TyronePA e-cafe - Tyrone Pennsylvania Community Forum

Ole Dead-eye Ray I
a milk can artillerist
Ready! Fire! Duck!

I long to hear the melancholy cry of the Paper Mill whistle. 7 8 noon 1 4 When a lad in class, there was nothing like the tender urgency of a 130-decibel steam whistle reminding you that the day--and time, itself--was slipping by. On some days, if I close my eyes and let myself slip into that blissf...

I wooed my wife with gifts of barbecue Middleswarth chips.

Greetings to all!!! And honored to be in such fine company. My story is quite simple. I graduated from Tyrone High School, but, through a series of unfortunate self-inflicted head injuries and an extended run of Pike keg parties am unable to remember the exact date. It had a 9 in it, that I am sure....

The tastes of Tyrone
Peanut butter meltaway
and Hoagies, always

Consider my feet
So far below. My big toe.
No. belly button.

Ahhh.
My old English is a bit rusty, but, I shall try to make it through that post.
A thousand pardons, "poste."

The t-shirt shall go well under my suit of armour.
So close to the heart.

Lo, jilt64!
Poem served, Haiku jilted
Rhymes at the altar

Sir Banksy-- Each hoagie has a story to tell. A song to sing. A scent to... umm... smell. No. These hoagies do not taste the same, but, are, rather like two delicious sonnets of love. Each formed of the same substance, but, each delivering a different sentiment. Whether you choose the Double E or th...

I pray you be in jest, dear Administrator, for if the hoagie name be exiled, I would then be simply Donkey and not Donkey Hoagie, de la Munchy. So be it! Let us now talk civily amongst ourselves not about hoagie wars; rather, about hoagie love! For sure as the sun sets in the west and the river's wa...

Oh Dulcinea
to be spurned by a sandwich
Twixt heart and Hoagie.

'twould be twice shamed: a brothel without piano and an organ incompetently played.

Fret not over the windmill's power to maim the wing'd bird; nor, equate its power with a cat's appetite, my friends. Rather, think hard of the foul spirit it engenders in one's very soul. For when we tap the power of wind do we not attempt to assail the heights of Babel, the very steps of God? What ...