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the following words are banned from use in poetry here


tsunami
soul
thee
promiscuous sprinklings of "holy"
any archaic words ending in "th" except if you are writing about a very old moth but not if you commit the other sins thus

Annoying moth
incurs my wrath
by drinking half
of my broth

This is an acceptable (albeit stupid) verse



Dear Moth
thee hath my soul
I annoint it with holy water
but I won't use wholly spirit

This is an unacceptable (and even more uselesser) verse.


I have run this by Leonard but he only mumbled something about saving all his ribbons "for thee" so I hit him, but primarily out of the great respect and affection that I hold for myself.


Lord Mickey of One

Member of the Poetry Forum Militant Wing

Bird on the Bust
-----------------

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

Edgar Allan Poe

This is an Amazing coincidence. One of my raven's name is, Poe.

Mikey wrote:

any archaic words ending in "th"

I think we should allow submissions of this ilk, long as they were written before 1900 and were written by the person submitting the piece.

quork
L

hereinafter, I ban the word ilk for its oldth feeling.

hereinafter, I ban the word ilk for its oldth feeling.

Ye, and verily, tis true.

Alan Alda wrote:This is an Amazing coincidence. One of my raven's name is, Poe.

Mikey wrote:

any archaic words ending in "th"

I think we should allow submissions of this ilk, long as they were written before 1900 and were written by the person submitting the piece.

quork
L

ha! well I have information that Sue had a big dinner, too much to drink, and then fell ilk. After a quick sleep she decided to copy a whole spiel from some geezer who isn't even a member here. I know they do things oddly in her part of England but surely she wrote this well after 1900, possibly as late as half past 9. so she is disqualified.

Member of the Poetry Forum Militant Wing

Mikey wrote:

...surely she wrote this well after 1900, possibly as late as half past 9. so she is disqualified.

You can't disqualify someone from poesing as Poe, you are not the Poep.
I shall continue to poes as Poe and poest dud poems so long as it floets my boet.

You can't disqualify someone from poesing as Poe, you are not the Poep.
I shall continue to poes as Poe and poest dud poems so long as it floets my boet

hmmmm shouldn't that be........floeteth my boet

hmmmm shouldn't that be........floeteth my boet

or:
stoeketh my moet?

stoeketh my moet?

Eye hath no' hearth that one - ith it coarth perhapth?

just a quick reminder that sprinkling "holy" all over a few lines of writing rarely solves your problems. although kudos to my friend who asked me if her favourite expression "holyfuck" is banned. it certainly is not, (particularly as she is not a member of the pretentious heart and soul drivel wing of this place),

Lord Mickey of One


Member of the Poetry Forum Militant Wing

Bending the rules already . The Clintons have some openings on their campaign staff... as well as have good reason to want a host of qualified attorneys who believe they hold the holy grail.


~ Lizzy

Why not add dictatorial, tiresome and assinine to the list:?:

William wrote:Why not add dictatorial, tiresome and assinine to the list:?:

Give a reason that isn't petty and self righeous to do so.

any archaic words ending in "th" except if you are writing about a very old moth

Sylvia Plath who
curbed her wrath
by studying Math
in the bath
until a lath
beneath the bath
fractured hath
depositing Plath
on the path