Its very simple, someone says a line of poetry. You can quote something or make something up or steal a line of poetry from someone else. So you say your line of poetry, and the next person writes the next line of poetry.

Hopefully it will pick up @.@; I've tried it here before and it didnt.

I'll start. This is from The News of the Pheonix by A.J.M. Smith


They say the Pheonix is dying, some say dead

Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
You ring?" Said the Piggy, I will.

[and] quoth the Raven, Nevermore.

It hath fallen away, fallen to the depths of Hell and beyond. . .

Our youth, our joys, our all we have,

(Had to get Raleigh in there)

They, die, cry, sigh; then live again and again.

So I scribbled out the remnants of tomorrow's forgiven jewels,

Burning bright, In the forest of the night.

(See! See! It flows from the last post! I are a genius! With a capital J! )

I'm staying out of this one. It hurts my brain. I'm just organizing it for you

They say the Pheonix is dying, some say dead
Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
You ring?" Said the Piggy, I will.
[and] quoth the Raven, Nevermore.
It hath fallen away, fallen to the depths of Hell and beyond. . .
Our youth, our joys, our all we have,
They, die, cry, sigh; then live again and again
So I scribbled out the remnants of tomorrow's forgiven jewels,
Burning bright, In the forest of the night.

New stanza!

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black,

(Got the Raleigh and the Silverstein... *twitch* must spread word... of good...po---etry... *twitch)

love is like a red, red rose

(( So what is this Raleigh and Silverstein? I'm not big on reading poetry unless someone I know has written it or someone hands it to me and says "Read."))

Although the red of the rose is my blood drawn from the thorns on the stem;

Muahahaha... it is my chance to convert yet another!!!!

*Giant poof of smoke and lightening*

Um, well, Sir Walter Raleigh wrote one of my favorite poems, The Lie, and a couple other keepers. I like him a lot.

Shel Silverstein was most famous for his children's books (Falling Up, Where the Sidewalk Ends, The Giving Tree, etc.) but has written some stuff on the side. He died a couple years back, which actually made me cry.

If I wasn't so lazy, I'd give you links to them, but all you have to do is type their names into google. It's pretty good stuff, I couldn't see anyone NOT liking it.

Haha, thanks rain child. I've acctually read the Giving Tree.... once. I didnt know he wrote it though. Bad me. I'll go look up the poems and stuff once I get the time and I dont feel so lazy!

Just trying to help keep organized....

They say the Pheonix is dying, some say dead
Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
You ring?" Said the Piggy, I will.
[and] quoth the Raven, Nevermore.
It hath fallen away, fallen to the depths of Hell and beyond. . .
Our youth, our joys, our all we have,
They, die, cry, sigh; then live again and again
So I scribbled out the remnants of tomorrow's forgiven jewels,
Burning bright, In the forest of the night.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black,
love is like a red, red rose
Although the red of the rose is my blood drawn from the thorns on the stem;

Tis red, nonetheless, and it burns in my heart,

Flames rise then settle as I die inside;

I die in joy, as the rose, like my love, drains my blood

while closing our caskets cold and tight

the cold wind of regret blows through our hearts

into the light of a dark black night

and death I think is no parentasis

They say the Pheonix is dying, some say dead
Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
You ring?" Said the Piggy, I will.
[and] quoth the Raven, Nevermore.
It hath fallen away, fallen to the depths of Hell and beyond. . .
Our youth, our joys, our all we have,
They, die, cry, sigh; then live again and again
So I scribbled out the remnants of tomorrow's forgiven jewels,
Burning bright, In the forest of the night.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black,
love is like a red, red rose
Although the red of the rose is my blood drawn from the thorns on the stem;
Tis red, nonetheless, and it burns in my heart,
Flames rise then settle as I die inside;
I die in joy, as the rose, like my love, drains my blood
while closing our caskets cold and tight
the cold wind of regret blows through our hearts
into the light of a dark black night
and death I think is no parentasis

New stanza anyone?

Washing away the foot prints of ingnorance

if you drink, may it be with me

for that is true beauty

strangely, i feel new

then I looked in the mirror

but he the is wise keeps it calm to the last

ummm said she)

low, low, low

lower than the basest mortal

and yet greater than the ocean's breadth

grab it with both hands

They say the Pheonix is dying, some say dead
Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
You ring?" Said the Piggy, I will.
[and] quoth the Raven, Nevermore.
It hath fallen away, fallen to the depths of Hell and beyond. . .
Our youth, our joys, our all we have,
They, die, cry, sigh; then live again and again
So I scribbled out the remnants of tomorrow's forgiven jewels,
Burning bright, In the forest of the night.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black,
love is like a red, red rose
Although the red of the rose is my blood drawn from the thorns on the stem;
Tis red, nonetheless, and it burns in my heart,
Flames rise then settle as I die inside;
I die in joy, as the rose, like my love, drains my blood
while closing our caskets cold and tight
the cold wind of regret blows through our hearts
into the light of a dark black night
and death I think is no parentasis

Washing away the foot prints of ignorance
if you drink, may it be with me
for that is true beauty
strangely, i feel new
then I looked in the mirror
but he the is wise keeps it calm to the last
ummm said she
low, low, low
lower than the basest mortal
and yet greater than the ocean's breadth

grab it with both hands
(and i add:) and keep fast against the strains of fortune

while fate hides to strike at dawn

and Death flutters overhead

awash with lust for the kill

and qa wanting for blood so strong

who's gonna have your back when it's all done

you can never ever know;

isn't it something?

How can one tell;

if one is blinded by such erm...tapestries..

What can you say if it's true?

"he just stood there and stared not living or dead."

(Tim Burton, Robot Boy)

Love is the gun seperating me from you,

The sacrament of love

worn proudly in full view

??

Thou doth not understandouth thy game.