write a really bad poem

[Delta40]

lay back on a pillow and think!
Feeling wise and grand
While the mind is in a sink
slimy as the scum on your hands!

[Silas Thorne]

wonderful response, delta! :lol: ha ha ha!

[Delta40]

Yes I often ponder
whether to do the dishes
Or lie in bed and play with Slurkie :lol:

[Riesa]

I have my art, it is my poetry
my darling moon, with
tresses of star shine
the deep drone of the cicadas
spawn indecision,
I bow towards the liquid sky
darling you are mute

[subterranean]

I'm hungry
And my soymilk is waiting for me
With round chocopuffs
No coffee, just tea
I think it's going to be
Same old same old me

[Pensive]

I posted it on litnet before too but perhaps that place wasn't as suitable for the poem as this one is.

Nothing nice to present you with
No rose to make you gay
Nothing beautiful to charm you with
No smile to display
Nothing to feel you with
No physical touch between us lies
Nothing pretty to attire you with
No jewellery to embay
Nothing shiny to bestow you with
No show of love to make your day
Nothing to dine with
No money to spray
Nothing else to toy with
No game to play

It's merely words I have
To take your heart away
It's only love I have
To get in your heart's way
It's just this luck I have
To crush the distances that between us lay

[blp]

I dunno, Pensive. Hard to say. It's sort of bad, but sort of lovely too. Maybe it's loveliness depends on its badness and that makes this the right place for it.

[blp]

I have my art, it is my poetry
my darling moon, with
tresses of star shine
the deep drone of the cicadas
spawn indecision,
I bow towards the liquid sky
darling you are mute

*laughing* This would have been so much better if you'd used 'mote' and 'plash'. And 'glimmer'.

[Il Penseroso]

The crepuscular sky is stagnant
as the decision mumbles on
in winding fountains of a florid
afterthought, the room exagerated
to spindle clouds, yarn of a grandmother
echoed with the polite nudge of
romance, dust with a neon hue
loam of her leg the vehicle
catapulted like a child-trolley
chiming






bad, weird, whichever

[firefangled]

what if the word
write it true
to this path you start
crying before it's
done it before they say
rewrite rewrite re-
gardless persist (keep)
in eliminating what grows
from the trunk makes
limbs thickness means
worlds inhabited by
roamingly cummings wrote
and it's true it does
not write on the fogged
glass is like lake-ice like l-
ake i ce

[firefangled]

in the great hall

open the front gate
step on a break
your mother's back
in the USSR lucky man
he was once dis-
connected from this
or
only inebriated
or stones throw from
sleep will not disturbed
the gate opened take
one step then another
man they think I am
at home remembering this
means you are there
but you will not be gone
a long long time no
one will know
what shirt you wear
and tear on the planet
earth is blue bayou
where the you know
what happening now
not what it is do you
are in the hall of the mountain
fetched up with snow
balls of fire jack frost

[Silas Thorne]

I will get up long before I go to bed
crack walnuts on a face
like thin felt over a concrete floor,
chase lean deer on mountainsides
and pound the whole world flat beneath my feet.
With each footfall, my buttocks in their hardness
will crush molecules of air with an audible pop.
I will fart plentifully, with the fragrance of pot pourri
and all those who look upon me will tremble
and shiver like small birds
trapped in a walk-in freezer.

[firefangled]

I will get up long before I go to bed
crack walnuts on a face
like thin felt over a concrete floor,
chase lean deer on mountainsides
and pound the whole world flat beneath my feet.
With each footfall, my buttocks in their hardness
will crush molecules of air with an audible pop.
I will fart plentifully, with the fragrance of pot pourri
and all those who look upon me will tremble
and shiver like small birds
trapped in a walk-in freezer.

I laughed out loud. You and blp need to have Weird Write-off. Thanks for starting what was going to be a glum day with a laugh and beyond that I will smile every time I think of this (which I will try to remember to do for relief during the asinine events at work of late)

Have a good one Silas, whatever time it is there. :D

[blp]

Yeah, really good, Silas. Too good for this thread, in fact.

[Dori]

This is some bad verse,
Bad as cannot be worse.
Watch me bound from here

to here. A fleshy pear
told me to write this poem,
And to fill it with foam.

[Silas Thorne]

Thanks blp and firefangled! Happy to entertain and glad you enjoyed my crazy poem. :)
Sometimes you get these poems that don't leave you alone but you are not too sure of. That's why I put it here.
firefangled, love the cummings madness:

and it's true it does
not write on the fogged
glass is like lake-ice like l-
ake i ce


Dori, yes. Oh, the baditude of foam and poem, here and pear! I love the jump from here
to here. Write on, dude!

[Dori]

Dori, yes. Oh, the baditude of foam and poem, here and pear! I love the jump from here
to here. Write on, dude!

Thanks! Yeah, I thought the jump from here

to here was quite clever. I swear I write best when half-asleep, as I was when I wrote that.

[Silas Thorne]

super duper trooper star
how I wonder why you are
up above the world so high
firing missiles in the sky
would you would not could not can
take me bake me
every way you want me
you don't even have to touch me, man.

Man, man, icecream man
two scoops more and I'll be screaming
dreaming of food you knew I was hungry
but all this icecream hurts my head, instead
give me a cold sandwich
or a bite of bee venom or some
paltry poultry killed for its sickness
getting into my veins with its saccharine sweetness.
Whip it, whip it good.

Show me a wilderbeast
and I'll give you a thousand dollars.

[blp]

Orange porridge gets you there
where your cares are filled with hair
Though you never liken lichen
It's still a place to ride your bike on
Therefore you should put it under
All the cups that make you wonder
Stones bugs eggs coffe tables
Catafalques, pictures of Betty Grable
And admirals in ashtrays eating cheese
In fact, we need some more of these.

[blp]

Aloosha better ever cap draper kid
You with the horse marine jumper
You saying la la in the bathroom there
Where time is rancid and erased in space
I got you and I noticed in a tympanum
That being is knowing is later than it
So saying, and being, and begetting with
a fragrance of notional weeds, widow's,
There goes it, pallidly, plaintively,
with a growing notion of disbursement.

[Zeniyama]

This is a poem
Buried in loam
Etched in styrofoam
Then sprayed with foam.

I was on the phone
Talking about this poem
To a home
While chewing on a bone.

I feel so alone
Sitting here all alone
Eating corn pone
The thought just makes me wanna moan.

I'm here at home
Waiting for the mail to come
Reading a big tome
That I had to take out a loan
for.

The End.

I made sure to make it extra bad.

[Eryk]

Oh Verdana, I love ya
But now I've got Georgia on my mind
Without shame, sans serif.

[blp]

I made sure to make it extra bad.

Your care in this matter shines through. It's kind of genius.

[blp]

I think I just saw Robert Mitchum
Coming out of the bathroom without a stitch on.

[Il Penseroso]

Scoot the scat from scooter trails
mirage your dreams to Red Lodge Ales.
There's plenty there, the seasons swim
in amber, stout, and wheat beer sin.
Sip ambrosial head, tasty foam,
linger before descents to home.

[blp]

I got my new trike bike
There's absolutely nothing it's quite like
It's a trike bike that anyone would like to bring
To a garden with a paddling pool, croquet and a swing
If you think you can get a trike bike like mine, you're a fool.
Never in your life have you seen anything so inimitably totally cool.

[Silas Thorne]

Your eye, so like a leadweight goat,
preponderance.
connected to the spankled world, collapsing.
FREEDOM! Mel might say.
But not in despite for in spite would say:
'two heads do not four trees resolve.'

[blp]

Putting into words
Getting off horses
Going through something
Trying out a kite

[firefangled]

near the Dolly Parton roses, rising
zombie-like, a love poem,
long buried, vow-
els trailing ov-
er mulch, catching higher
on the prickly canes, mush oo-
zing behind its poor life-
less meaning―someone
else lives there now.

[Silas Thorne]

Sitting too long at the squeeze
texting
my left leg turns clubfoot
touching flesh, it feels like zombies might
and after the flush
I drag my dead weight bedwise
to wait on sense returning.

