bliss
7. the_decider - January 3, 2011 at 5:38 pm

   The fable of the ducks and hensMany, many years agoWhen animals could speak,A wondrous thing the ducks befell;Their tale is quite unique.Down by a pond dwelt all these ducksTen thousand at the leastTheir duckish joys were undisturbedBy any man or beast.One day down near the entrance gateThere was an awful dinA hundred hens all out of breathWere begging to come in.”Oh let us in” these poor birds cried”Before we do expire!’Tis only by the merest inchThat we escaped the fire!”Their feathers burned, their combs adroopThey were the saddest sight.They’d run a hundred miles or more,All day and then all night.”Come in! Come in!” the ducks all quacked,”For you our hearts do bleed!We’ll share our happy lot with you;Just tell us what you need!”And so these poor bedraggled hensAmongst the ducks moved in.”For after all,” the ducks declared,”We’re sisters ‘neath the skin.”Before too many months had lapsed,The hens were good as new.They sent for all their rooster friends,And those were welcomed too.To please their hosts, these chickens triedTo waddle and to quack.To imitate the duckish ways,They quickly learned the knack.This pleased the flock of ducks becauseIt gratified their pride.But hear my tale and learn how theyGot taken for a ride.The ducks, it seemed, spent all their timeIn fixing up the place,In growing food and building homesAnd cleaning every space.They asked the hens what they would doTo earn their daily bread.”We’ll teach and write and entertainAnd buy and sell,” they said.And so these hens began to teachThe baby ducks and chicks.They traded food and eggs and things,With many clever tricks.They wrote great books and put on showsOf genius they’d no lack.It wasn’t long till chickens ownedThe Duckville Daily Quack.One day a mother duck who tookHer ducklings to the lake,Was flabbergasted when one said,”A swim I will not take!”"Why duckling’s always swim” she gasped,”It’s what you’re built to do!Like bunnies hop, and crickets chirp,And cows most always moo!”"You’re nuts!” her son replied,”That stuff is all old hat!It’s wrong for birds to swim, besidesIt’s damn cold on my prat!”"Oh fie!” the mother duck exclaimed,”You’re talking like a fool!”Up quacked the other ducklings then:”He’s right! We learned in school!”"Such talk must stop!” the mother cried,”Those hens can’t tell such lies!For sheer ingratitude and nerve,I’m sure this takes the prize!”But she was wrong, for even thenThe hens did thump the tubDemanding they be let intoThe Duckville Swimming Club.”But you don’t swim!” the ducks exclaimed,”To join, why should you care?”"That’s not the point” the hens replied,”To exclude us isn’t fair!”The younger ducks, who’d been to schoolAgreed right there and then:”To keep them out is bigotry!’Twould just be anti-hen!”Outnumbered by the younger ducks,The old ducks soon did lose.The hens could join the Swimming Club,If they would pay the dues.That night the Duckville Daily QuackContained this banner spread:”REACTIONARY DUCKS ARE LICKED!DUCKVILLE MOVES AHEAD!”Down at the Duckville Gaity,The young set laughed with glee,At cracks about “old fuddy ducks”In burlesque repartee.Next day the hens were at the Club;A petition they’d sent roundThey objected to the Swimming FundWith fury and with sound.”You use our dues to fix the pond,To keep it neat and trimAnd this is wrong” they said, “becauseYou know we do not swim!”"God help us!” exclaimed a wise old duck,”Those chickens have gone mad!We’ll take this thing to court, by George!And justice will be had!”But when they went before the judge,Imagine their dismay!A chicken judge decreed that theyA heavy fine must pay!”Minorities must have their rights!”The judge declared right then”To use hens’ dues to fix the pondIs very anti-hen!”Once more the Duckville Daily QuackEmblazoned ‘cross the page:”OLD FUDDY DUCKS REFUSE TO SEETHE GREAT NEW COMING AGE!”In Duckville’s church, on Sunday mornThe preacher spoke these words:”Discrimination’s got to stop!Remember, we’re all birds!”The wisest duck in all the townSat down in black despair”I’ll write a book,” he thought, “and thenThis madness I will bare!”"Let swimmers swim, let hoppers hop,Let each go his own wayLet none coerce a fellow bird!”Was what he had to say.”‘Twas wrong to force the hens to swim,So here’s the problem’s crux:It’s just as bad for hens to tryTo chickenize our ducks!”"I can’t print that” the printer said”‘Twill put me in a mess!My shop is mortgaged to the hensThe chickens own my press!”This worried duck then tried to warnHis friends by speech and pen,But young ducks fresh from school just jeered,”He’s a vicious anti-hen!”Now up the stream a little wayWas Gooseville, on the lakeThe hens had come to Gooseville too,But the geese were more awake.When the hens began to spoil the youngAnd Gooseville’s laws to flout,The geese rose up in righteous wrathAnd simply threw them out.Of course you know where they all ran;On Duckville they converged”We’ve got to take these refugees”Was what the ducks all urged.The Duckville Daily Quack declared:”Those geese will stop at naught!They plan to conquer all the world!Atrocities they’ve wrought!”"That’s right!” the young ducks all agreed,”We’ll help our fellow birds!Those geese have plans to conquer us!We’ve