Limericks of the guys in our class part 1

Well, it's alot ruder than what you see here. It's on by request of arthur. It may not even be a real limerick

There's a nerd called Xingyu[pronounced 'you']
whose balls are one too few.
He won't chase girls too cute;
for fear that he will puke.

There is a boy called Shaun
who was addicted to porn
He had a bad constipation
with his 'C' obsession
P.S: namely,
Christine, Cherie and Constipation
the list expands beyonds these Cs

There is a guy called Arthur
Who was quite a bugger,
because he rapped just like a wrapper
so we got him with a bug zapper.

There is a Weefolk called Aaron
who has a crush on Sharon
he never knew about Sauron
or of romance's decorum

There is a man called Clement
he plays a lot of badminton
His grades are as solid as adamant
Earthquakes start at his advent

There is a Liverpool fan
whose name is called Bryan Tan
(according to Shaun)
when Manchester United wins
Bryan Tan could only cringe

Of course these could be done by and to open-minded guys who never mind insulting when they could be insulted themselves.

Then again, this is such a rude form of poetry, i almost regret using it. But the fun is undeniable.

Although i must note that i'm not doing the blog because i have no inspiration and also i am writing in my free time so the blog is out of it. Part 2 may come if I got around to doing it but do comment.

Spectator

I see... walking across the road
Two entwined passions
a dance shared by two.
A smile spread over my face.

My haunting demons taunt me.
Wasn't that She whom you loved
that now she walks with another
that you are left alone

I don't care at all.
I congratulate their passion
Love, it gladdens my heart
I will bless them gladly.

Hypocrite! Hypocrite!
Where was the jealous boy?
who drank fully from the cup of crushed sour grapes.
when his secondary school flame was
being chatted with by a
handsome man?
Hypocrite! Liar! Blasphemer!

Much words can whirl around my head.
They can cut into my heart,
chilling it.

But I laugh it off and sip joy from their passion.
There is greater love and I have been touched by it.
Go girl, be blessed and be happy.

While i retire into this greater Love i have found.

***

I see... a whirlwind in man.
My friend has turned tempest
Estranged, emasculated, enraged
he swings around, screaming his pain
these fearsome lightning bolts fizzle out.
His tormentors are not judged and feel right.
'Tis sad that his friends are his very tormentors.
from his lips, lava flows freely like an artery severed.
No man should, in trying times be without a friend
but he has no one to offer a balm for his wounds.
no nurse to sooth them with kisses or kindness.
the storm flood his insides with despairing rain.
He wishes to die and lay down and the world
would collapse with his fall, his desolation.
His eyes are blinded by his own fury.
The hailstones he let loose has
crushed his own eyes. He
does not see Love. In
suffering, who can
endure without
superhuman
love?

Love is patient, kind and not jealous. Love is not boastful or proud. Love is never irritable, it keeps no record of being wronged, and it rejoices when the truth wins out. Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful and always endures. Love will last forever.

-Paul of Tarsus' letter to the people of Corinth.

A sonnet for our Gideon

Gideon Chew Ming Kai, the very best pal.
In his actions, 'geelo' maliciousness,
Die-hard God fearing man/hare, (who cares?)
Every bit of him, gentlemanly-ness.
Oi girls, why haven't you went for him?
No one like him is of the crop, cream.

But don't think I or Gideon are gay.
It's just that he is a fantastic hare
Really morally and steady one 'kay?
That guy really shows us all christ-like care
Heaven knows we had how much HAs and Hos.
Dude, for your birthday i draw out my pen
All i have poetry, this I crow.
Yay, you can go lead your 300 men



*alrighty Fleetpaw, that's your birthday sonnet. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
Well, I couldn't think of anything more meaningful to contribute to your possibly heavy stack of presents. (I could give you a chinese bible but...) So for your birthday, I give you a certain gift of time, effort and lameness(some people think it flows out naturally from me, trust me, it takes a little hard work).

I give you your very own birthday sonnet. it's not exactly shakespeare, but take what you can get huh? God bless my hare-y *laughs* buddy.

From Itchypaw.

Message from Heaven

Some things in life are bad
and they really make you mad.
It makes you want to shout out for your dad.

The clock bell strikes with a Ding
and you see all them queueing
with three guitars to give you a beating.

And... Don't just give me a 'sian' look my friend...
just because this isn't the final end...
bad times it's yourself that you want to hang...
So endure your pain just like a man...

When you fall down a steep slope
and cling on to some desperate hope
with your screw-ups you just cannot cope.

When your worlds just all cave in
and footballs you keep missin'
you wished you could have just slept in

The frothing beast called Anger
in your life it is a big hurdle
rises, turns your insides to curdle

And...Kick back and relax a little friend...
Don't be so hasty to get to your end...
When you're pressured to your certain death...
Just before you draw your terminal breath...

