Poem for a Friend
For a poem, i wrote this just for you.
Never Let You Go (Part III)
My breathing started to quicken as i considered whether or not i should tell the bobcat about my poem. the poem. the one that had spawned from so much heartbreak in my life a few years ago.
The Vixen Princess
“this is a poem?" i asked, staring at the thick pile i was holding. “i thought poems were supposed to be short!" rosemary chuckled, “oh, danny!"
Vorarephiliac
My first vore poem. i haven't vore stories, but, no poems. it was hard, but, i think i did okay. it features three fandoms with vore art i really like. enjoy. a vore poem by olivia docherty "monjo mutt" when did furries taste like fruit?
Roger's Purple Poem to the Fur He Can't Have
This poem is inspired by the music of prince, specifically the purple rain album. r.i.p. prince. we miss you.
“OH…MY…GOD!”
"i knew that poem would pay off! i just knew it!" edward quietly and excitedly cheered out loud to himself. a few minutes later the class started and he noticed that his favorite female did not show up today.
The Night of The Tiger: A Short Poem
Note from author: this is a poem that i wrote quite sometime ago...during my poetic phase.
450 a. (Liberation march)
Author's note: this was all i could find of this poem, i sincerely apologize. poem originally written: 1993-02-12. i went on about my business, and heard something in the distance oh man i gotta get out'a here.
Thing Born of Blood
_i know, i know, it's not a story, it's a poem i wrote many many years ago. but i think you all might enjoy it. i wrote it for english class after reading and watching seabiscuit. i had the best poem in class. anyways, here's a poem.
A Poem.
WhiteTiger-I roam these empty lands,I don't have any demands,My fur is shimmering red with blood,It looks like iv been rolling in red mud,My race is depleted not many of us left,This has been just like a great Humungous theft,Of life and souls and our...
At An Airport Bar - An X Rated Poem
This is a silly little poem written for a friend. it details what you might call a "casual encounter" between two ships passing in the night... in an airport bathroom.
Son of a Dream
Not that it mattered now; she sighed, licked her dry lips, felt an intense craving for water, just as strong as her lungs craved air; reciting the poem had drawn too much water out of her.