Professional Procrastination by quirkista, literature
Literature
Professional Procrastination
"Why do I always do this to myself?" I audibly groan as the stubborn flickering line continues on its path to destruction, more specifically my destruction, as the hours pass by without a care in the world as if everything was all roses and puppies in pyjamas. One thing can most definitely be said with complete and utter certainty in my moment of dire need and panic. This is a code red situation, no puppies in pyjamas can be seen in the near distance. That time has passed, the time where I spent hour upon blissful hour watching shitty Netflix movies, the kind you would usually avoid except in moments of extreme and professional procrastinatio
I've worked at the Green Bull Pub for around a decade now. It isn't a fancy place like some others in Ireland. Nay, Hermitsgrove is a small town, a tight-knit community full of farmers and masons, all earning just enough to support their families. The buildings have that rustic feel to them, as if you'd been plunged back through time to the eighteen hundreds. Ivy crawling up the faded brick walls is a common sight here, complimented by the cobblestone walkways on either side of the streets. Everybody knows each other, and you can't do something without another person finding out about it. It is somehow quite comforting and horribly irritating
Lament of an Irishman by paladinofthelantern, literature
Literature
Lament of an Irishman
Farewell, my love, goodbye my heart
Never again will you I see
Down to the silent depths I go
The Good Lord is taking me
Great hope I found, much joy I gained
When of America's blessed shores I heard
For the lord's men had chased us off
To starve and die among the curs
My father's watch alone was saved
Hung on a long, rusted chain
To part with it tore at my heart
But you and the wee one were in pain
So my beloved treasure I sacrificed
To gain us passage aboard a coffin ship
Alas, there was only enough fare for one
To take this long and dangerous trip
Thus it was decided that I should leave
The isle of my childhood and birth
To slave away
He had the audiences undivided attention when the buzzer went off and his number was announced, He clinched his hands tight on the chair feeling as the eyes of the crowd was a heavy weight pushing down on him. One gulp which was painfully endured from a ticklish throat, he got up, and nervously walked to the red X on the stage floor, there he stood with his arms almost glued together behind his back and waited for the word to be called.
'Your word is Triskaidekaphobia' the lady at the buzzer called out.
The boy froze, even the lady couldn't pronounce the word correctly.
'Could I have the definition please' he asked quietly.
'Triskaidekaphobi
My mommy is the prettiest lady I ever seen
she has brown hair, blue eyes and a smile
My mommy wears her favorite colors
and she lets me wear the pinkest dresses
I did her makeup once and we were models for a day
she tells me bedtime stories about the lady who losses her slipper
or the girl who falls in love with a frog
When I see mommy on the weekends
she gives me the biggest hugs and yucky kisses
mommy asks me about my week
but I thought she already knows
because I heard mommy's are always around
Sometimes when she's not with me
I can hear her in the other room crying
telling herself why did it happened to her
when I ask daddy, he says
'Ms Jones!' A voice called from the distance, 'Ms Jones..., a pleasure to meet you, name’s George...George Smith' he panted running towards her. When George managed to reach the woman, she stood with her legs tight together and her arms behind her back, her hazelnut hair was tied in a messy bun and wore a knee length silky pink dress,
'Pleased to meet you Officer Smith' she happily said.
'I see you’re a new face to Boston?'
'Yes Ma'am, straight up from Virginia, first day on the job,'
'This crime scene is all quite exciting really, a lady's corpse in the middle of the street, the gal must have been sick to the bone with life'.
Instructions to be a poet. by SuperComicNerd, literature
Literature
Instructions to be a poet.
Instructions to be a poet
First of all don't get in a whirl
rhyming is a criminal mastermind
Don't fret if rhymes shoot you down
take revenge and write a line
Reading your rhymes is worse to come
take your time and sing the words
as if you been singing from three.
Number two is here
with one of two statements
Saying you can write care free words
as long as it matters to you
and yes words make up lines
for you to rhyme
so never the less it works
Step three towards a soup poet
or maybe a super poet
is to check the words
before you share
Nobody want's
"Tinny Die's" from "Tinny Pie's"
in a family friendly poem of such
Finally four has
Fadó is Fadó, from a raging fire
Came a situation so endlessly dire
Hope was fading for a rolling flood
Thus came King Foyle giving his blood
As a ravenous flame they did burn and plunder
A roaring claim they were fuelled by hunger
A fire sears through dynasty and domain
To fight it would be a pointless game
A sanctuary sacked and left for ruin
But by soft wind, music flew in
A single note against that burning raid
A mote was mustered as maelstrom played
His life extinguished by watery bane
Or his life immortalized in eternal reign
Foyle a King, Man no more
But a River and Lough with many a shore
As a melody to Sperrins, Derry