Organized by Artist
Snippy - Poem of DoomSnippy - Poem of Doom in Free Verse
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Oh Captain, my Captain! I say it to mock,
You're lucky as hell but to me you're a c***.
Please spare me the missions, I've no head for heights,
Balloons and big lists lead me only to blights.
Evading the probes of an alien race,
Then having to witness your > : ( angry face...
But what choice have I? I'm involved in these fights,
With Cancerous space-monsters full of red sprites,
And Lemonade weirdos and God knows what next,
Just how can you stay so serene and unvexed?
What price should I pay for your simple delights,
Be eaten by whales after soiling my whites?
I know you won't listen, but you'll come unstuck,
And one of these days you'll run right out of luck,
Your empire will fall, and your ego besides,
It's karma for sure, like the turn of the tides,
And then I will lol, sitting in my own muck,
Coz after all this I just won't give a f***.
DownfallDownfall in Free Verse
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And in this dark harvest of season
My life has completely lost reason,
For which or against to decide.
All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tide
In sadness and in kindness
In light and in darkness.
In a boat made of hope
I shall sail to tomorrow,
In a winding hurricane
Made of treachery and sorrow.
There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...
Piercing, slashing though my head.
Starting somewhere in heaven,
Ending somewhere in hell.
Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.
Are the armies within.
In my head they are all thrashing.
On the heaven's and hell's whim.
To be light or to be darkness.
A perpetual array.
It's not merely my choice,
But the choice of the way.
It's an option of the voice,
It's a thin line of gray.
Is it a choice forced by fate,
Is it a pre-set time and date?
Or a choice to which I myself sway?
But here's our story anyway
"Nothing that I do will matter.
As all things will merely shatter!"
All my hopes thus darkness scatter,
As it shoves me a decree.
As it si
The Great Mouse Reporter ~ Chapter 1The Great Mouse Reporter ~ Chapter 1 in Introductions & Chapters
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It was another cold, rainy day in London. As Sherlock Holmes readied himself for another case at his residence on 221 Baker Street, below the floorboards his mouse counterpart, Basil of Baker Street, perused the newspapers in search of a case of his own. His partner, Dr. David Q. Dawson, was over for his daily spot of tea, when Basil’s newest addition to his household unlocked the front door and entered; reporter Nellie Brie, fresh off the boat from America and still doing her best to adjust to life in England. She had just been out for a while to get some fresh air and run an errand, opening the door and shaking her umbrella off before placing it in a basket beside the door. She carried a long rectangular package under her arm.
“Ah, welcome back Ms. Brie,” Dawson greeted her, “I trust all went well?”
“It did, yes,” she said, removing her coat and hanging it up on a coat rack, “I’m not used to all this rain though. I guess that