[firefangled]

I was waiting
for your eight-o-clock
hands; on my thigh,
khaki leg, the flowers
in their paper left
in humid print its mirror,
where, you, no doubt,
watched not time

[blp]

Something indeed something
returned me here or
hereabouts to where
a thunder slept in a ratty shawl
dreaming of a time after its passing
where it would find
the secret of being less than it was
the secret of not being it.
This is what I want for you too.

[Silas Thorne]

These strings I play I harp upon,
these harps that play, they string me on
that finely touched-up face.

You glance to check that it's still there
in a shining gleam of glass,
or in the glance of others, as you pass.

Or, take photos of it with your cellphone.

[snape]

Here's one of mine,but i'm only eleven I don't much emotion or enternal power.

I sit alone in the cold,
Feeling sorry for what’d done.
But pity for oneself doesn’t matter,
But pity for everyone.

We all need to be pitied,
Because we all live in fear.
Not everyone’s perfect,
After thinking this one night,
I shed one single tear.

[firefangled]

I give up baby was
that many years fly
on the wall-phone
bell tone crank it crank
Lladro figurines mama
made a shelf just a
piece of pine a plank
found almost thrown
out years ago and by
the way just because

[Modigliani]

Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love.

Oh wait. Hamlet wrote that one. ;)
Let me try again.

i am not a poet,
but i am made of poetry.
my bones are ancient verses
my hairs are lyric strands
my footsteps are rhymes,
and my heart beats
to the changeful meter of a catholic ballad.
but i see nothing but words.
my eyes are weary.
i see nothing but words
and my eyes are weary.

Sadly enough, this is probably the best poem I have ever written.

[Farah786]

Who Are You?

He comes in the night...
He whispers.....in my ear....
He breathes down the back of my neck.....
And, all I can do, is shiver in fear.....

I am full of goosebumps...
From head to toe.......
All I want to do is shout 'OH NO!'....

But I can't.....
I'm frozen......
I'm asleep....
But I feel wide awake....
He only comes when I'm asleep....
When I'm at my most WEAK.......

Who are you?
I ask myself....
The faceless person...
Who bothers me....
Time and time again....

I want to wake up....
So I can see.....
Who is this person....
Constantly BOTHERING ME?

He says.....
But I'm only your Self conscience.....
There's no need to be scared of me.....
I'm the one who guides you....
Without me, there'd be NO YOU!


OMG.....how bad was that? I just made that up....as I was tapping away on this worn out keyboard....

[blp]

OMG.....how bad was that? I just made that up....as I was tapping away on this worn out keyboard....

Yeah, great, really bad. Modigliani's too.

snape's is rather touching though.

[blp]

Argued in signs with holes hoed into
in the argued end of the lended bends
there there is there but a hair of wear
it is so said that it gets bleated and torn
to a touching hand, lair, rail, bandage
and badinage, therefore for your snore
you say something and it goes before.
There is no lend for forfend.
It is mumping.

[Zeniyama]

He called me mean names
And then he gained fame,
That just makes me feel
:rage: -eel

[MacMungo]

I ate a tasty orange
And sucked upon a lozenge,
Then took the golden syringe
And dreamed of Stonehenge.

- Mungo

[blp]

Blankly surveying sandydale with opera glasses
I began to believe in the lapidary theory of crassness
Wherein the chins of Finns with full bins
Are cracked into ham sandwiches with sinful brims
on hats had apparently apt likenesses to librarians
I am always bumping into these librarians.
How they bore me.
The way they adore me.
It's boring.

[a_little_wisp]

I ate a tasty orange
And sucked upon a lozenge,
Then took the golden syringe
And dreamed of Stonehenge.

- Mungo

This might just be my favorite bad poem ever. Ever.

[blp]

Truck your ruck you've
run out of luck but
your hair and your
eventuality in general
were seen at the fun
eral of a
two-seater sofa
clever ever in clover
oven proof natural
moleskin mittens
be careful the face
you sit on
may be your own
or may be a kitten.

[snape]

Be'eth your smile good or bad,
You need not know why.
Just smile and don't ask questions,
And don't be ashamed to cry.
Try to hold your sorrow in and laugh instead of cry,
For crying is no fun at all.
But with crying, you need know why.

[blp]

Today is going to be a day for
failing to require what is for the day for
the day you for days said for days for
This will be it and you will have to have it
Or you will be put into rice and gravy and that'll be it
And you'll wonder how your pens and pincers winced
When it was all owls and cats in the parlour and your guesses
Were all of spinach and vampires.
Why was that? Why did you guess those things?

[MorpheusSandman]

I think this thread illustrates that it can actually be difficult to write a bad poem on purpose as I actually like some of these! But I'm also a fan of surrealism, so randomness can be appealing. I think in order to be really bad you just have to be really cliched and take yourself seriously. Like:

With this heart of steel
I'll shower you with kisses
I'll bear my soul for you
So you'll become my missus
Your glances make me reel
Just tell me what to do
I'll do it just for you
Oh, be still my heart!
Our love is like a rose
It grows and it grows
Nobody knows
Where it goes, where it goes
Rain will feed it
It will need it
To drink its water like I drink your looks
Our love's the stuff of epic books

[paperleaves]

Sunny with a slice of carrot cake
is where my mind went blank
between the torn pages of a croissant
no, wait, a crescent
moon

[billl]

Not mine, but one of my favorite bad poems.
Eddie Murphy (reading as the inmate/poet Tyrone Green) on Saturday Night Live

Images
Dark and lonely on a Summer's night.
Kill my landlord. Kill my landlord.
The watchdog barking, do he bite?
Kill my landlord. Kill my landlord.
Slip in his window, break his neck!
Then his house I start to wreck!
Got no reason--What the heck!
Kill my landlord. Kill my landlord.
C-I-L-L my landlord.

[SleepyWitch]

the other day in another city
a guy passed me, blondish and tall,
radiating vague recognition,
protective and detachedly amused;
by his pants I knew he was American
although you are not.
I remembered your instant chilly devotion,
your distanced patience and I thought:
now that angels have had a go at my soul,
it’s time for a different kind of power;
but maybe he’s just some archetype
and you are him but I
am not me

[MacMungo]

This might just be my favorite bad poem ever. Ever.
Thanks! Plus, I rhymed "orange" :goof:

[MacMungo]

Not mine, but one of my favorite bad poems.
Eddie Murphy (reading as the inmate/poet Tyrone Green) on Saturday Night Live.

I remember watching when he did that one. I was totally rofl. :lol:

[snape]

loving christmas

Christmas is a lovely time of those you love not fear,
The many carols in the streets that you like to hear.
Christmas is a gathering of those you find most dear,
That makes christmas my favourite celebration of the year.

Recieving gifts is good, giving gifts is great,
Shopping for the christmas gifts always being late.
You like recieving something even if that you hate,
But quality dosen't matter it's the thought that they create.

Dad's outside working mums inside for the same,
but for the little kiddies it's all just one fun game.
although it can be hard work you're glad that everyone came,
you put in lots of effort but the teens just think it lame.

S.A.W.S
Summer is nice and hot and sunny
Just the right time to have fun that is funny.
The sun is shinning very bright
Bringing beauty in the sunset at night.

Autumn is a grand old time
with leafless trees and vineless vines.
It is the time to jump and play
In dirty piles of leaves all day.

Winter is the coldest season
For being cold it has no reason.
We're freezing from head to toe
Soon the terrible cold will go.

Spring has come with flowers to
With lots of garedning jobs to do.
Spring is a fun time
But unlike winter no vineless vines.

[Satan]

Woah! This will become a favorite thread of mine. Good one, Snape. And a very happy b'day to you, young lad.

Together

You're but an imagination
or a burning dream of mine;
or I am the nightmare
you wish you never had.

And now that you have
turned me into you;
I'm glad you and I,
we're together in loneliness.

Forever ...

[JonathanLockely]

Oh my Darling,
come with me and you'll be starring,
in a motion picture extravaganza,
a veritable bonanza,
a treat for the feet,
a feast for the beast,
a tale that has two endings,
(something)
the other mind-bending,

As far as I got. ^ ^ I fail at poems.

[tailor STATELY]

I still keep these 'gems' on my web page; most likely to let my better 'poems' shine brighter in contrast:


Vacuous... but not Confused


Confused...
Walking purposely
he figured
the lady,
her eyes designed
without wit
and impossibly
hardly a mind,
... wasn't

6-3-2004


Sea ?

