Open letter to morons like peewee "kookbuster"
Your Sugir
You are a bunch of vigilante morons that
never busted anyone. Nor could you.
Either fuck off or be reported.
I'm tired of idiots posting as poets.
(like 'ennis, but he uses his own domain)
--
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Barbara's Cat
Mousy Tom "Bitter Moron" Bishop squeaked:
> You are a bunch of vigilante morons that
> never busted anyone. Nor could you.
Yet you constantly leak piss
from your busted little sack.
Go figure.
> Either fuck off or be reported.
You will do nothing, Mousy.
You cannot do anything.
You are powerless.
> I'm tired of idiots posting as poets.
Then stop posting, idiot.
> (like 'ennis, but he uses his own domain)
You're psychotic so your opinion doesn't count.
(It's the law. Honest. Really. Look it up.)
[ alt.arts.usenet.poetry removed ]
[ because it does not exist. ]
[ alt.arts.poetry.comments added ]
[ because it does. Stupid Mousy. ]
--
Cm~
Mousy Tom Bishop LARTed me
for "moronic harassment".
You can't see this post.
cyt...@my-deja.com
Scat wrote:
> > _Keepsake Left Behind_
> > Beat away, my heart so dire
> > Beat away this lonesome hour
> > While my eyes drip liquid fire
> > Looking at her first pressed flower
> > -- Cat
> > _Last Act of Love_
> > The shadow beckons
> > It calls out his name
> > It is time to go
> > Back to where he came
> > He hesitates his step
> > To look once again
> > Into the soft flame
> > That had allured him
> > His wet eyes look for
> > A tiny flicker
> > Of the burning love
> > He once saw in her
> > His mind is troubled
> > Did he cause her pain?
> > Had he brought darkness
> > To an angel's flame?
> > With one final glance
> > He bows his head low
> > His last act of love
> > Before the shadow
> > His life will be black
> > But knows it is right
> > His darkness will allow
> > Her flame to burn bright
> > _Final Battle Cry_
> > Falling before her
> > The warrior surrendered
> > He accepted his defeat
> > His blood-stained sword
> > Placed at her feet
> > For decades he had fought
> > A battle that could not be won
> > A demon that could not be slain
> > But still he fought
> > With all his strength
> > To keep her kingdom
> > To save her name
> > He battled long the demon
> > That clawed within his heart
> > That screamed within his mind
> > Suffering wounds
> > That would not heal
> > Not with suture
> > Not with time
> > Beaten, he came to her
> > To give a final battle cry
> > That his fight was not in vain
> > For the world of her hand
> > Was worth the pain
> > But he had lost the war
> > For her kingdom had faded
> > And her name was lost forever
> > So to the bloodless demon
> > The warrior gave his surrender
> > Now he lies before her
> > His life slipped away
> > >From the pain he had known
> > For the blood on his sword
> > Was self taken, his own
> > -- Cat --
> > - Coffee Talk -
> > I think I'll make some coffee
> > And sit with you awhile,
> > And talk about the good days
> > You gave me with a smile.
> > Strolling through Savannah's parks
> > In patched-up dungarees.
> > Holding hands and making plans,
> > Leaving letters in the trees.
> > You and I were being young
> > And simple in our style,
> > Dreaming of a little house
> > With multi-colored tiles.
> > And in its little kitchen,
> > We'd place our wooden chairs
> > Around a little table,
> > To discuss our little cares.
> > And we would make some coffee
> > And sit there for a while,
> > And talk about the good days
> > We'd shared with a smile.
> > -- Cat
> > copyright (c) Cat
cyt...@my-deja.com
Scat wrote:
_Keepsake Left Behind_
Beat away, my heart so dire
Beat away this lonesome hour
While my eyes drip liquid fire
Looking at her first pressed flower
-- Cat
_Final Battle Cry_
-- Cat --
_- Coffee Talk -_
I think I'll make some coffee
And sit with you awhile,
And talk about the good days
You gave me with a smile.
Strolling through Savannah's parks
In patched-up dungarees.
Holding hands and making plans,
Leaving letters in the trees.
You and I were being young
And simple in our style,
Dreaming of a little house
With multi-colored tiles.
And in its little kitchen,
We'd place our wooden chairs
Around a little table,
To discuss our little cares.
And we would make some coffee
And sit there for a while,
And talk about the good days
We'd shared with a smile.
-- Cat
_Last Act of Love_
copyright (c) Cat
Dennis M. Hammes
>
> I'm tired of idiots posting as poets.
>
So shut up.
