Gymglish Users and Visitors Lounge


lonely place

Left on my lonesome.
In idleness got numb.
Feeling so lonely much like in a desert.
There is no one in sight, nobody for a flirt.


Though, a long time ago,
there were more than a joe
in this lively place
suitable for the chase.


We had a great Whacky in eager willingness
to help everybody in total selflessness,
a mischievous Sophie, the ever with it girl
who was there to support or to give it a whirl.


Vic also was eager to reply any tip.
No one wanted ever her gentle say to skip.
She had substituted for the Gee, the Gwendo
Who had been talkative without further ado.


A guy from Brittany, a touch of poetry.
Not to mention Sandy, with tuba vocally,
along with puckish guy tuning accordingly.
Alumni and their bunch made up the company.


Now we are so sorry that happy time has gone
when they all were chatting and laughing thereon.
As the time is flowing we are left in the lurch
From now on here around, no use making a search.


Is it the summer time that kept people away?
Is it the summer heat that lead them all astray?
For the highs are well known for stunning everyone,
petrifying beings turned still life well done.


Temperatures climbing up to the the thirty-three
make the air so hot that it doesn't provide
any lift to the bird to take-off for a glide,
leaving it with no move like a stuffed birdie.


The dew point is flirting with an all-time low;
down to one nine degrees is the best it would show,
making the air so dry, forcing people to choke.
One's throat being dried out, one couldn't crack a joke,


The air pressure also weighs deep on the landscape.
At one zero three three QNH in good shape
is able to pull down any vague desire
to do lift a finger of a live wire.


Flies and mosquitos are no longer buzzing.
The dust has fallen down. Everyone is freezing.
Stillness is complete. Death is universal.
Believers got their faith. If not, no reversal.


Eyelids are swollen, slumping into a night.
The state of consciousness is stalling as a kite
that goes spinning downwards into unconsciousness.
Could it be the next world or mere nothingness?


Hey! A call through the night? Hey! She gave a start.
It is an azuline playing the bleeding heart
by launching a hard tip to dead GGusers
as to resuscitate that too many losers.


Or is it a Nadine who will do anything
to make up with a sis a duet in singing?
Hey! Not a bit of it! You haven't a clue?
By just looking at them you should guess the trick through.


One-shot contributor is nothing but a ghost.
They work as a mirage, liking to play the host
to wild imaginings pictured by losers.
Everything is in you. Nothing in spite of you.


!%schg§^ùgdùschmgodferdom
Wake up, men! Get up, gals!
More is in you.

23 comments - page 3

  • This is the real and true Alumnus Alumni writing. I want to answer YES to Vic's question : we can be a fake and ill-bred (I use WE, but of course I am not a fake, perhaps I should use One or They, what do you think of it Joe, real Joe, I mean). I've seen fakes using very bad words in this forum. I am quite sure they are fakes and I know that writing bad words is a proof of bad education. Fakes ! please avoid to answer to this very serious topic. Thanks.
    The true, real Alumnus Legitimus Alumni.
  • 'I've been the victim of a dirty hacker'.
    Yes, Joe (real Joe), in this forum, there are GG staff members (coming not very often), there are GG students, GG alumni, there are fakes of all kinds and if I believe you, there are hackers. That would mean, there are not allowed people who manage to get through identification. Are they fakes, or are they able to create fakes? Perhaps also, there are fakes created by some nickname with a very similar name, just to let think another GG fellow did it ?
    Sure, Sophie Moa was a nice girl, just like Lady Di...She was too young to die. She fell from the wheel of fortune (was it a murder or a suicide or just an accident ?) and broke her mask when Whacky discovered she was just a fake.
  • From Yann,
    "A guy from Brittany", in Joe's poem, parhaps it is me. I feel a little depressed since Whacky wrote that I am not a clever man. It is not my fault. I need some rest, because we work hard in Brittany, and the weather is not good : it rains every day and every night. I am going to rent a camping-car and drive south along the Atlantic Ocean perhaps through Spain and Portugal until I find the sun. I don't understand much about these fakes' stories. I hope that nobody made a fake with my name, that would give a bad impression of Brittons and Britanny...I'll write again when we come back, So long.
  • "Hello! My name is Sigourney Weevil, and I live in London. I'm an evil journalist, which is why I'm being so rude to you all. Please don't take it personally. Ok?"


    Sigourney Weevil is a fake and she says she is rude : that's a proof ; one can be a fake and ill-bred altogether...

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