wow..... nice poem bt a bit long nah???? though itz cute..
lol i love long poems..
hehe..yeah its nice..it makes me sad everytime i read it... 
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Whatz ur favourite poem?????
- Thread starter Sami cool
- Start date
lol i love long poems..
hehe..yeah its nice..it makes me sad everytime i read it... 
ai machan kiyanne?? I'm a girlmachan kiwwata awulak na bt usually ehema kiyanne na neda bro???
amma gahai bat eken
nee nangi mekai cn eka
godak boys la dagena inawa gurls lage pcis
so hoyanna amarui awulaka neee
sorry nangi
lol i love long poems..
amma gahai bat eken
nee nangi mekai cn eka
godak boys la dagena inawa gurls lage pcis
so hoyanna amarui awulaka neee
sorry nangi
itz k bro
cheers*
Nice one sis.........i also readng same site poems as well.
heyyy i like to read ur sigi..so funny .
heyyy i like to read ur sigi..so funny .
Nice one sis.........i also readng same site poems as well.
heyyy i like to read ur sigi..so funny .
heh heh....
thnx bro..... 
shz outta of lyf
MJ ge sng ekak
bt itz lyk a poem
maaaara lassanai
"She's Out Of My Life"
[1st Verse]
She's Out Of My Life
She's Out Of My Life
And I Don't Know Whether To Laugh Or Cry
I Don't Know Whether To Live Or Die
And It Cuts Like A Knife
She's Out Of My Life
[2nd Verse]
It's Out Of My Hands
It's Out Of My Hands
To Think For Two Years She Was Here
And I Took Her For Granted I Was So Cavalier
Now The Way That It Stands
She's Out Of My Hands
[Bridge]
So I've Learned That Love's Not Possession
And I've Learned That Love Won't Wait
Now I've Learned That Love Needs Expression
But I Learned Too Late
[3rd Verse]
She's Out Of My Life
She's Out Of My Life
Damned Indecision And Cursed Pride
Kept My Love For Her Locked Deep Inside
And It Cuts Like A Knife
She's Out Of My Life
MJ ge sng ekak
bt itz lyk a poem
maaaara lassanai
"She's Out Of My Life"
[1st Verse]
She's Out Of My Life
She's Out Of My Life
And I Don't Know Whether To Laugh Or Cry
I Don't Know Whether To Live Or Die
And It Cuts Like A Knife
She's Out Of My Life
[2nd Verse]
It's Out Of My Hands
It's Out Of My Hands
To Think For Two Years She Was Here
And I Took Her For Granted I Was So Cavalier
Now The Way That It Stands
She's Out Of My Hands
[Bridge]
So I've Learned That Love's Not Possession
And I've Learned That Love Won't Wait
Now I've Learned That Love Needs Expression
But I Learned Too Late
[3rd Verse]
She's Out Of My Life
She's Out Of My Life
Damned Indecision And Cursed Pride
Kept My Love For Her Locked Deep Inside
And It Cuts Like A Knife
She's Out Of My Life
[FONT=Courier,sans-serif]King Francis was a hearty king, and loved a royal sport,
And one day, as his lions fought, sat looking on the court.
The nobles filled the benches, with the ladies in their pride,
And 'mongst them sat the Count de Lorge, with one for whom he signed:
And truly 'twas a gallant thing to see that crowning show,
Valor and love, and a king above, and the royal beasts below.
Ramped and roared the lions, with horrid laughing jaws;
They bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a wind went with their paws;
With wallowing might and stifled roar they rolled on one another,
Till all the pit with sand and mane was in a thunderous smother;
The bloody foam above the bars came whisking through the air;
Said Francis then, "Faith, gentlemen, we're better here than there."
De Lorge's love o'er heard the King, a beauteous lively dame,
With smiling lips and sharp bright eyes, which always seemed the same;
She thought, The Count my lover is brave as brave can be;
He surely would do wondrous things to show his love of me;
King, ladies, lovers, all look on; the occasion is divine;
I'll drop my glove, to prove his love; great glory will be mine.
She dropped her glove, to prove his love, then looked at him and smiled;
He bowed, and in a moment leaped among the lions wild:
The leap was quick, return was quick, he has regained his place,
Then threw the glove, but not with love, right in the lady's face.
"By Heaven," said Francis, "rightly done!" and he rose from where he sat;
"No love," quoth he, "but vanity, sets love a task like that."
-- James Leigh Hunt[/FONT]
And one day, as his lions fought, sat looking on the court.
The nobles filled the benches, with the ladies in their pride,
And 'mongst them sat the Count de Lorge, with one for whom he signed:
And truly 'twas a gallant thing to see that crowning show,
Valor and love, and a king above, and the royal beasts below.
Ramped and roared the lions, with horrid laughing jaws;
They bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a wind went with their paws;
With wallowing might and stifled roar they rolled on one another,
Till all the pit with sand and mane was in a thunderous smother;
The bloody foam above the bars came whisking through the air;
Said Francis then, "Faith, gentlemen, we're better here than there."
De Lorge's love o'er heard the King, a beauteous lively dame,
With smiling lips and sharp bright eyes, which always seemed the same;
She thought, The Count my lover is brave as brave can be;
He surely would do wondrous things to show his love of me;
King, ladies, lovers, all look on; the occasion is divine;
I'll drop my glove, to prove his love; great glory will be mine.
She dropped her glove, to prove his love, then looked at him and smiled;
He bowed, and in a moment leaped among the lions wild:
The leap was quick, return was quick, he has regained his place,
Then threw the glove, but not with love, right in the lady's face.
"By Heaven," said Francis, "rightly done!" and he rose from where he sat;
"No love," quoth he, "but vanity, sets love a task like that."
-- James Leigh Hunt[/FONT]
Hi46
Action speak louder than words. http://www.mister-wong.com/user/eli...tp://www.a1-webmarks.com/bm_info-3576871.html
Action speak louder than words. http://www.mister-wong.com/user/eli...tp://www.a1-webmarks.com/bm_info-3576871.html
lol..ඌ noble නේ නියම ආන්ස්වර් එක දීලා තියෙන්නේ..mama ou unanam panninne nee
අපි නෝබ්ල් නැති නිසා අපි කරන්න ඕන තල්ලු කරලා දාන එක
lol..ඌ noble නේ නියම ආන්ස්වර් එක දීලා තියෙන්නේ..
අපි නෝබ්ල් නැති නිසා අපි කරන්න ඕන තල්ලු කරලා දාන එක
noble and gon modayek nikan hari sinhayoo kewanam illan kana cn ekakne
sylvia plaths daddy ..has been a big inspiration for my own poems and totally loved it from the first day i read it.
You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.
Daddy, I have had to kill you.
You died before I had time--
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal
And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.
In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My Polack friend
Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.
It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene
An engine, an engine
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.
The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.
I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You--
Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.
You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who
Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.
But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look
And a love of the rack and the screw.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I'm finally through.
The black telephone's off at the root,
The voices just can't worm through.
If I've killed one man, I've killed two--
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.
There's a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through.
You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.
Daddy, I have had to kill you.
You died before I had time--
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal
And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.
In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My Polack friend
Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.
It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene
An engine, an engine
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.
The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.
I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You--
Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.
You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who
Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.
But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look
And a love of the rack and the screw.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I'm finally through.
The black telephone's off at the root,
The voices just can't worm through.
If I've killed one man, I've killed two--
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.
There's a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through.
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