Amongst my many talents lies a particular penchant for poetry, and I’ve learned the devastating art of Shao-lin Poetry from my sensei and tutor, Grandmaster Sensei Takeshi Ukeno, Tenth Dan of Tai Shing Pek Kwar of Chan Tai San lineage, and 10th dan of Shao-lin Ninjitsu.
I have decided to create a thread devoted entirley to poems about Shao-lin warrior arts, for we are something lacking in cultivation on this forum, aren’t we?
where have the monks gone?
the Buddha’s little forest
to learn the dharma
Oi Mantid of Magnificence
Oi Mantid, thy beauty is to me
As a sweet young Korean child. On a killing spree,
Thou dost confide that ere thou croak
Thou wouldst first kill. The Catholic Pope
Prays with less fervor than dost thou,
When he immortalizes Mary. The Holy Cow
Of Hindus is no less holy and spiritual,
Than Christ himself. A perfect Fool
Only would wager she tastes less tart.
(And probably won’t make you want to fart.)
I imagine thee always, as a penitent bug,
Sprawled out like an altar boy on the priest’s rug,
Kneeling on the floor, hands clasping. A cock
Crows at dawn, and is as reliable as a clock;
But thou art more reliable when thou pray.
I love thee mantid, but not in a gay kind of way.
Was attacking the Pope totally neccessary?
Ode on a Chinese Herb
Thou still ungarnished herb of iron palm,
Though oft ill-used in commercialized lip balm,
Thou hast grieved me O so wrong:
I think the iron palm has rubbed off on me dong.
I prefer the improvisational work of the great Fezzik…
INIGO
That Vizzini, he can fuss.
FEZZIK
I think he likes to scream at us.
INIGO
Probably he means no harm.
FEZZIK
He’s really very short on charm.
INIGO
Oh, you’ve a great gift for rhyme.
FEZZIK
Yes, some of the time.
INIGO
Are there rocks ahead?
FEZZIK
If there are, we’ll all be dead.
VIZZINI
No more rhymes now, I mean it.
FEZZIK
Anybody want a peanut?
You know, Mega-Foot, it’s funnier when you’re less obvious.
TIGER! Tiger! scary, right?
I like to practice Hung Gar at night.
Though some people might think it’s lame,
I really like the Tiger-Crane.
In what strange circumstance would two
Such diverse creatures be subsumed?
I practice this style to get inspired
While I listen to the soundtrack to St. Elmo’s Fire.
And what kind of a Chinese crook
Could blend a cat and langorous rook?
They say Fei Hong’s Hung Gar was the very best.
I have those movies in a cute little boxset.
What the hell? It’s off the chain!
A tiger with a feather-brain!
I’d go outside and practice, yes,
But I slipped in my horse and pulled my ass…
When the gods threw down their shears,
An’ lavished thee with their lustful leers,
Did they smile on their works to see?
Did He who hung the horse hung thee?
Tiger! tiger! scary, right?
I often practice Hung Gar at night.
My brother says I’m such a dork,
'Cuz I prance around in pyjamas like a cat pretending to be a gay little stork.
Ninjitsu in G Minor
Some say our art is legend,
Legend be art;
Some say our hearts are hollow,
Hollowed-out hearts;
I like to take those tonges into my grip,
Gripping the tongue,
And practice stitching them to their asses,
Right to the bung.
To be, or not to be…a ninja!
To be or not to be, a ninja! Is that a question?
Weather is nicer with the beach as buffer
For the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a levy of troubles,
And with Katrina, drown them (the poor). Eat rye, eat wheat—
No more; and by a wheat to say we the grain
Of heart-burn and the thousand natural shocks
That colons are heir to — 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be “Pish’d!” The rye, the wheat—
The wheat, perchance the sourdough. Oi, where’s the pub?
For if we ferment wheat what dreams may come,
When we have soused ourselves with Daniel’s oil,
Might give us menopause. I get no respect!
I give chlamydia to unfaithful wives,
For who would bear the whips and porns of mine,
Or leather thongs, the gay man’s costumely,
The pains of wooden clubs, the mantaray,
The insolent beasts that killed Steve Irwin…
Oh man. I’ve got to go. One of my students just impaled the postman with a naginata!
No! Don’t pull it out!
Wait, why am I typing that…
[QUOTE=Mega-Foot;764148]Oi Mantid, thy beauty is to me
As a sweet young Korean child. On a killing spree,
Thou dost confide that ere thou croak
Thou wouldst first kill. The Catholic Pope
Prays with less fervor than dost thou,
When he immortalizes Mary. The Holy Cow
Of Hindus is no less holy and spiritual,
Than Christ himself. A perfect Fool
Only would wager she tastes less tart.
