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Another poem By Dbzfan836 I try, I try; I’d like to lie That I can’t understand Almost every letter, man I don’t know Arabic I try everyday Then go to pray; But don’t know what I’m sayin; I don’t know Arabic
A third poem By Dbzfan836 I lay in bed; I try to sleep; I just can’t; I keep thinkin about me; Think about my day; Think about my night; Think about a nap; Think about Minecraft; Get outta bed; Get my candle read; Get to the Laptop; Play like a boss wop; Play all night; Play all day; Just for fun and Games.
A fourth poem By Dbzfan836 My life hurts, From losing my perch, Into my kitty paws, Because I break physic laws. I can only land on my feet, It makes me feel unique, Below my kitty paws, Because I break physic laws. I have sharp claws, Which help clean my jaws, Inside my kitty paws, Because I break Physic laws.
A fifth poem By Dbzfan836 My life is a struggle, One to be heard, Ya know why? ‘Cause why not Zoidberg? I’m stuck on the streets, Where nobody meets, And Where I keep: ‘Just why not Zoidberg?’ Then there was a day, That memes were made, So then I say, ‘Why not Zoidberg?’
@Nurali @Luigi0210 @agent0smith @dan815 @AuroraB @Destinymasha
hey @AuroraB !
do you have something to share?
erm i did yesterday..
A sixth poem By Dbzfan836 I wanna play, I wanna play, I wanna play Every single day I wanna play, I wanna play, I wanna play At the Hudson Bay I wanna play, I wanna play, I wanna play Till the dawn of the next day
A poem By Dbzfan836 Every single day, I just stare; I just stare straight into despair; Because Darkness is in my way; It’s in my way, every single day. The Darkness keeps making a little hole; A little hole in my heart and soul; In order to complete its dark goal; To follow the role of a dark soul.
@LarsEighner do you have writing to share?
In the more than twenty years since I parted with the galleys of the first edition of this book, it has had its career and I have had mine. At first, of course, we were close companions and I traveled widely with it and its various editions. There might have been even more of that if I had allowed Lizbeth to fly as baggage, but I would not do that. Instead she remained with our companion, called "Clint" in the book and here, in a rent house with a fenced yard she could excavate at will. I was exceptionally bad at reading my work; I wrote for the page and could not get my mouth around many of the sentences I had written. I do not suppose I made an especially pleasant appearance. I often thought that if I had been very good at that sort of thing, I would have undertaken to be an actor or lecturer or perhaps merely a personality, not a writer. I had thought that modern poetry had largely become a performance art, but as I traveled and participated in group readings it seemed the same was true of prose. Several times I met with mysterious and vague skepticism. I found those who had not met me tended to think I had written the book but the events had not happened, while those who met me thought the events had happened but someone else had written the book. --- excerpt from the Afterword of the 20th anniversary edition of Travels with Lizbeth
If you feel you must trust him just listen to me. He seems nice but look twice ‘cause there’s much more to see. -Dbzfan836 2014