Seascape scenery
Scenario seems seemly
Seeing siege selah

6-3-2004


Don't Feed the Birds

Tempt not the fowl beast
That wing-ed adversary
Doth one's repast plagues

5-26-2004


I've written so many poor poems; perhaps I'll plague this thread with more later.

tailor STATELY

[Heathcliff]

Lemme see,
your a nacho.
Life is a burrow of spit,
lava is in my hair.

I think the trees are green,
I like hotdogs.
The picture didn't come out,
I need a better camera.

There once was an old woman,
She died.
And the lightning,
never happened.

My fingers are nice,
I don't like noses.
Stupid histograms,
gotta do a maths test.

______________________

That was awful.

[Heathcliff]

Open up your eyes,
nope, open them.
There's a horrible view.
Haha, you saw it.

What am I doing?
Should get some milk.
I like milk,
we have Banana Nesquick.

I was reading a book,
and I got to the end.
Then I read the blurb,
what a load of trash.

Should go to the shops.
Need lemonade and deoderant.
Can't drink Coke,
hurts my heart.

Doesn't make sense,
such is life.
Gotta get it.
My arm is itchy.

[snape]

:banana::conehead:smelling flowers,
and someone put the lemon in the meat mixer
i like sniffing things
i used to pick my nose
and i ate one brussel sprout
i also like sitting
but standings good fun to
my pinky smells like vomit
even after it's been washed
ants are small and gorillas smell bad

[SleepyWitch]

loving christmas

Christmas is a lovely time of those you love not fear,
The many carols in the streets that you like to hear.
Christmas is a gathering of those you find most dear,
That makes christmas my favourite celebration of the year.

Recieving gifts is good, giving gifts is great,
Shopping for the christmas gifts always being late.
You like recieving something even if that you hate,
But quality dosen't matter it's the thought that they create.

Dad's outside working mums inside for the same,
but for the little kiddies it's all just one fun game.
although it can be hard work you're glad that everyone came,
you put in lots of effort but the teens just think it lame.

S.A.W.S
Summer is nice and hot and sunny
Just the right time to have fun that is funny.
The sun is shinning very bright
Bringing beauty in the sunset at night.

Autumn is a grand old time
with leafless trees and vineless vines.
It is the time to jump and play
In dirty piles of leaves all day.

Winter is the coldest season
For being cold it has no reason.
We're freezing from head to toe
Soon the terrible cold will go.

Spring has come with flowers to
With lots of garedning jobs to do.
Spring is a fun time
But unlike winter no vineless vines.


Snape, this is incomparably bad :)

[mazHur]

Old Merci!!

I hate
wine
gambling
womanizing
pig.

I hate
wine
gambling
womanizing
pig
dead meat
blood
sodomy
favors from in_laws
show off
arrogance
hypocrisy
suicide
and above all
Old Merci!!

Maz

Read more: http://authspot.com/poetry/old-merci/#ixzz0oVVpytJQ





http://authspot.com/poetry/old-merci/

[Caderyn]

This is my land, not for you
I am selfish, you are too
Draw a line or build a fence
Then cross it at your own expense
I hate you since your house is green
And just for that I will be mean
I’ll say this once, I’ll say it twice
Cross my path and you’ll get lice
Take my stuff and we’ll have wars
I’ll beat you with my dresser drawers
If I have to, I’ll use my shoes
Doesn’t matter since you will lose

:frown2:

[moonbird]

roses are red
violets are blue
sugar is sweet
and so are you
sunshine is warm
like your loving smile
and just seeing you
makes it all worthwhile

**This was a real love poem that was given to me. Join me in gagging! :puke:

[Revolte]

roses are red
violets are blue
sugar is sweet
and so are you
sunshine is warm
like your loving smile
and just seeing you
makes it all worthwhile

**This was a real love poem that was given to me. Join me in gagging! :puke:

I'm afraid I can't join you in the gagging, I think it's awfuly sweet, in a cheesy kind of way, but I'm a cheesy guy and a sucker for cheesy cute stuff like that lol.

ok lets see what kind of crap I can spew out.


Water bottle cap,
is not really a water bottle cap
in fact
it's a soda bottle cap
only the bottle itself is for water
so does that mean
after all
it is a water bottle cap?

[milktea]

This is my land, not for you
I am selfish, you are too
Draw a line or build a fence
Then cross it at your own expense
I hate you since your house is green
And just for that I will be mean
I’ll say this once, I’ll say it twice
Cross my path and you’ll get lice
Take my stuff and we’ll have wars
I’ll beat you with my dresser drawers
If I have to, I’ll use my shoes
Doesn’t matter since you will lose

:frown2:


Uh... perhaps my taste resides only in my mouth, but I like this poem. I think it's really clever.

[milktea]

Needless to Say

Needless to say.

by milktea

[J.D. Sparks]

Needless to Say

Needless to say.

by milktea

Brilliant.

[hack]

Domestic Violins

But another
other than the other mother
bruised my brother
brother the bother
of a bruised battered brother

The coppers came over
we all ran for cover
some made it
not mother nor brother
I'm left here alone
to make bail
what a mother

[AdoreroDio]

I think I may have failed at writing a bad poem...it's bad though, I guess...my judgement is impaired because I am tired. Here we go...

Undercover Detective's View of Suspect Eating

I watched her red lips
move like caterpillars
her cheeks bulging
a piece of meat slipped
out and fell to her
plate
she wiped her juicy mouth
with a soiled napkin
her throat bobbed
My radio buzzed in my ear
"do you have the suspect
in view?"
'Yes. She's eating a steak.'
"you're watching the wrong
lady."
'Blond? 6 foot 3? I think not.'
"Vegetarian."
silence,
I watch the right girls lips
move like caterpillars
a fork of greens lifted to
her mouth...

[hack]

I think I may have failed at writing a bad poem...it's bad though, I guess...my judgement is impaired because I am tired. Here we go...

Undercover Detective's View of Suspect Eating

I watched her red lips
move like caterpillars
her cheeks bulging
a piece of meat slipped
out and fell to her
plate
she wiped her juicy mouth
with a soiled napkin
her throat bobbed
My radio buzzed in my ear
"do you have the suspect
in view?"
'Yes. She's eating a steak.'
"you're watching the wrong
lady."
'Blond? 6 foot 3? I think not.'
"Vegetarian."
silence,
I watch the right girls lips
move like caterpillars
a fork of greens lifted to
her mouth...

Oh, it's bad.
You found the
right thread,
my poetically
challenged friend.
If I get funded,
I should like to
study your tics
and assorted
neuroses, if you
are not averse.
If you are a verse,
I suggest that you
write yourself down
quickly, before you
are gone.

[Hawkman]

Organ Loft

Organ loft full of pipes
channelling
the motorways of mice:
full of wind
flutes the size of knights
joust with infinitely complex
feasts of sound, unruly hymns,
brothers to the wedlocked bins
where pigeons piss and crap
their guano commentaries.
Spiders twist the ragged
howls of hurricanes unbound
and lost in SETI culture shock
they just turn up their legs
and drop.

[hack]

Wonderful Hawk,
My only criticism
is that perhaps
it is a tad too,
how shall I put
this delicately,
good!(do not take
offense)...peace...

[dafydd manton]

Fortnight in Soviet Union
Hours sat in dimly lit bar.
Sampling various potions
Made in the USSR.

Fortnight in Soviet Union
Roll on the day when I learn.
Ordered a Molotov Cocktail.
Now, I've got shocking Heartburn.

[dafydd manton]

O TANNENBAUM

Fairy on thy evergreen
Placed on high so thou'll be seen!
Symbol of a peace so fine
Perched upon they lofty pine.
Eleven months for thee we've longed
Thy golden wings, thy silver wand.
At last arrives December's fate
And yet I sense that thou could'st wait.
It can't be pleasant, ergo sum,
With half a fir tree up yer bum!

[Hawkman]

Wonderful Hawk,
My only criticism
is that perhaps
it is a tad too,
how shall I put
this delicately,
good!(do not take
offense)...peace...

