Billy+D

=**__motors__**=

//**__by justin moore-bait a hook__**//  I heard you had to drive him home after two umbrella drinks I heard he's got a Prius 'cause he's into being green My buddy said he saw y'all eating that sushi stuff Baby that don't sound like you, that don't sound like love Sounds like it sucks He can't even bait a hook He can't even skin a buck He don't know who Jack Daniels is Ain't ever drove a truck Knows how to throw out a line but not the kind in a Field and Stream book No darling I ain't even worried you'll come running back He can't even bait a hook

in this song its a man who likes a girl but hes is with a other man. he knows stuff about her and doesnt get way he is still with her. but he also hows that she will come back besides this guy cant do anything a real man should be able to. this song uses metaphors and alliteration.






 * Light breaks where no sun shines ||||  ||
 * by [|Dylan Thomas] ||
 * = Light breaks where no sun shines; Where no sea runs, the waters of the heart Push in their tides; And, broken ghosts with glow-worms in their heads, The things of light File through the flesh where no flesh decks the bones. A candle in the thighs Warms youth and seed and burns the seeds of age; Where no seed stirs, The fruit of man unwrinkles in the stars, Bright as a fig; Where no wax is, the candle shows its hairs. Dawn breaks behind the eyes; From poles of skull and toe the windy blood Slides like a sea; Nor fenced, nor staked, the gushers of the sky Spout to the rod Divining in a smile the oil of tears. Night in the sockets rounds, Like some pitch moon, the limit of the globes; Day lights the bone; Where no cold is, the skinning gales unpin The winter's robes; The film of spring is hanging from the lids. Light breaks on secret lots, On tips of thought where thoughts smell in the rain; When logics dies, The secret of the soil grows through the eye, And blood jumps in the sun; Above the waste allotments the dawn halts.
 * = Light breaks where no sun shines; Where no sea runs, the waters of the heart Push in their tides; And, broken ghosts with glow-worms in their heads, The things of light File through the flesh where no flesh decks the bones. A candle in the thighs Warms youth and seed and burns the seeds of age; Where no seed stirs, The fruit of man unwrinkles in the stars, Bright as a fig; Where no wax is, the candle shows its hairs. Dawn breaks behind the eyes; From poles of skull and toe the windy blood Slides like a sea; Nor fenced, nor staked, the gushers of the sky Spout to the rod Divining in a smile the oil of tears. Night in the sockets rounds, Like some pitch moon, the limit of the globes; Day lights the bone; Where no cold is, the skinning gales unpin The winter's robes; The film of spring is hanging from the lids. Light breaks on secret lots, On tips of thought where thoughts smell in the rain; When logics dies, The secret of the soil grows through the eye, And blood jumps in the sun; Above the waste allotments the dawn halts.

in this poem it talks about how the light is brighter then anything and no matter where you are it well be there.
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by [|Shel Silverstein] ||
 * Fishing on the Susquehanna in July ||||  ||
 * by [|Billy Collins] ||
 * I have never been fishing on the Susquehanna or on any river for that matter to be perfectly honest. Not in July or any month have I had the pleasure--if it is a pleasure-- of fishing on the Susquehanna. I am more likely to be found in a quiet room like this one-- a painting of a woman on the wall, a bowl of tangerines on the table-- trying to manufacture the sensation of fishing on the Susquehanna. There is little doubt that others have been fishing on the Susquehanna, rowing upstream in a wooden boat, sliding the oars under the water then raising them to drip in the light. But the nearest I have ever come to fishing on the Susquehanna was one afternoon in a museum in Philadelphia when I balanced a little egg of time in front of a painting in which that river curled around a bend under a blue cloud-ruffled sky, dense trees along the banks, and a fellow with a red bandanna sitting in a small, green flat-bottom boat holding the thin whip of a pole. That is something I am unlikely ever to do, I remember saying to myself and the person next to me. Then I blinked and moved on to other American scenes of haystacks, water whitening over rocks, even one of a brown hare who seemed so wired with alertness I imagined him springing right out of the frame. || Mr. Grumpledump's Song ||||  ||
 * ==in this poem it talks about how he never gone fishing, but also he not much of an out doors man. he would rather be writing or painting.==
 * ==in this poem it talks about how he never gone fishing, but also he not much of an out doors man. he would rather be writing or painting.==
 * Everything's wrong, Days are too long, Sunshine's too hot, Wind is too strong. Clouds are too fluffy, Grass is too green, Ground is too dusty, Sheets are too clean. Stars are too twinkly, Moon is too high, Water's too drippy, Sand is too dry. Rocks are too heavy, Feathers too light, Kids are too noisy, Shoes are too tight. Folks are too happy, Singin' their songs. Why can't they see it? Everything's wrong!
 * Everything's wrong, Days are too long, Sunshine's too hot, Wind is too strong. Clouds are too fluffy, Grass is too green, Ground is too dusty, Sheets are too clean. Stars are too twinkly, Moon is too high, Water's too drippy, Sand is too dry. Rocks are too heavy, Feathers too light, Kids are too noisy, Shoes are too tight. Folks are too happy, Singin' their songs. Why can't they see it? Everything's wrong!

in this poem its like a kidd in a big world. where everything thing goes wrong and he cant ever catch a break. even his partrens dont relize which make things even harder.
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