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Rhythm and Rhyme Workshop

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  • Rookie Frank L. Ludwig (8/29/2009 4:25:00 PM) Post reply
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    The First Supper

    The disciples met in Joseph’s
    house who had the table laid
    to commemorate the selfless
    sacrifice their Saviour made.

    Mary stormed into the meeting
    and dispersed her brethren’s gloom:
    ‘He has risen! He has risen!
    There’s no body in the tomb! ’

    ‘That’s great news’, said Joseph, smiling.
    ‘Sure, the Lord is homeward bound’,
    and he sliced the meat for supper,
    and he passed the chalice round.

    Everyone was in good spirits,
    until John looked at his fork
    as he chewed and asked politely:
    ‘Surely you’re not serving pork? ’

    Simon Peter took the chalice,
    drank and smashed it with a thud,
    turned around and barked at Joseph:
    ‘That’s not wine, Joe! This is blood! ’

    ‘Do you not remember, brethren,
    what our Saviour said before?
    Eat my flesh and drink my blood, and
    you shall live for evermore!

    ‘He has given us his dogma,
    we’re supposed to live by it!
    Hold on, I’ll just put another
    juicy femur on the spit...’

    Frank L. Ludwig

  • Rookie Kaspa Richards (8/10/2009 2:32:00 PM) Post reply

    to all fellow poets, when and if you have time to spare any comments and contrcutive opinions are welcome on my new poem 'My Reconstruction' thank you for your time

    http: //www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-reconstruction/

  • Rookie eb cooper (8/4/2009 2:59:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    Comment please

    Love's Passing Moment

    A time will come, and a moment will pass,
    When your indelible lips, which I have loved in past,
    Will kiss another's
    So gently,
    So softly,
    So tenderly,
    As they once did with me
    In memories gone too fast.
    In another's ear your laugh will charm, tho still ringing in mine,
    And of love his heart will be convinced, a trust which I resigned.
    The beauty beating beneath your breast, the only I have ever known,
    Will belong to another's caressing hand, every rip now stitched and sewn.

    Once the time comes, and after moment passes,
    When your every thought is of him, as it once was with me,
    I wonder if he'll realize how lucky he is; I wonder if I'll agree.
    If ever you feel the pulse of my heart, no matter how faint the beat,
    Remember always the undying love I had for you…
    Farewell, till the next time we meet.

    http: //poemhunter.com/poem/love-s-passing-moment/

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    • Rookie Forest T. Jones (8/9/2009 3:53:00 PM) Post reply

      Hello Mr. eb cooper - I looked at your poem. it doesn't need very much. I added somethings to it. your poem has a lot of charm and depth. here are my thoughts.: Love's Passing Moment ... more

  • Rookie Stephen Stirk (7/18/2009 10:45:00 AM) Post reply

    Ebay Day

    It started as a hobby
    Bits to buy and sell
    Then my mood turned cobby
    I entered Ebay hell

    I noticed I was sweating
    And didn’t seem to care
    About the stuff I’m getting
    Or losing all my hair

    My bidding’s an addiction
    As baby clothes I buy
    An uncontrolled affliction
    No kids at home have I

    Walking frame for granddad
    I must be off me head
    Sectioned when he went mad
    And anyway, he’s dead

    A telly that had been well used
    It doesn’t have a screen
    Fifty quid, the bath board’s fused
    And isn’t worth a bean

    It’s not confined to buying
    It’s also things I sell
    And all the time I’m lying
    “Oh didn’t I do well”

    I sold the family caravan
    It didn’t strike my head
    The auction ended ‘half past one’
    When everyone’s in bed

    The item went for just one bid
    A buyer in Torquay
    It cost me seven thousand quid
    It sold for 50p

    Insult adds to injury
    I’d promised to deliver
    Two hours drive to reach Torquay
    The thought just makes me quiver

    So I’ve given up on Ebay
    I’m now confined to home
    Swearing at the screen each day
    Ebay – Tourette – Syndrome

