"There once was a chicken with a beak
Who thought himself rather unique
And tried to seduce another feathered animal with no luck
The dumb cock didnt know that she was a duck"

--sent in by Stef on April 16, 2001.

In response: Nice use of synonyms. Not very descriptive though. I ask for porn, you send me a chick flick. Hehehe! Get it? Chick...nevermind.

"After a long week of brooding, I wonder outdoors. White blooms everywhere and the sun warms my cold back. It is like I was reborn into the spring. Let's hope I will remain the intelligent jerk I am though."

--sent in by Jerod on April 16, 2001.

In response: Starts out optimistic, then spirals downward into self degredation. Same thing happens when I try on bathing suits.

"=)~"

--sent in by Donald on April 17, 2001

In response: Why thank you. Mind doing that again?

"Battles and spiritual fighting scar and rattle my mind/
In empty room where spiritual lightning spars with fellows in rhyme/
Champion walks, stalked in silence: Thin skeletal being blocked in by sirens/
Meditation with thin walls and thick blackness/
No room for wackness amidst the dark air/
No tomb for tacticts, it's the high chair/
Confused, attacked, mused and jacked it's corroding/
Built to bring peace it's set fire to while floating/
Never ending tales of corrupt destruction/
Mirrored by always bending sails of abrupt construction/
Infinity of mimicking worlds, over time, ticking, they're hurled/
Soft infused guidelines are curled around intelligence/
Illusions appeared fruitful and hence built confusion within spawning souls/
Brain-waves cast scapes, artificial, hiding holes/
Desease of trasitivity attacks each open eye/
Thus every legacy of we and I crumble/
Potential thought from the pedistal tumbles/
Jumbled psyches take over and begin regims to Sicily/
Only faint forms of simplicity hold connections to the world inside them/
Enveloped in potent cycles and numbness they're oblidged and.../
Waking from sticky-burning sleep they are branded/
Senses held steep, wide open from singing flesh they stand stranded/
Forms of hatred, greed and evil things/
Fade away and take them to the dark room where silence rings/
All they had, given up to let the dying embers sing/
Flashbacks of the tortch now smothered bring lamenting dreams/
All is quiet/
All is lost/
There is no more material to bind us/
Nothing to fester behind us/
Only the light now can find us again..."

--sent in by Jesse on June 3, 2001

In response: Thank you, my ponderous friend. You have a gift with rhymes.