Oh, hack, I do hope you're joking :D

[dafydd manton]

All the right boxes have been ticked.
Sorry, Hawk, you've just been nicked!

[Hawkman]

Curses, foiled again.

[Skia]

What can I say?
when all I think about
is drooling all over you,
putting you to my lips
and then chomping you down,
you beautiful chocolate bar
known as Galaxy! ;)

[dafydd manton]

Not your thoughts, but your dear Pa's
Just as well he likes his Mars.
I thought of one that rhymes with Snickers

But I am a coward!

[Skia]

Haha Nice Daf!

Areo is also a sexy peice,
so is Lion bar and the Milkyway,
but Bounty makes me Blah!

[hillwalker]

I'd choose flake
you just can't beat it
watching
nubile ladies eat it

[Skia]

Ah,
a flake is weak
compared to the beauty
of homer simpson ;)

[Silas Thorne]

A man walked to the place where he was born,
and crawled back in. His mother died.

[Skia]

The photo on my card
is crap,
for the text didn't sense make.

[snape]

I made this one up on the spot really I don't think poetry is my calling i'm more into writing re-elistic storys that still aren't true but here goes I call it: Why the light is light

forth the dark begans to perish,
in light unknown by the devil himself.
the light that up above they cherish,
were rich men greedily swim in thier wealth.

Greedily is the word the dark use,
to describe the palace were the light dwell'th.
the dark itself are the greedy fuse,
that set the light on fire with stealth.

It's good St Michael that saved the light,
from evil darknesses clutches.
he put up an extremely courages fight,
and now dark deranges everything else that he touches.

[iamnobody]

My mantra is a writhing beast
With teeth that bite
And claws that tear
And yet I hold on
I must not let go

I hear you laugh and I am whole
(even when the teeth bite)
You say the things I long to hear
(even though the claws tear)

You make me feel special
And I'll pretend it's true
But I won't let go of the beast
This mantra
(notmine)

Torn and bloodied
Still it's worth it
Every time you smile at me

[TOOTS]

Oh woe, oh woe,
The end is nye,
My bosem pierced,
Unto the sky.

She came into my life so drawn,
Dilemma split betwixt the horns.

I helped her so,
Endeavours dire
She came to me,
Oh sire, sire.

How can I pay you back she said,
Her raven hair upon the bed,

Don't worry lass to her I said,
Don't worry now your pretty head.
At present now I'm on the wing.
I'm sure we'll think of some little thing.

[YesNo]

walking out my angst
trees growl
spider-heaven cracks
jumping cockroach
soul sad in its depths
subway jerks (blocked out obscenity)
orange light pops take up
Yet! subway dismayed
like my soul
cross is hanging on its side
star explodes in white (another obscenity I had to remove)
has pierced the soul
hanging - grope under dirty sheets
go deep i go deep and up
quite you think you know
i only no


I have some priceless formatting in the above that I can't seem to get to display. Which is probably just as well. I removed the obscenities. :)

[Silas Thorne]

Mon Coeur Frankenstein pumpernickel

O great cicada
a mote in your plashdom
is only a
triple retch on wallpaper,
yet
I
will
try with only a partial
silence, HARK!!!
HARK!!! Witness the braying of the porridge-drunk monkeys
most terrifically I cough delightful without terminus in medias res
'two's company, three's a crowd'
etc etc stab the organist through a demanding hiccough
no more than this will be divine.
But piss on it, Harry! Do not try to fight what ist becomen wilderbeast! These will recover.
'Don't watch it you'll go blind', pistachio concrete revelation!

THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE Felch biscuit

[YesNo]

They say I am "bipolar".
I like to be that way.
I'm baby-talking to you now :Angel_anim:,
But later I will have a cow. :cuss:
(I skipped my meds today! :yikes: )

-- xoxo :reddevil: Bipoluh Baby (BB)

[tailor STATELY]

A Terrible Poem, by tailor STATELY

Why am I caught in your web ?
Eight-legged you were beneath
the sole of my boot when I found you
The one with the large hole in it

You reminded me of the day
Wednesday or Thursday
Maybe it was a Saturday
I know it was raining

Your breath like a duck's armpit
Awakened me, "so foul" I croaked
With a frog in my throat
"What's for breakfast ?"

And so another day goes by
I think it was Monday
The sun peaked from a cloud's behind
No, it definitely was a Friday

We walked, me with a little limp
You, all eight legs shuffling along
With a bright bandanna to hide your scar
To the Chemist's to buy a calendar

And a funny compact with pills
If chased down with prune juice
They're not all that bad
O, how I hate prune juice !

And today I find you in a corner
All eight legs pointing up to the ceiling
(Awfully quiet when you aren't breathing)
"Wake up Bob - We're pregnant !"

11/9/2010

[Delta40]

Wore and Piece
Sew Litter Alley
Proper Gander

[dark_writer500]

#1:
so all i do responsible in ways takling of do i say,
all that do people you say go hay to lay,
in ways of so much cryptic none that understand can yet,
try you please learn to mine ways.

course's laughs of i yet fail shall none do,
words all jumbled yet so may none all of know,
that course yes do i others need hear to,
and poemus terriblus listens really none so do.

poem terrible words of made has by me,
and may people of all be me of to be understood,
of is i bequeathed lies pharoahs learns i history by as passes,
so mystery is this sorry that understands none may me.

Solemnly lies i down rest for now,
and less cryptic have my messages become to kowtow?
learns of all i do yes have and too cows,
lovely world is it not that i leave?!


#2
HA! shouts i, messenger of nonsense!
laughing in teh higher men's ears! haha!
of poetic giraffes and flesh-eating meese,
and english teachers who like to chase geese!
blah! i yells in all my's happiness!
drinks too much in my lalalaaklsiness
but hates it does i, what i talkin round?
HEy! little mices confound!
you?
poemetics i am haha!
leave i must....must...must....
leave i must of course, i yet do?
so leave and begones, of me's that hoohoool.............

[Delta40]

lol. That's pretty bad!

[YesNo]

poemus terriblus

I agree with Delta40, dark_writer500. It is lovely nonsense!

Here's some "poemus terriblus" from my imaginary friend, BB.

BB on Body Scans

I must protest the body scan
Before they let me board my flight. :rage:
I'd much prefer a manly man
Would pat me down and do it right. :nod:

-- xoxo :reddevil: Bipoluh Baby (BB)

[snape]

The townfolk cried out...
"Ah, Ogre, Ogre"
Pitchforks, knives and loolipop ladies
Even babies
Chased me,
darn it
I should have worn my Prince Charming outfit!
(fart)
Woa! Those onions
:banana:

[YesNo]

(fart)


Ah! I can smell it. :)

Here's something from my imaginary friend to keep the thread going:



I Hate My Boyfriend

My man's afraid to talk to me.
That tends to get me pissed. :flare:
I lose my cool.
I start to drool
And freak. I'm rarely missed. :nopity:

-- xoxo :reddevil: Bipoluh Baby (BB)

[YesNo]

I mentioned to BB that some people here were concerned about internet trolls, and she said, "I know! They're awful!"



Internet Trolls

My heart has got a single goal
To get my hands upon that troll
Whose brain-dead drivel torments me :mad2:
Almost as much as poetry.

-- xoxo :reddevil: Bipoluh Baby (BB)

[jajdude]

I walk and sulk and girls and hope and die, love, be good soon hope fry brain, see ya soon, why, what's the deal, dunno gotta go

[YesNo]

Nice one, jajdude. I showed it to BB. She's very competitive, always saying, "I can write something worse than that!" Unfortunately, she's still fixated on internet trolls.


I Hate Bots
or
There's a Screw Loose in Your Silicon Chip

I hate those mouthy robots. :mad5:
They like to play with you,
Screw with your mind
Until you find
You're messed up like them, too.

-- xoxo :reddevil: Bipoluh Baby (BB)

[jajdude]

What is this Bipoluh nonsense ? Be yourself.

[YesNo]

I am.

[doingitagain]

No one understands me
Geniuses are rarely understood
Why isn't life good
Maybe they will sing for me tomorrow

[DieterM]

The weeping willow wearily waits
Like a ponderous pedestrian at a red light
For the rain to rudely roughen its branches
Wail, oh frail weeping willow for
rain remains remote in the Sahara desert loneliness…

(This is great fun, I could get used to writing really bad bad peotry!)