--
-------(m+
~/:o)_|
I do not "negotiate" for half my baby back, Solomon.
http://scrawlmark.org
Barbara's Cat
> Mousy Tom "Bitter Moron" Bishop squeaked:
>
> > Goober Duck Will "Bad Talent Hack" Dockery quacked:
> >
> > > The Blankverse Peon <kl...@seanet.com> shrieked:
> > >
> > > > Cyborga <pup...@blankverse.peon> echoed:
>
> vigilante
> circlesuck
Barbara's Cat
> Mousy Tom "Bitter Moron" Bishop squeaked:
>
> > Goober Duck Will "Bad Talent Hack" Dockery quacked:
> >
> > > The Blankverse Peon <kl...@seanet.com> shrieked:
> > >
> > > > Cyborga <pup...@blankverse.peon> echoed:
>
> repeat:
> vigilante
> circlesuck
Will Dockery
Barbie Cat: Selected Poems.
Bravo!
--
"Ozone Stigmata" by Will Dockery
http://www.myspace.com/willdockery
Will Dockery videos:
http://tinyurl.com/yfmzeq
> > "Barbara's Cat" shrieked:
>
> >Mommy
> >
> >--
> >Cm~
> >
> > ----
> > From: Barbara's Cat - view profile
> > Date: Mon, Sep 22 2003 7:43 am
> > Email: Barbara's Cat <c...@127.0.0.1>
> > Groups: alt.arts.poetry.comments, rec.arts.poems
> >
> >Barbara's Cat wrote:
> >
> >My sister, born: Sep 22, 1953, died: Oct 19, 1959
> >
> > [...]
> >
> >Children too free for the dangers out there,
> >you were a mother who took care of me,
> >and would feed us whatever you could find.
> >You shouldn't have ate that day, Vonnie Leigh.
> >
> > "My sister always acted like a mother to me and the other children.
> > Our real mother was not a good one and left us alone way too often." -B.
Cat
> >----
> >
> > Barbara's Cat wrote:
> > "stop typing stupid, stupid."
> > - Renay's advise
> > You mean /advice/, right Barbie?
> >
> > Now available in condensed, /catshit-poetry free/ version:
> >
> > You little harlet you!
> > ^^^^^^
> > SCAT> "Missing Testicals"
> > ^^^^^^^^^
> > SCAT> You shouldn't have ate that day, Vonnie Leigh.
> > ^^^
> > SCAT> you'd ate seven Soft-Shell Taco Supremes
> > ^^^
> > SCAT> I want to breath your air
> > ^^^^^^
> > Ready for Hallmark Hammy's /slurp polish/.
Barbara's Cat
> Cyborga <pup...@blankverse.peon> echoed:
>
> > The Blankverse Peon <kl...@seanet.com> shrieked:
> >
> > > Mousy Tom "Bitter Moron" Bishop squeaked:
> > >
> > > > Goober Duck Will "Bad Talent Hack" Dockery quacked:
>
> Bravo!
> Quack!
> circlesuck
ggamble
<will_d...@knology.net> wrote:
>Bravo!
zorro
>Nothing But Pain.
>
> No sea deep enough,
> no dark black enough.
> No death painless,
> no ressurection coming.
> Open myself up,
> I see twisted roots.
> What has happened,
> what will happen,
> down to the end,
> and down deeper.
> No sea black enough,
> no dark deep enough.
> Sleep not final,
> dreams to awake,
> to this terrible lie.
> I know. Nothing but pain.
> Darkness and pain.
> I know.
> On and on it remains,
> it's all so simple,
> nothing but a grim heart.
>
> -Will Dockery
Will Dockery
>
> zorro
http://www.kannibaal.nl/zorro.mp3
"In my opinion Will Dockery is easily one of the most authentic
American poets around. A real coffeehouse poet who is not scared of
mingling some real American elements such as country music into his
poetry. Whileas you just try to appear as European as possible with all
your sucking up to 80 year old European surrealists..." -MH Benders
(Zorro press release, 2005 http://www.kannibaal.nl/shadowville.htm )
"Ozone Stigmata" by Will Dockery-Henry Conley
http://www.myspace.com/willdockery
Your Sugir
"ggamble" <f...@net.com> wrote in message news:ra54k29utfffkhi0c...@4ax.com...
> On Fri, 27 Oct 2006 09:58:31 -0400, "Will Dockery"
> <will_d...@knology.net> wrote:
>
>
>
>>Bravo!
>
> zorro
bbumble
Pimp of the Holy Clit
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(800 folders. -- kiddie-filtered -- FREE,
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"ggamble" <f...@net.com> wrote in message news:ra54k29utfffkhi0c...@4ax.com...
Karla
Cythera,
You weren't always so bitter, unkind, negative, etc. Remember your
encouragement to this poet? What happened?
Karla
=========================================
"NNTP-Posting-Date: 1 Jun 2001 16:34:05 GMT
Hello, Douglas,
I enjoyed these, and while overall they are more prose than poetry,
they have an innocence and obvious affection for their subject that I
find rather lovely. I especially liked "Mavis."
These remind me of roughed-out ideas for a children's book. Have you
thought of writing one?
