Shaolin Poetry

[Mega-Foot]

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?

[Mega-Foot]

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.

[Mega-Foot]

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.

[Mega-Foot]

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.

[Mega-Foot]

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.

[Mega-Foot]

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....

[cjurakpt]

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?

[SaintSage]

You know, Mega-Foot, it's funnier when you're less obvious.

[Lama Pai Sifu]

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.

That is just wrong....on so many levels. I can't even count how many ways that is wrong.