[Pendragon]

In open court the Elephant
Upon the stand began to telephant
The Judge allowed the rambling rant
Because the defendant was a gambling Monkey rat
The Prosecution was an old Hyena
Ridiculously called Shanna Sheba
Who wove each knot with spiteful rancor
Designed to hang the Monkey wanker
The Defense rose with creaking knees
And grinned; He was a blinking Chimpanzee
And pointed out with delighted eyes
That Monkey was a poor identify
For Monkeys come in many species
And his client was a Rhesus
While from the description given
Any fool should recognize a Gibbon
The jury composed of Army Ants
Returned "Not Guilty" so the Elephant
Conceded the trial with a shrug
And turned and quietly shot the Judge

[prendrelemick]

:sad:I've just posted one in the quoted line comp.

[YesNo]

That one in the quoted line contest about Jacob and Esau was pretty good, prendrelemick.

Here's one I hope is really bad:


I got an image of a train.
I got an image of a tree.
There's people now inside my brain
And flowers blooming needlessly.
I better sort of make this rhyme.
It's mushy. Yes, I know.
My meter won't tell me the time.
Oh, well, who cares? Let's go.

This was supposed to be a parody of Pound's In a Station of the Metro, but I figured Pound's poem wasn't well enough known to add it to the parody thread. The idea came from WolfLarsen's reworking Shakespeare's sonnets.

[Twota]

They stuck many needles,
they said needles are great,
but needles am I to say,
it was a severe pain.

[YesNo]

I am almost to the end of Gerald Stern's In Beauty Bright when these thoughts kept distracting me.



We paid our kindest respects to Warhol at
the MET complimenting his memory with 'I
could do that myself' or 'I wouldn't want
that in my living room' or 'If I found
that in my basement guess how long it would
take me to get it on craigslist?' but we
thankfully rushed through it if rushing could
be a way to describe Gerald's pace since
he needed to pee so often even the lady
selling stuff wanted to know if his most
pressing need was the location of the nearest
restroom or could he get to the Warhol exhibit
on the other side of the building--we were
that lost--in time, but he knew he better make
it to the exhibit though I soon left him to get
hammered while I leisurely walked through
Central Park toward the hotel since my
flight would leave in a few hours and I felt
better about the trees and bushes than I
did about Warhol where there was no admission
charge until I ran into a young man on the
edge of a park bench who made me feel even
happier since he asked me sheepishly if I
could direct him to the Metropolitan Museum
of Art and being from Chicago and never
having even been in this park before in my
life I was thrilled to show this dumb tourist
how to get two blocks or so to the MET that
he seemed overjoyed to learn and that
made me happy for about an hour until I
realized that anyone with a map of NYC who
could find Central Park should have no problem
finding the MET on his own and what he was
really giving me was a signal wondering if
I was the guy he met on craigslist or not
and clearly I wasn't since I foolishly showed
him where the MET was and I could hear him
telling his blind date later when he finally
met him that some moron, probably from
Chicago, actually gave him directions to the
MET and even told him that the Guggenheim was
closed on Thursday--hahahaha--which is about
all I know about NYC, and yes, I told him all
I knew about NYC, holding nothing back, and
now all I wanted to do was get back to civilization
where, should I meet someone who dared to ask
me in Grant Park on a bench by the lake where
Michigan Avenue was, I would tell him without
any sense of being fooled since it didn't
matter all that much to know that there was
no point in him going any further east.

[mazHur]

unta bunta tunta tu
went together to the zoo

unta saw a whale walking
bunta fed a monkey talking
tunta tingled tun tun tu
tu was left alone in the loo!!

[cacian]

what so bad about
this if I can write it
and stick
to the guidelines
of words
bad is not bad
if good is not good
and so poetry lures
any idea demure

[cafolini]

No chlorella
No moringa
No maca
No spirulina
No cacao
No wheatgrass
No camu-camu
No acai
Can reverse
The damage of cacianosclerosis.

[cacian]

Oy cafolini the damage of cafolinisclerosis more like lol :leaving:

[Adolescent09]

Jorge Luis Borges, Robert Frost, Rudyard Kipling, William Blake, and 2 Chainz

Candy rappers wrap wack flows around unambitious goals
meleeing mawkish lines merely mustering mock applause
The greats laid the grounds for Hip Hop’s poetic laws
2 Chainz spits so lisp like the homie’s twig is betwixt
two grannies’ saggy chests
but it’s just silly
like liking to lick granite bricks
you aren’t slick i mean really
I’m an ape-colored hick
nowhere near ‘hip’
and I could chime a two line rhyme
that would win me your baddest ‘dime’
feeding females to mattresses sounds like crime
so why is this piece of slime

not in prison?

[cacian]

prison no?
dungeon no?
oubliette yes

[Adolescent09]

ok, this is really bad:

May god grip pearls where light abounds
percolating to depths where death resounds
blitheness hath cauterized flagrant sin
and antagonized a risk
in a heathen's den.

[YesNo]

After Gerald and I detoured from our walk along the lake
we stopped at Powells on 57th Street and stared at the
spines of old books until I had to use the restroom and so
asked for the key which is one of my favorite things to do
in this bookstore besides looking at books since this
bathroom is spooky with a ceiling up through the second
floor and it is where I read a poem by Tanith Lee about
love being like the sea on the wall which surprised me
since it was still there and after that we decided to get
some coffee and croissants at the Cafe du Bonjour but found
the area where we would have normally sat crowded with a
flea market of used books and students from the University
of Chicago emptying their bookshelves into the hands
of other students and people like us who weren't students
but walkers along the lake looking for something to do
but since the prices were cheaper than Powells we looked
in earnest at what we might find and Gerald found Anita
Loos's Gentlemen Prefer Blondes and I found James Joyce's
Finnegans Wake that Gerald distinctly told me not to
waste my time on and so I bought it for about a dollar
because he told me not to and we finally found a place to
sit with the coffee and croissants and our books and I
could hear Gerald laughing while I was reading stuff like
'had passencore rearrived from North Armorica on this side
the scraggy isthmus of Europe Minor' going WTF and telling
Gerald I wish I never bought this book and he said that
was a sign of my basic intelligence because I stopped before
I got to the second page and so I read some of his book
and wished I had his brains but then he cruelly remarked
that any monkey could find Finnegans Wake for free on the
internet, but people are still paying hard cash for Gentlemen
Prefer Blondes since no one is offering it for free on the
internet hoping someone will randomly read a few words of it
and he said don't worry but I was annoyed because Gerald
started psyching me out explaining that my real problem
was not that I was stupid but that I had no sense of place
when I wrote about the boring depths of my depressed soul
and that is why no one reads what I write which didn't
make any sense to me since all you have to do is go on
Google Earth where 'any monkey' can get a belly-full of
place but he said that's what distinguishes the good writer
from the mediocre ones like myself and if I just did as he
told me I could win a National Book Award or even better
write a book about place that people were still actually
reading that would top such memorable lines from Loos like
'London is really nothing' or 'Paris is devine' which is
all one really needs to know about Paris or London which
made me depressed enough to almost write another place-less
poem on the spot until I saw a cute oriental girl and gave
the book to her and she was thrilled saying 'oooooooooooo,
Joyce!--me learn eengish--tank you! tank you!' and Gerald
thought that was cruel, but I figured she might actually
understand it and anyway it was time to get out of this place.

[cacian]

wow YesNo this so different from your usual.

'had passencore rearrived from North Armorica on this side
the scraggy isthmus of Europe Minor''This is interesting,
passencore: not yet in French.
Armorica: that I am not sure about.
isthmus: not sure too . LOL

I like this a lot haha

I saw a cute oriental girl and gave
the book to her and she was thrilled saying 'oooooooooooo,
Joyce!--me learn eengish--tank you! tank you!

Oh I enjoyed this a whole.
I guess you have taken to represent
a Finnegan ish style right?

[YesNo]

Thanks, cacian! That "passencore" stuff came right out of Finnegans Wake. It makes no sense to me. http://www.trentu.ca/faculty/jjoyce/fw-3.htm

Actually your comments on Finnegans Wake in a different thread got me interested in the book. I'm doing my best not to read it and it seems that Joyce did his best to make sure I wouldn't either.