When things are jolly rotten
There's something you've forgotten
That God gave you the only Son he had
So give us all a little grin
and forget all your past sin.
He died to save you from a certain Death.

And... kick back and relax a little friend...
You don't have a life that's hard to mend...
at least your life's ain't got much of a dent...
that you have to live in the S-bend... [S is for 'siao']

At least you shot two hoops
and you had a little whoop
compared to it, so what's a little poop?

So come on man cheer up!
At least you have the Father, Spirit, Son.
It's worse at the pit you know!

Three Sonnets

I
There she goes, strolling through the war-torn field,
arrayed in purple and scarlet colour.
Long alluring, seducing eyelashes
while her eyes are painted glittering green.
her dress hugs her curves well and her bosom
reveals, a hint of her audacity.
You are drawn to her like a hungry dog
and lower your guard to your mon cherie.
Pain erupts at your chest staining it red.
She backstabs you with gossip and malice.
The light in your eyes stolen by treason.
Your faltering lips start to accuse her,
but she kicks you where it counts with great glee
and moves on to her next vampiric meal.

II
Your dying opaque eyes see someone.
a young lady clothed in humble white virtue
Her face shines with strong pure love.
Her head is crowned with twelve lovely stars.
She faces the heavens with a prayer
for you whose life is fading away soon.
Your heavy pants regret the pursuing the
Jezebel, who cloaked disdain with amity.
Your wonder if you could have been better
to the young lady, your friend put aside.
To cherish, concern, comfort or care more.
Your heart loves enough just let her go
to another more worthy of her love.
You are not worthy and must leave in pain.

III
Ten thousand suns do not shine as brightly
as the One you see receiving your soul.
You cry out praise, seeing the ultimate
act of love, who saved you from falling to
despair as he borne your griefs and carried
your sorrows and He bears your iniquities.
This love overwhelms your heart and your soul
and provides comfort from the Jezebel.
Let her come all her sly and dark tools.
She has chosen to set herself up to
mocking any and everything holy.
You are safe in the refuge made for you.
In a friendship forged from on high.
In the greatest Love that surpasses all.

Siege

A giant lies beside a tower
and begin to wondering
at the stars who are too far away.

The lilliputians have now advanced.
They have siege towers
and better ropes
and more arrows too.

They do not look for Guilliver.
BUT war among each other.
So why on earth am I fighting in front of a giant?
What would make that giant
stir. Or perhaps make stir-fried veggies?

I am readied to join battle.
I won't be gone like cattle.
I am hard pressed on every side,
but not crushed;
perplexed, but not in despair;
persecuted, but not abandoned;
struck down, but not destroyed.

My adversaries are large and excessively
burly and hairy too.
I quake and made chocolate cake
in my pants.
But I knock them down in a frenzy and
danced my way out.

We hack and slash hard
and shoot arrows for a long time
trying to claim ownership of the giant,
Whose saddened eyes are obviously
interested
in the war, but would not involve himself.

Fires are ablaze, scorching tiny ones.
The giant could have put them out with a
sneeze.

So why didn't he?
So why did he just break the siege?
Why do we have to suffer?

The liliputians beg him to join their side,
just turn on his side and squash the infidels
but he is irresposive
as if dead except for the
rising and falling of his chest.

Now, what on earth were we fighting about?
How to crack eggs?

Surpassing

I stare at the skies

my heart aching

from my own defeats.



How much longer can I erect my own banner

rally my one-man army

by the sheer force of optimism,

that fades when I run out of strength.



I wear masks;

of sorrow, smiles and wisdom

to protect and delude myself

I have nothing but these masks

To make things worse, I am talking to myself.

I am insane.



I stand on the edge of myself and what is beyond me.

Something in me must count.

Something resonates deeply in me,

that I am fearfully and wonderfully made

My spirit won't be snuffed out like this.

It must not be like this.



I discipline my body to fight against my adversary

I prepare my spirit to war against a burglar.

But they always come in ways I do not expect

and whip my behind.



I am

but the moral expectations of the flawed ones

expected acheivements of myself

and the hand given by God to me.



I am cracking under the strain. I can only think.

To surpass this mortal common self



I contemplate the heavens, the compassion

the cold heart, the nature of forgiveness

hypocrisy and damnation. the depths of the unexplainable

the mad chase of wind by man being of apes or man?

the political problems in this world.



Who has gone up to heaven and come down?

Who has gathered up the wind in the hollow of his hands?

Who has wrapped up the waters in his cloak?

Who has established all the ends of the earth?

What is his name, and the name of his son?

Tell me if you know!



Each question jumble up my mind,

till it cannot hold in anymore

the balloon is dangerously filled with too much air

b e f o r e i t e x p l o d e s

taking me along with it into empty oblivion

where we just don't care anymore.