Thank you for posting these.:)
cythera.
exxd...@bath.ac.uk (Douglas Clark) wrote in message
news:<GE7IsJ.1J...@bath.ac.uk>...
> 11.Cattery
>
> Marty went to Honeysuckle Farm
> For Christmas and New Year
> Cos I couldnt take him North with me.
> It is a most luxurious cat place.
> He had his own catflap out into his run.
> He was given fresh tuna on Christmas Day.
> And he was presented with a little cloth mouse
> To keep him company.
> Looked after night and day by the kennel girls
> He lived the Life of Riley for a fortnight.
> But he was pleased to see me
> When I returned to collect him.
> He chattered all the way home in the car.
> He purred when he was back in the house.
> Home's best.
>
> 12.Mavis
>
> Mavis has bought Marty a mouse
> From the new Cat Shop in Northumberland Place.
> It is a tiny little grey mouse, chocolate grey,
> Stinking of catnip,
> A quarter the size of his black familiar.
> He loves it,
> Tossing it over his shoulder,
> Dropping it on his biscuit dish,
> The old black faithful
> Don't get a look-in.
> Marty is easily seduced by novelty.
>
> I am jealous of Mavis's triumph
> And go to the Cat Shop.
> I buy Marty a similar white mouse,
> But he don't love it,
> Even though it has the same cute smell.
> The chocolate grey mouse is top of the walk.
>
> Marty has lost his grey mouse!
> I look everywhere.
> Then four hours later I find it.
> Where he has thrown it
> Down the side of his carrying basket.
> Marty has been up to Hi-Do
> And I have searched the house
> From top to bottom.
> Then I find it.
>
> But a week later
> The grey mouse is gone forever.
> Heaven knows where it went.
> I suspect the cleaning women
> Put it in the rubbish sack
> Because it had split
> And the insides were falling out
> All over the floor.
> The grey mouse was gone.
>
> But Mavis to the rescue!
> She buys a replacement mouse
> From the Cat Shop.
> And Marty doesn't know the difference.
> But nowadays the grey mouse is getting old,
> And its insides are falling out.
> I hope the cleaning women don't spot that
> And put it in the rubbish sack.
> How Marty would miss it.
> And would the Shop have any left.
> In the early morning if he has no food left
> It is always the first mouse
> He brings to my bed.
> Even before his big black mouse
> He has had since he was a kitten.
> Seventy-year-old Mavis is the godmother of cats.
>
>
> 13.Cat Bell
>
> Marty found a bird's nest.
> Wicked cat.
> He killed two of the youngsters
> Bringing them as presents to me,
> One brought beside my bed as I slept.
> I went to the Pet Shop in Moorland Road
> And bought him a bell,
> A turquoise bell with a pretty jingle,
> But I didn't have the heart to put it on him.
>
> Then last Thursday night at two in the morning
> There was great excitement in the house.
> A whooping and hollering cat,
> In from the catflaps,
> Came dashing up the stairs
> As I lay awake in bed.
> Marty was squeaking all over the place.
> I didn't move
> Then he was up on the bed
> Miaowing away.
> I looked
> And realised that he had dumped a dead bird on me.
> A fully grown thrush,
> Not a baby.
> No wonder he was so pleased with himself.
> And Marty only twelve months old.
> I had to get up and put the bird in a plastic bag
> And into the rubbish bin.
> Fortunately it hadn't bled.
>
> Next morning at eight o'clock
> I put the turqoise bell on Marty.
> He went hysterical.
> Dashing around everywhere
> With the Devil behind him.
> Eventually he vanished outside
> Through his catflaps,
> A pretty jingling noise.
> I had to go to my voluntary jobs
> And it wasn't till four in the afternoon
> That I returned to search for Marty.
> I found him hiding upstairs on the spare bed.
> A most unhappy cat.
> He stayed there till well after dark
> When he made a dash out through his catflaps
> Jingling all the way.
>
> He wasn't around next morning.
> I went to two lunchtime folk concerts
> At the Bath Festival
> Then came home to find the score.
> I had decided that if Marty
> Was still in a dreadful state
> I would remove the bell.
> I found him in the Book Room
> Buried in a pile of plastic bags.
> One of his hideyholes.
> I removed the bell,
> And he was the happiest cat in the world,
> Licking my face, purring uncontrollably.
> Now he is back to himself again.
> But I dread him killing another bird.
Pimp of the Holy Sugir
"Karla" <kar...@sbcNOSPAMglobal.net> wrote in message news:nor7k29ifedllb0ru...@4ax.com...
>
> Cythera,
>
> You weren't always so bitter, unkind, negative, etc.
Gee, fat-idiot. You always are. (plus your poetry sux)
You owe me an apology, moron.
The open letter was to morons like you that have no clue.
--
-------------------------------------------
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Usenet Porn.)