The poem is in imitation of Gerald Stern who won a National Book Award. He does a better job of writing these rambling single sentence poems than I do. I actually find him enjoyable to read.

[cacian]

LOL I see Finnegan has done it again woken the unawakable. I am not sure the actual reason to why the wake was written and why it written that way.
To get a an insight into to that could help shed some light.
I feel maybe sometime one may explain the reason to why a style changes from story to another. It would help clarified the unclarified :)
I much prefer reading your piece anytime again and again. I enjoyed it ;)
I am somehow liking the idea of writing rambling single sentences. Not that I do not do I already anyway :p

[cacian]

as the jar pulled off
the shelf
it fell and crushed
half empty
well
there was so much
inside it
left
it needed airing
glad it throwed
leaving behind
a trail of
shrogue
half ridden
to a
glass of ware
its colours rushed in
through the tare
it almost looked
like splashed
paint
Picasso would've made
a tare
had it not been
sitting too blaze
against the windows
of the same
its feelings
of it
tired taint

[Adolescent09]

A visage brights the floor of tile
a mock to strike dull pigeons,
I boast my cries and saints do fall
their tar engraved in lore

[Adolescent09]

I am somehow liking the idea of writing rambling single sentences. Not that I do not do [it] already anyway :p

You're so cute, lol :D

[YesNo]

Nice ones, Adolescent09 and cacian. :)

Here's one inspired by what you both wrote. I'm not sure it makes any sense but this is the bad poetry thread.



About Something

A glass of ware
With contents bare
Has shattered on the tile.
Picasso and the pigeons stare
Although the saints themselves don't care
But smile once in a while.

[cacian]

Hehe YesNo your piece put a smile of my face I do not know whether it is Picasso ro the saint words. It rang well with me thank you :p

the end of time
it never
stands the hoard
of men
it culminates into
a rate
and then progrates
until it breaks
thinly and plates
segments of
freight
and then it is done quickly
to sown

[Adolescent09]

Mark my laurels with your vessel of tears
Make miles languid with yonder vestige of fears
Mild manners lack woefully yellowed vicissitude of beers
Matts mold lard within Yiddish vignettes of steers

[Adolescent09]

A Thug's Confession (Parody of an Honest Confession)
By ©Adol09

My pen makes rhyme sets to sail seas of tough times
Boiled lines broil chimes of my own blood's rough crimes,
I've pried guts from kids' livers,
Spilt holy secrets to soul sellers
Sold stolen poems to fib-tellers
Plucked heart strings from God-givers
Sent shivers through divine pillars
Ran beside ruthless cop killers,
And toted ropes with the intent to choke blokes
'Till holes poked through their throats

[cacian]

to easter the feaster
an homage to the rooster
the coco rico troopster
trust it finds a fraudster
to belladrum the prankster
to easter the ribster
a chunk of heaps and lobster
is parody to fiesta
never mind the hipster
dinner frangipane dubster

[Adolescent09]

Pernicious Perdition
by Adol09

A trench of wrath bathes graves in black
A lounge for goth in wings of gnats
Pink hearts poise to leap from a breast:
The rust-ridden rib of Satan's nest
Noah's fate glides in the seeker of land
Only to dig its grave in the deep sea sand

[cacian]

in the swaga
rises larger
the kind that stagger
let's sit it uber
next to the tagger
and keep it rather

[morto]

cold morning, deep sky
running with these animals,
no time for imagination, take your hands
don't snail, I'll show you
the good predator
unstoppable woken dream

[Twota]

The sun cancered our skin,
the flowers poisoned the bees;
oceans full of acid rains,
and the breeze wrecked the trees.

[seaofmilktea]

To kick you in the face would have been easy
Were it not for that intruding thought of Civility.
I was looking for a fight
On a dark and stormy night
But now I must be content with this ditty.


Note: not based on true story. Just followed where the rhyme.took me.
Funny to see that so much bad poetrt is love poetry.

[seaofmilktea]

Sweet morning, pry open my eyes
With your matter-of-fact brightness.
I left the blinds open lastnight, no surprise,
But still, I won't wake up fight-less.




Don't you just love bad rhymes?

[Melanie]

neurosis are read
virus' are blew
shoe goo is sweat
and sour yew

[slipee]

Pull my finger, pull it quick
to see my brand new party trick
tug my pinkie, tug it now
without a tug I don't know how

yank my pointer, yank it soon
I promise I won't clear the room
grab them all! I insist!
please don't let my pain persist

it's not healthy, it's not wise
to see tears well up in my eyes
you took too long, I had to go
and now you'll never ever know

[slipee]

Haberdashery, hosiery, hampers on six
I only buy groceries to check out the chicks
Chocolate, chutney, cheeses on three
I scope out the trolley for which type is she
Teabags, tablecloths, towelettes on two
There's nothing I need but I purchase a few
Stockings, sleepwear, sunscreen on eight
Women find me so creepy I can't get a date
Grandparents, goat heads, gorillas on nine
Oops it's the fridges... that reflection is mine

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

Pull my finger, pull it quick
to see my brand new party trick...


Haha, a poem after my own heart.


Sub Urban #1

The dog is scratching fleas,
her dander makes me sneeze.
Slurping yesterday’s cuppa joe
at daybreak I gotta mow -
the grass.

[hypatia_]

I tenderly hold on to the sound of rain,
but it is just a memory,
I hear the sound of god in the rain,
but it has been awhile.
I anxiously await the day I experience beauty and magic through my ears,
but the other senses will do for now.

[DieterM]

my life is lived lousily
my brain is befuddled
by bad prose, proof-read by me,
my full bladder will have to be emptied soon,
zoing, zoing,
will a cigarette be smoked by my mouth
or will there be a possibility
that this habit is stopped one day
by me?


(Note: I am indeed proofreading loads of bad prose atm, and a tell-tale sign is the abusive use of passive voice that almopst does me head in!)

[DieterM]

Oh, and I forgot some other cute things you always find in bad prose…

Thinking nodder, or the nodding thinker

She was nodding her head
and thinking to herself,
'What could I nod now,
and to whom could I think later?'

[cacian]

the meaning of bad
is something sad
so sad it wont
let anything
be mad

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

Sub Urban #2

Friday night, winding down
Blue "Snuggie" covered in cat hair
keeps me warm.
Sipping a dirty martini
shaken of course.
The old lady walks in,
time to fold the laundry.

[YesNo]

We got off the interstate taking North Avenue east
heading for the Wells Street Art Fair when on the
right was a sign saying "Weeds" and so I put my thumb
and index finger together and took a toke on some air
weed, coughing, and then saying to my imaginary friend,
Alice, sitting next to me in the car, "This is some
good ****," offering her a hit which she refused telling
me to keep my eyes on the road and reminded me that
this art fair, believe it or not, costs seven dollars
per person to get in and that I should not try to buy
a ticket for her since she isn't really there and she
doesn't want me embarrassing her like I did last time
by insisting on paying for someone only I can see
and, knowing it would make her happy, I said, "OK."

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

^Haha, nice one, especially the editing comment.

[YesNo]

Thanks, Gilliatt Gurgle. Your poem reminded me of my daughter and her cat. The problem with both of our poems is that they make too much sense to be really bad. I'm trying to think of ways to correct that in the next one I post. It can't be total nonsense either. It has to have just enough meaning to suck the soul out of the reader while offering nothing in the way of sound or content.

DieterM's suggestion to use passive voice if one wants to really write something bad would apply to both prose and poetry, but one can get away with anything in poetry. I liked the first two lines of cacian's poem rhyming bad-sad-mad to think it might not be all that bad either.

[cacian]

thank you YesNo I think bad can be interpreted widely it depends on the person :)

eroticism
and sadism
they ought to get together
flog each other
and make a rhythm to ever
it needs it the body's
forbiden too much hi' them

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

... The problem with both of our poems is that they make too much sense to be really bad. I'm trying to think of ways to correct that in the next one I post. It can't be total nonsense either. It has to have just enough meaning to suck the soul out of the reader.....

