Any poem/creative writing with the moon in it gets my vote.

Thankyou for you're coments.

bgeorge:

I enjoyed this, thanks.

Wow!

What is a friend?

A friend is someone,
That is never there for you,
Or never comes round to visit,
To see if you're okay.

Friends,
Never have time for you,
Or offer words of comfort,
To soothe and sustain.

Friends,
Will always borrow monies,
Then disappear like smoke,
Like a talented thief.

Friends,
Sometimes worship crosses,
And always have a smile on their face,
Whilst their angels revel in such deceptions,
That every church in the world,
Should burst into flames.

Friends,
When you're most vulnerable,
Will always rip you to shreds,
Behind you're back.

Friends,
Will always laugh at you're misfortune,
And twist the knife into you're heart,
Whilst you roll and reel in the gutter.

Am i so lucky,
To have so many friends?

I think not.

Friends?

Friends indeed!

I just realised something. Theres a flaw with this joke. Every man on this planet regardless of race or creed, knows one fundamental fact about life,and that is, WOMEN CANT READ MAPS!!!

(Come on guys back me up!)

Oh this is such an anti-men joke!

Woof woof!

Please note:

The term Christian used in this poem, should also be interpreted as applying to Islam and Judaism. thankyou.

Oh mighty Satan,
Oh magnificent Odin,
Let the lightning play about this sword,
And in thunderous rapture,
Let my voice pierce the hearts of men.

Oh let the prophets extinguished be,
For their flames are old and choked.

Now is our time,
Now is our age.

Come forth brave men,
That we might conquer,
And in this war shall such happiness bring,
Unto the end of things.

In my heart I will carry,
All you slain men,
And be remembered,
With warmth and joy,
Unto my dying day,
And troubled grave.

I wipe my face,
With the entrails of our enemies,
And spit upon the lies,
That you men have endured.

So much sorrow,
So much pain,
All reckoned to nought,
By the Christian sword.

Come forth you brave men,
I will honour you,
And never let be forgot,
You're families,
And kith and kin.

Woof woof woof woof, woof woof woof, woof woof (woof woof).



Woof woof woof, woof woof woof woof!

to you all.

and...

a little something extra for you all, its called "Dog's Limerick".

Woof woof woof woof woof, woof woof,
Woof woof woof woof woof, woof woof,
Woof woof woof woof woof,
Woof woof woof woof woof,
Woof woof,
Woof woof,
Woof woof.

Their out there again,
On the bird table,
Downstairs in the neighbour's garden,
Pecking away innocently,
Trying not to draw attention to themselves.

The neighbours must think i'm stupid,
Or a mug, or some kind of fool,
But I know whats really going on,
I know the score.

Each one of those seeds contains a piece of software,
Upgrades for the pigeons.

The pigeons need to be constantly updated,
If they are to succeed with their dictatorial telepathic plan.

I feel as though I should tell the world,
But who will ever believe me.

Maybe I should phone the Police,
Or even the Ministry Of Defence,

Maybe my psychiatrist will listen,
If he's got any sense.

I too have a liquid friend, but were beginning to fall out, as i often find myself having to go without food for a few days just so i can spend some time with him. So close we have become, that i now see him every night of the week. Hes great company and i'm never alone when hes around, but one day, he might turn round and destroy me.

I like the issues this poem raises, and the drunken images you have used are fantastic.

I can see myself in this poem.

Good write.

Nice. . .