(And probably won’t make you want to fart.)
I imagine thee always, as a penitent bug,
Sprawled out like an altar boy on the priest’s rug,
Kneeling on the floor, hands clasping. A cock
Crows at dawn, and is as reliable as a clock;
But thou art more reliable when thou pray.
I love thee mantid, but not in a gay kind of way.[/QUOTE]
That is just wrong…on so many levels. I can’t even count how many ways that is wrong.
[QUOTE=Mega-Foot;764164]To be or not to be, a ninja! Is that a question?
Weather is nicer with the beach as buffer
For the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a levy of troubles,
And with Katrina, drown them (the poor). Eat rye, eat wheat—
No more; and by a wheat to say we the grain
Of heart-burn and the thousand natural shocks
That colons are heir to — 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be “Pish’d!” The rye, the wheat—
The wheat, perchance the sourdough. Oi, where’s the pub?
For if we ferment wheat what dreams may come,
When we have soused ourselves with Daniel’s oil,
Might give us menopause. I get no respect!
I give chlamydia to unfaithful wives,
For who would bear the whips and porns of mine,
Or leather thongs, the gay man’s costumely,
The pains of wooden clubs, the mantaray,
The insolent beasts that killed Steve Irwin…
Oh man. I’ve got to go. One of my students just impaled the postman with a naginata!
No! Don’t pull it out!
Wait, why am I typing that…[/QUOTE]
God, i hate to admit this - it’s quite inspired - but where does this freak find the time?
I keep waiting for,
“There once was a monk from Nantucket..”
Phenomenal Ninja
Pretty women touch me where my secret lies.
I’m made to kill and my dong’s three times the average size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s touching my knee cap right now,
I just rubbed it down with jow,
It’s getting bruised
Because it hangs so loose.
I’m a ninja
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal ninja,
That’s me.
I steathily sneak into a room
But you’re stupid, and won’t see,
And I kill you man,
Or I slice your ankle tendons
And you fall down on your knees.
Then the kata Dante makes short work
Of you. I could kill you with a spork.
I say,
It’s the jow on my dong,
For the length of it is long,
It’s tied around my waist,
and I can stretch it and use it for a shoelace.
I’m a ninja
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal ninja,
That’s me.
Now you understand
Why the women can’t keep their hands
Off of my body when I’m in my sneakthief suit,
And I’m wearing my climbing claws and boots.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
I can sprint o’er banana peels,
I once drank a whole can of mace
And puked it up on an enemy’s face
To add my bile to aid the burn;
I once cut off my hand
To feel what it’s like to be a man,
'Cause I’m a ninja
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal ninja,
That’s me.
SK Girl: A Love Poem
I hate thy kicks,
Thy punches,
Thy voice.
You’re like a female Arnold
On steroids.
I have the suspicion that for all your hate
For Mattera and USSD
That you were his bedmate.
But my love for thee bids me redact:
I love it when you shut your trap.
^^^^^^^^^^
I have a feeling the above post is the making of a flame war with SK Girl.
Me: [get popcorn, beer and comfortable seat] 
Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings, Greenbridge, Essex
The dead swans lay in the stagnant pool.
They lay. They rotted. They turned
Around occassionally.
Bits of flesh dropped off them from
Time to time.
And sank into the pool’s mire.
They also smelt a great deal.
Mega, you should be published. You know I have a friend at McGraw Hill…
Hop Gar
A Tibetan monk takes a wizz in a stream,
And verily he beholds a most bizarre dream,
And dream it be not, though he cannot tell,
For an ape and a crane are going at it pell-mell.
Wherefore came the crane to fight with the ape?
Well, the ape had gotten randy, and swore that it’d rape
The very next thing that he saw that noon,
And so tried to get a piece of the feathery poon.
The poon looked so good, but his eye was to fault,
And wouldn’t you know it? That eye get pecked out.
So he fled to the forest, and gave up his quest
To plant his ape eggs in that fowl’s sweet nest.
Meanwhile the dazed monk, who was standing mid-stream,
Swore he’d never had such a bizarre daydream;
Yet he too caught a glimpse of the feathery poon
And created a style that would get him a piece, too;
For he used the crane first and the ape’s movements last,
Knowing if he couldn’t get crane poon, he could get some ape ass.
Mist rises over the temple wall
Upon the shaven heads it falls
And tourists lined up past the gate
Trade money for certif-i-cates.