Sage advice, however I'm currently in the midst of Tennyson and also made a brief jaunt over to Coleridge "Sonnet to the Autumnal Moon" and of course ther's my long time bard buddy; Goldsmith all of whom, when compared to my feeble attempts, squarely places mine in the really bad category.
Nevertheless, I'll try to do badder.

[mazHur]

Nice!

[mazHur]

Thanks, Gilliatt Gurgle. Your poem reminded me of my daughter and her cat. The problem with both of our poems is that they make too much sense to be really bad. I'm trying to think of ways to correct that in the next one I post. It can't be total nonsense either. It has to have just enough meaning to suck the soul out of the reader while offering nothing in the way of sound or content.

DieterM's suggestion to use passive voice if one wants to really write something bad would apply to both prose and poetry, but one can get away with anything in poetry. I liked the first two lines of cacian's poem rhyming bad-sad-mad to think it might not be all that bad either.

Bad is bad, it can't be 'very' bad or even 'too' bad. However, your valued comments suggest some good aspects of writing poetry, especially nursery rhymes, some of which though not bad are really absurd but funny.

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

...It has to have just enough meaning to suck the soul out of the reader while offering nothing in the way of sound or content...

This one will suck the soul and the wind out of the Woodwinds...

Sub Urbane No. 3 in D Minor; Allegro Moderato
The 1st movement

Yo...yo, ma!
Yes dear, more milk
and habanero's?
No...no ma,
look, the cello player
across the street.
He... he begs
for sump'n sweet.
I'll take him to Brahms,
weel be right Bach.
Aye...aye, then ul be pass'n
by the market I suppose.
Here...here's my Liszt
an weel be need'n some
beets for dinner.
But...but what about my
wood Chopin?
Don't...don't be fret'n oer that,
weel burn peat tonight.
Oh...oh, an stop by Wagner's
an pick up one of those
new fangled Beetovens.


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Braum's


http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=KHzfD6XLK7Q

.

[mazHur]

Let's go to Annual shower flow
rather than watch artists perform Bad salad
while keeping their Bass-ackwards
But I have a Bat flattery
And the Bedding wells are ringing
All the Belly jeans are drunk and frolicking
I don't think it's Birthington's washday today
Her memory gives my mind a Blushing crow
Should I call her a Bowel feast?
They say Britannia waives the rules
Bunny phone gave them all the strength
Their heads covered with Cat flap
King's men were Chewing the doors
One guy was busy Chipping the flannel
Cop porn flowing from his mouth
Another dude Crawls through the fax
Damp stealer mistakently sticks the stamps
Fight in your race, Oh!
Residents watch from Flock of bats
A Flutter by hovers on Docs head
While he performs Full bottle in front of me
Go help me sod, cries a passer by
Hiss and leer, the angels remark
We have run out of our Hypodermic nurdles
And we are shout of the hour
You can wait and enjoy Keys and parrots
and Know your blows
Many have come to us with Lack of pies
But we discovered that with Lead of spite
Certainly no one likes Mad banners
Playing with Mad bunny makes Men Mad
It's not unwise to be as Mean as custard
Mend the sail and let everyone know
Speak up, Don't say your zips are lipped
Nasal hut tastes good with chocolate
but too much of Choc will make you Nick your pose
Stretch your No tails like those of a gorilla
Certainly it's bad Pit nicking
the Plaster man made by Master Engineers
Equipped with necessary Pleating and humming
So be Ready as a stock in matters all
When the Rental deceptionist hammers your teeth
Let not your eyes get Roaring with pain
Learn perseverance from Dicken's Sale of two titties
Remember how Jesus would do Sealing the hick
Chill out and Shake a tower
Sir Stifford Crapps expressly implores you
He is presently navigating the Soppy cheese
With a Soul of ballad in his hand
Loudly crying 'Tease my ears, O Lord'
The rutting season for tea cosies is round the corner
It's joy to be there, take it not as the pun fart
O My Tons of soil !
I know it is too titty to be a preacher
Not easy to walk on Trail snacks
We have but to Wave the sails.

adapted by mazHur

[prendrelemick]

Far too good mazHur

[YesNo]

I suppose they could always be worse, but the two from Gilliatt Gurgle and mazHur are making me wonder if I can write something worse. Now I feel challenged. :)

[AuntShecky]

MazHur's piece is too funny to be bad. But the huge typeface made my eyes hurt!

[slipee]

Persistent capitalists rip subscriber twits with iTunes' policies
seducing clueless queues subdued by auto-tuned monotony
rarest commodity modesty's probability's like winning lotteries
selling proprietary daily our private poetry from pirate repositories
remarkable marketing arguably targeting moronic teen majorities
still we remain the epitome of creative slavery to a technology


<:3_)~ .. <:3_)~ ..

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

Sub Urbane No. 4 in C flat; tempo: affannato
The second movement


(Please listen as you read):
http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=oBDmAxSFt6A&desktop_uri=%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DoBDmAxSFt6A


Itz...itz, a pearl man!
Oh, you sweet dear,
a pearl for your mum.
No...no, he's straddlin the various.

What're ye curry in oon uhboot noo lad,
cannuh yeh nah finis uh sentence?
I'll strap yer hind quarters wi' thistle,
ee ye doon star mak'n sense!
The various what?

T'aint...t'aint no riddle
I mean to say, he's boowin uh fiddle.
An...an on 'is Bach a painting he totes
uh velvet painting of murky motes.

Sweet mother of Walter Scott's goost!
That'd be oono them Aberdeen hawkers
peddl'n tha new trashy Mozart.
'An just look ow they're pushin it
on the junk Mahlers too!

Send eem oon is way boy
an gee Bach ere an pull
those beets from the Beetoven.
I'll serve 'em wi gruel.


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Soil_Stradivarius

[mazHur]

MazHur's piece is too funny to be bad. But the huge typeface made my eyes hurt!

sorry,Aunt, I didn't mean to hurt you,
I didn't mean to make you cry
I was just cleaning down my closet
My bad! It was too large!!
(MNM lyrics)

[Majesty]

A really bad poem for bad poets
(the black sheeps who ruin confessional poetry).

I know people buy your books
when they feel like stalking someone.
the diary pages inside
which you call poems talk about
your sexuality and your angst-
important things to publish.

what can i say? that you
make a living out of your living?
art that comes from your selfish emotions,
of which you are proud to say.
If you want to confess this much,
visit a religious institute.

Majesty.

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

Sub Urbane no. 7-Calamine Lotion Reprise
The Third Movement; Tempo – fester itcho


Please listen as you read:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mmCnQDUSO4I


There…there you go Bert,
now you’re get’n a Handel
o’ color’n them eggs
for th’ Easter ensemble

Look! the motes art hawker,
he comes through the gate
all red with uh rash
even the top o’ is pate!

Well put on yer Schubert
an’ run down to stop him
take the calamine
and uh tub to soak in.

Where’ve you been Haydn,
you velvet sham?
In a cove on loch Shasta
caught in ivy, hunt’n Easter ham.


Aye…then you’ll be suffr’n from that nasty Shostakovich!

[slipee]

Egocentric affliction
in weird, unfitting alacrity
twas the nature of prediction
and the lack of an apostrophe
so no more tongue twisters
or cacophonies of misery
for I shall wedeth nay more
my Poetry with Catastrophe

[cacian]

how to define
bad
and how doest it start
add
does it have to
write mad
or does it have to sound
had
I guess it is a question
of sense
gone out of the window
hence
no meaning whatsoever
stance.

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

Sub Urbane No. 8; A Mother’s Day Suite
4th movement (and last thank God)
Tempo: affectionado

Please listen as you read:
Saint-Saëns Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rmOClcEk124

******

What cacophony hies from yer room Bert?
Turn doon that deavin rock man…enough!
Whutsa ma, you want to hear Rachmaninoff?
Nae boy, I’d rather not hear any ting atoll.

Unless it’s the pipes boy…

Aye, I’ll take the pipes ‘o Pan on the ides of May.
Play them now on yer dear ‘ol mum’s special day.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7rjbrqcQ5Sw

An who’s this slit skirt lass as got yer kilt in a flutter?
When ‘ul you get uh rondo intruducin yer mudder?
Her name is Camille, she’s from Saint Saëns;
a capricious bird, with a bow on her sconce.