  • Rookie Mohammed Balchi (7/9/2009 2:27:00 PM) Post reply

    Read: leave a comment

    As i look at the sky's apogee
    I see the world, world in the eye of me
    As i descend where Childs have been
    as they say i wasn't seen
    Why could i ever not bring
    the passion, passion of spring
    sitting by the moon with one a company
    a same but darker but no feelin' fervency
    as i look at him and looks on me
    i see the dark-side in others always i see
    as you enter me and i 'm not certain
    seei'n on you dropi'n the curtain
    and off to stay alone
    lonely in this tone
    as my side of the sun rises
    boys lookin' at me i them despises
    and they hit me so badly
    off to be sent so sadly
    but i look to see whose beside me
    none wind rustling pushing me
    and insults the wind blows
    and my curtains on me closes
    and the hatred i get often
    my wound never to soften
    the pain of an orphan bites me
    though nothin' standing for everything despites me
    as i sweep your chimney's yours for money
    you hit, lie but left empty tummy
    and as i clean you shoes
    spits you say to blame to whose
    and as i remove your litter
    my life taste me bitter
    as i run to my home
    to hold to someone close
    i come to mistaken
    hell to me taken
    the pain my brain's endorphin
    lone on my dead body an orphan
    as i ran to mom and dad
    come to a stage no more glad
    find the sand and your bone
    remember your name if written on gravestone
    lost by your souls in big wide world
    lost till someone holds
    stop the pain of endorphin
    lone on my dear body an orphan

  • Veteran Poet - 4,978 Points Lorraine Margueritte Gasrel Black (7/6/2009 11:28:00 AM) Post reply

    Please read my poem AFRICA'S SOUL for a publishing opportunity and information which is at the end of my poem.Thank you.

  • Rookie Stephen Stirk (7/1/2009 9:05:00 AM) Post reply | Read 2 replies


    I showed my poem in my window in front of the curtain
    All could see it from the road
    Then I hid. How many read it? I’m not certain
    But I was proud and happy that it showed

    One day a traveller asked me if that poem I had read
    And if I knew the author of the ode
    I put my fingers in my ears and turned around and fled
    Into the peace and sanctuary of ‘Incognito’ road

    All my art was on display for them to share
    Some could ‘like’ and others ‘not like’ too
    And I was nonchalant pretending always not to care
    Unwilling to receive or even give a point of view

    Years later I had came across this traveller again
    And he remembered well that I had fled
    I’m sure he thought my actions quite insane
    But I had disappeared before he may have said

    “I’m sure that guy knew who had penned the verse
    I only needed seconds with the man – to speak
    These years without his words could have been worse
    I only craved to offer fond critique”

    These days behind my curtains I still hide
    My poem now is faded by the sun and crinkle brown
    All’s in tact, my wit, my art and best of all my pride
    The ’no-one knows me’ poet, from No Town

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  • Rookie - 0 Points Deborah Cromer (6/25/2009 9:24:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    I aim to the innermost target of your soul
    Perfect among all, precious and completely whole
    Lost and wondering about you, I am in need of you
    Solitary time and restraints, confines so far among the few
    Beautifully driven, entwined and complex, lays the manifestation of time
    I do so climb and reach endlessly forward into magnificent rhyme

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  • Rookie Nick Josh (6/17/2009 5:20:00 PM) Post reply

    Poetry Rhythm and Rhyme Workshop

    Peters-Jones Building, Student Lounge. This workshop explores the rhythm and rhyme of poetry and how to find the musicality inherent in certain poetry. Workshop leaders will guide participants through a process of identifying rhyme scheme to find the rhythm of the piece. Small groups will be formed to create their own 'musical' poetry performance led by the Know Theatre actors. Partici­pants will have their moment in the spotlight as they perform the poetry piece created by their group. Recommended ages: Grades 1–5. Maximum attendance is 40.


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  • Rookie Csdb Kind (6/15/2009 2:49:00 PM) Post reply

    sickness, fools and lovers.
    walk along the roads all have walked.
    look deep inside.. fly. rules? no no no
    combine, all letters of insanity.

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