Then there is that poor soul who

jumped into the MRT tracks

or hanged or got stalked or got plain unlucky.

Kick back on my unseen hammock

and while life away

for a little while more



Things aren't that bad when you put

them into perspective,

with a certain pair of eyes.

Wind

Meandering under the HDB flats
this lone guy sits in his mind
and slowly reviews his day.

Another day full of passion and of wind.
To endure another barrage of mockery
by the same haunting enemy.
They are legion, sniffing for blood.
(of course not actually blood
if they did, they need to go to the blood bank.)
They prime grenades of accusations
shoot falsehoods
and feast on gossip.
It might be better
if they attack the body,
not the spirit

They do not know
They do not feel
They do not understand.
Come to think of it, they are the best hypocrites.
Not bad, being the best and all.

They are a fury of wind, blown
from the north to the south,
spun around by the east and west.
Come to think of it, being blown
in so many directions they can only stay still!

Perhaps you have taken a foolish path
by becoming a marked man
for the things you did not do.
Just because you are different.
They think it strange that you
do not plunge with them into the same
flood of dissipation, and they heap abuse on you.

Perhaps you are thinking too much
You see enemies at every corner.
Shadows whisper of devils
the winds try and stop your hot head
your head is no longer safe.
maybe you need to have it upgraded.
add heat sinks and improve its connectivity.
You are still on dial-up.

The lone guy looks dispassionately
at a bunch of rowdy boys.
Two of them give shouts
and race the wind, circling each other
crying out strange things
their arms are ready to grapple
and they end up in an entangled heap.
There is a sickening crunch.

A pair of bent glasses die on hard concrete.
the lens shattered under the weight
of one too many rear ends.
It made a desperate bid for escape
from an owner who can't see

Things might not be so bad after all.
Once you see them clearly
and let the wind refresh you

***
that's my poem folks. If you got a problem with it, I don't care.

Woe to those who derive pleasure from using mean words which hurt others. You have shown yourself weak by trying to feel worthy. You destroy others by deflating the worth of others. You may feel jusitfied because of your skill, but anyone can have skills, but not everyone can have integrity of heart. You have acquired an important thing, but not what that is most necessary in your life.

Can I help you?

This is my attempted entry for commonwealth essay competition. Ahh, you see I blog now, but I just happen to be free. I know it's a poem, appreciate it,. it takes lots of work.

Can I help you?
It is a marvelously cloudy day.
The sun is snuffed out by gloomy dark clouds;
dark behemoths prowling above men's heads.
I ride these beasts hunting hell-bound souls
today I am looking for you my friend.
I spotted you like a shark which caught the scent of blood
and swooped down like lightning from the heavens.
You look pale as you lay down on the road.
Curious strangers gather round to see you.
Your head is twisted unnaturally,
resting on a red thick puddle called blood.
You are dead.
You are done with joy and sorrow.
It doesn't matter now to you or me.
I am here to escort you back home, Hell.
But I wonder what is in your mind
Don't worry, I will invite myself in.

I stood on the threshold of your mind,
the abyss of suffering in you,
at the outskirts of your mind called Limbo.

Can I help you?
I see you are grading your life right now.
You scored well and few could point out your errors.
You have seldom been on the naughty list.
yet You look around for heavenly gates,
for the applause of the heavenly hosts.
Nothing happens.
No singing seraphs to usher you in.
I become your unholy Virgil here.
Leading you through the torment in your mind.
Come now, I don't have much time to tarry.
I paid Charon a dollar for this trip.

I am on the rim of the circle of your consciousness.
I can smell rotting hokkien prawn mee.
Something must be disgusting in your soul.
I cannot help myself but taunt you

Can I help you?
You are feasting on garbage greedily.
Your breath is noxious in the very least
and horrid sores form on your tongue and lips.
You ravenously consume anything
the world has to offer to your pleasures.
Your eyes corroded by pornography
and your saliva dripping malice.
You have a stomach full of avarice,
eating over anyone for your gain.
You are chained to me, bound by addiction.
I drag your gluttony into the boat
I descend deeper into the abyss,
into your life, maimed by your own evil.
I hear many loud screams which are your own.
You fear seeing yourself in great torture.
However this I must see for myself.

Can I help you?
You have been chained to a chair with envy.
Then you watch your past over and over again.
In glorious LCD and surround sound.
You are greener with envy on TV,
never better than Tom, Dick, Harry, .
You writhe at your unglamorous misdeeds,
while others outstrip you with unreal ease.
Inwardly, you flinched at your sourness.
Your mouth frothed in anger.
Worms eat away at your acrid insides,
shriveling up from your envy.
You thrash inside the restraints of your seat.
Half of you wants to smash the TV screen
while the other wants to run from it all.
Your heart is devoid of any goodness
as you are engulfed by green envy.
Your face was like a devil sick of sin.
I easily drag your wasted body,
for your self-righteous self to despair at.
It sounded like a zoo on as I descend.
I hurry because Charon is touting.
He has rigged his taxi-meter slyly.
I should ask for free transport as a perk.
But pity Hell has no labour unions.