read the Quack’s own words!”They let the hens from Gooseville in,The whole bedraggled packAnd every hen took up a jobOn Duckville’s Daily Quack.When Duckville’s Mayor’s term was up,The Quack put up its duck;A vain and stupid duck he was,A veritable cluck!But when he praised the wild young ducksAnd cursed the evil geese,The Quack declared he was “all-wise”His praise would never cease.The hens chipped in to help this cluckGive grain away for freeThe old ducks sadly shook their heads,The writing they could see.And sure enough, this stupid duck,He was elected MayorFrom this point on, the Duckville ducks,They never had a prayer.The Mayor said, “Gooseville must go!We’ll wipe them off the map!”While Duckville slept, the scheming hensFor Gooseville set a trap.They called the geese by filthy names;They filled their pond with sticksThey helped the weasels catch the geese,And other hennish tricks.The geese got mad and threw some rocks,”IT’S WAR!” the Quack announced:”We ducks must fight those evil geeseTill they’ve been soundly trounced!”The ducks (who knew not of the tricksIndulged in by the Mayor)Were filled with patriotic zeal,And pitched right in for fair.Now when the ducks had whipped the geeseThe Mayor called “Retreat!Our Henville friends should really takeGoosevilles’s big main street!”The hens are back in Gooseville now;They starved and beat the geeseThey prayed for peace but organizedThe Henville Armed Police.They drained the Gooseville swimming pond;And ‘De-goose-ified’ the schools,They wrung the neck of Gooseville’s MayorOn lately made up rules.They formed a council of the hens,’United Birds’ the nameThe other birds who joined the thingDid not perceive their game.No sooner had they set this up,Than they announced their planTo seize up Swanville as a homeFor all their hennish clan.They took a vote amongst the hens,And every one approved!”Swanville was for hens!” they said,”Way back, before we moved.”And so they kicked the swans all outWith Duckville’s help and powerAnd Duckville could not understandWhy swans on them turned sour.By this time, Duckville was a mess;The young ducks had gone madThey stole and laughed at truth and lawThey’d gone completely bad.The hens were selling loco weedIn every nasty denBut ducks who dared to mention thisWere labelled ‘anti-hen.’The hens all preached of ‘Tolerance’;They invoked the ‘Golden Rule’But they subsidized the indigent,The greedy and the fool.At last the very dumbest ducksBegan to smell a rat”This Mayor is no good” they cried”And we will soon fix that!”But the hens had planned for even thisA candidate they had,Whom even wise old ducks believedJust never could be bad.This hen-tool duck had whipped the geese;A soldier duck was heAlthough the hens had set him up,The ducks all thought him free.This hen-tool got elected,Through ignorance and greed,Through hennish lies in press and speechAnd bribes of ‘chicken feed.’The hens now kicked the ducks around,Without a blush of shameUntil the Mayor ran the townIn nothing else but name.They pumped the swimming pond all dry;They taught the ducks to crowWhile duckish numbers dwindled,The hens began to grow.The hens stirred up the happy crowsFrom out the piney woodTo fight and mix and marry ducksIn the name of ‘Brotherhood.’Things got so bad that fifty ducksWho knew of days gone by,Took up their wives and childrenAnd decided that they’d fly.They flew through storm and tempest;They froze, and many diedBut on they drove, until at lastA lovely lake they spied.They settled down exhausted,But soon went straight to workTo build and clear and cultivate,No danger did they shirk.Now after many years of toil,This little band had grownThe fields around were full of grainFrom seeds that they had sown.The first ducks now were long since dead;Their struggles long had ceasedThrough hard work and through sufferingTheir joys had been increased.One day down near the entrance gateThere was an awful dinA hundred hens, all out of breath,Were begging to come in.”Oh, let us in!” the poor birds cried,”Before we do expire!’Tis only by the merest inch…”This epic really has no end becauseNo matter how you fight ‘em,Those hens will show up every timeAnd so… ad infinitum.
8. RO35 - January 4, 2011 at 5:19 am

   You see her above,the lady in red, said she was a man,the French fans she led,with derision and scorn,she never let up ,said she was Claude,and had no World CupThe truth finally came out,it seems she’s a chick,fell in love with an Italian,always calls him a prick.
9. Mountain Dweller - January 4, 2011 at 5:22 pm

   Bitter is the hope of the thoughtful if they don’t find knowledge is a virtue. Between ignorance is bliss and only the examined life is worth living is a wide gap that most fall. But you don’t have a choice generally were you fall. Those you don’t need to know or can’t know will find ignorance is bliss but those who have crossed the dividing line find ignorance painful and empty. The only option for one elected by nature to know is to seek knowledge. Our hope lies in the Socratic dictum that knowledge is virtue but if that’s true of not one can only find out by accepting the journey. So ignorance is bliss is only for those not pushed to know.
10. nonya - January 5, 2011 at 5:21 am

    hahahahahahah