Can I help you?
You are afraid, I wonder why?
You are guarding your Anger.
It is a magnificent monster.
whose eyes are indiscriminate anger
its paws rend through all your relationships.
Its escape will hurt everyone, including yourself..
It feeds on the frustrations in your heart,
especially when your heart struggles hard,
to carry your burden of suffering.
It is not a friend but your betrayer.
You gladly give it the crop of your pain.
When men mock you and days drag on and on.
A deluges of pain nurtures your rage
Your poor poor poor heart staggers at your strife.
You cannot carry this weight anymore,
then you pass it to this fiendish monster;
who grows strong on this nutritious diet.
You are nervous as it grows day by day.
You cage with society's iron bars;
fear of embarrassment and of disgrace,
fear of ostracism and and loneliness.
These bars cannot hold it for much longer.
Anger's huge roar shakes their foundations.
It rattles hard at the bars of its cages.
Your Anger wants freedom and it won't stop.
Just like many times before, it breaks out,
Just like many times before, it hurts you,
While you my friend are going to break down.
Who is the jailer now? You or it?
You have died in a whirlwind of fury.
Anger has left its mark indelibly.
It will never be caged again by you,
the tired warden is out of a job.

Deeper into the Hell you made in life,
I have chalked up the boat fare in thousands.
I will need to put a claim and complaint.
The Boatman is exploiting consumers.
Charon directs his transport through this mist.
I turn around to see you bent double,
hiding from your impending fall from hope.

Can I help you?
You can't see through the thick fog all around you.
You have become too proud of your own self.
You must be alone and you must succeed,
you must be the best for you are the best.
And your spirit can displace God himself.
You are deluded, your delusion covers your eyes.
You write reports to Milton, Wordsworth and Boey Kim Cheng.
All of them dead though Kim Cheng won't take long.
By then, they are too dead to even care
but You won't accept that this is the end,
when you have your literary genius.
in blank verses, rhetoric and Dante.
You are neither artist nor a writer.
I would like to see you in self-despair
when you have attained self-realization
that all mortals are equal before Death
You are dead yet you are blinded by pride,
shrieking and waving violent fists at me.
Your footing slipped and you fell on the floor.
I pick your pride up with my mighty paw
and cast it before your horrified self.
Can I help you enter paradise now?

I circle around you in bright red tights
and wear a ridiculous horned hood.
I flap my bat-like wings that can't take off
while swinging my useless pitcher fork.
This is a ridiculous uniform;
the tail doesn't even stay on sometimes.

What is the point of your condemnation?
When in life you made your own brand of Hell.

Like a broken docile dog you follow,
herded by the self-satisfied lion,
my colleague, Sin, who crouched at your door,
his head held high and furious with hunger.
Sin had done its job very well indeed.
It desired to have you and you did not master it.
Can I help you? You are beyond help.
You know why you are doomed to Inferno.
You can cry for help and will not get it.
I am here to lead you to the city of woe.
I enter the very center circle,
ready to extract what is left of you
and force-march you to the ancient archway
where these inscriptions stood for a long time.
ABANDON ALL HOPE YOU WHO ENTER HERE
I approach the darkest darkness in you.
To claim any pathetic part of you,
a compound of meanness and avarice
a fury burnt out and pride fallen hard.
You cleverly cloaked with hypocrisy.

Bad choice.

A spear of light had cut through the darkness.
It slain my beastly colleague easily.
I flee for I am no match for ts strength.
Your broken soul was snatched from my dark claws.
The light provided a ladder for you.
Your past shines with every little good deed.
You hungered for righteousness and justice
You were gentle and humbled in spirit.
It gives you strength to scale up the ladder;
From the darkness which is his rightful place.
I won't understand this divine reason.
This would never be called the Inferno.
Dang, I fancied myself to be a poet.
I heard the Light whisper to the mortal,
who labours to climb the final few rungs.
“Can I help you?” the beautiful Light speaks.
I would protest about my copyright.
But I watch as you accept the Light's help
and disappear into glorious light.
All the tools I had failed against this light.
The light that shines in darkness, but darkness cannot overcome it.
I am troubled as I will lose my job;
this already happened twelve times this week.
Maybe I should go for skills upgrading.
Or just change my line of work for the light.
I won't understand why Boss wants them.
We are already overcrowded down there and
the perpetual screaming keeps me awake.
While my visa hasn't expired yet.
I might as well visit the Bahamas.
Lie back on a hammock and watch the stars.