She took the low road from the south of France.
If she’d taken the high road, she’d nae dusted ‘er pants.
You could uh ridden Debussy lassie for nary a pence,
it stops at firth and forth, right next to our fence.

Ach naw! it’s tha painter of moats token on a missile,
look’n like a clatty wraith wi uh dose ‘o jump’n fits.
Higher ‘an Abbey Craig from smok’n too much thistle,
your faether would say he’s got a bit ‘o the “Heifetz”…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NeApec5uZMU

[prendrelemick]

Heh heh.that's a braw bit o a poemin laddie

[YesNo]

Appropriate use of the affectionado tempo for a mother who'd "rather not hear any ting atoll".

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

Heh heh.that's a braw bit o a poemin laddie


Appropriate use of the affectionado tempo for a mother who'd "rather not hear any ting atoll".

hehe, thanks for listening.
btw- this is the "rock" that Bert was listening to:

I suggest advancing to 4:00 minutes to see the second recording... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wWF3S9OgQho

(^ courtesy Prendrelemick, I believe, posted on the blokes thread back in the day)

[cacian]

badly done
and yet written fun
words are all the more
stun
everything turned out to be
wun

[YesNo]

Yeah, it does seem that writing bad is fun, cacian.

[YesNo]

What a sky-is-blue-grass-is-green sort of day sitting
on the park bench with Alice who tells me if she
hears another rhyme between "night" and "light"
or "it" and "****" she will puke and tells me she
is sick and tired of all that happy-happy poetry
wanting angst and dread and drivel on her soul
and I tell Alice that I don't see why I tolerate
an imaginary friend like her with her abusiveness
and if anyone knew I was talking to her I could
be labeled a moron or worse and then I whined some
more about a headache and she seemed sweeter after
the whining and she said, "Here, take these," and
so I put the pills in my mouth and watched her funny
face as she waited for me to take a swig of soda
and then I swallowed the pills and she jumped like a
kid and said, "Haha, that's arsenic! You're dead!"

[cacian]

What a sky-is-blue-grass-is-green sort of day sitting
on the park bench with Alice who tells me if she
hears another rhyme between "night" and "light"
or "it" and "****" she will puke and tells me she
is sick and tired of all that happy-happy poetry
wanting angst and dread and drivel on her soul
and I tell Alice that I don't see why I tolerate
an imaginary friend like her with her abusiveness
and if anyone knew I was talking to her I could
be labeled a moron or worse and then I whined some
more about a headache and she seemed sweeter after
the whining and she said, "Here, take these," and
so I put the pills in my mouth and watched her funny
face as she waited for me to take a swig of soda
and then I swallowed the pills and she jumped like a
kid and said, "Haha, that's arsenic! You're dead!"

I most like the last line :D

[cacian]

I thank you
for what you are about to say
but I won't
about what you said you will
imagine bad gone
completely thrilled

[tailor STATELY]

Oo-oo ! August 18: Bad Poetry Day !!

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY

[cacian]

how bad?
is the question. :D

[mal4mac]

In Praise of the Mighty Thrusting Glaswegian Tower Block

Look at the tower block! It rises so high.
(That's why they call it a high rise)
It almost touches the sky.
Fly to to the top of the tower block
With your mighty imagination.
With the courage of a new formed nation.
And such a courage is needed,
A high sensibility as engorged
As that high tower block.

Don't demolish it!
Look at its height - on top of which you might sit.
Like Cortez looking down on Darian.

Pacific waters paralleled by the Clyde.
The tower was raised by a mighty tide.
That enormous Everest is fit to sit beside.

Hark! The loud explosions roar
reducing the might beast to rubble.
Its time has come.
And now there is only rubble.
And now there is some trouble.
As the unhoused seek another abode.
Perhaps they will all have to move abroad.

The great McGonagall told of a mighty bridge called Tay
And today I have given the mighty tower block its day.
And in a similar way - I'm not too modest to say.

Woe! In the sun it once shone, but now it is done.
Poor poured concrete erection you are indeed undone.
And flaccid you lay in the fields of hay.
Never to be seen again until judgement day.
And not even then, because only people get to heaven.

Oh poor insensible concrete prick, that has not sensibility.
You didn't even live as long as a tree.
And the force that through the green fuse slinked
Didn't travel an inch through your concrete flanks, methinks.
Poor great thing you will always be part of my heart.
And will live forever through my art.

Look on this (formerly) high tower you mighty, and despair.
Between it and the sphinx there was nairy a hair.

Oh sweet tower block!
As all boys and girls must come to dust
So housekeepers to your surfaces must
(In times past)
But after the Somme bomb YOU are dust.

[tailor STATELY]

Parker


Parker went through the wash today -
an ersatz baptism of water and fire...
Missed her when I went to jot a note -
(a search ensued) - I found her in the dryer
When I ministered to her needs and opened
up her shell - she displayed her righteous
indignation and gakked not unlike a squid

4/30/2015

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY

[tailor STATELY]

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[tailor STATELY]

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8/2/2016

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY

[mazHur]

My goat had a headache
Wanted a Black Forest cake
But who will bake
Duck or drake
I dunno
Do you?

[Pompey Bum]

O summer's in the meadow and she walks on fertile feet!
I rush to taste her sweet embrace while in my glad trunk beats
A lover's heart that knows the art of spurring on a lady
To scale the heights of Cupid's sights and lie in shadows shady.
But woe! Alas! It comes to pass my lovely lass is passing!
For southward bound today I found the steely songbirds massing.

[YesNo]

My lady gave me trophies she
Had stolen long ago.
Her former beau--
He’ll never know--
His name she scratched out with a blow
Before she married me.

It seemed he was disqualified
And I reigned in his place.
His winning face
Scarred with disgrace--
He humbly ran the human race--
Like him I also died.

Before my body went to rest
She had my coffin lined--
Her thoughtful mind
Could now unwind--
With trophies front, around, behind.
She gave me all her best.

[mazHur]

Jack was a really bad boy
Loved by none
He played with swords
Longed for a gun

He dug for treasure
Found a dagger
And a rusted bayonet
With strong endeavor

With these in hands
He went to the town
All who saw him
At him would frown

Jack was befuddled
He missed his breaker
Returned to his senses
Discerning the undertaker

Bad turns into good
Good into bad
Jack recalled the saying
Of his dear late dad.

[Pompey Bum]

O autumn's gaudy perfume draws pictures in my nose!
Of harvest home and broken loam and chastity's repose.
Her wanton fruit slips from its suit imploring to be plucked;
While Auster's howl is full of fowl: he's birded, geesed, and ducked!
But why, fair girl, must you unfurl your cold, proud lips this night?
Our hour is past, now Boreas casts o'er you a shroud of white.

[Pompey Bum]

O winter is a frozen friend who slicks with sleet the way;
She drives me on o'er field and pond; I burn for sleep--but nay!
Her icy grasp my heartstrings clasp tight to her frosty breast;
On that cold deep I reap no of sleep, her guest, no blessed rest;
Until that morn her chilly scorn bedecks my cheeks with dew,
And dripping roofs my spirit soothes and sing of seasons new.

[YesNo]

My lady, a great love of mine,
Is loved by someone who
Is strong and rich and, oh!, so fine,
When drunk his breath fills air with wine,
I wish he loved me, too.

And should she pause to think of me
In my dark hovel drear
While on his horse, her hands, of course,
Exploring, teasing manly force,
I’d wait for her right here.

But she will not stop by I know.
Let starry daydreams fade.
I still have Ann. I am her man.
She does her best and thinks I can
Pay more when she gets paid.

[YesNo]

If you’ve ever wondered how the dragon caught the damsel you should rather wonder why and that will make you wonder about the knight and there’s another why for you.

I’ve wondered why the dragon kept feeding the damsel. Did he think the knight would be tastier or did he think that a single damsel wasn’t big enough by herself for a full meal?

And what about Mrs. Dragon long observing how her beast caressed those damsel curves? How long could patience keep her waiting?

Oh, sure. He’d reason with her, but right now she needs something meaty to flavor the evening soup and he doesn’t seem to be paying any attention.

[Pompey Bum]

O spring's a virgin butterfly who doffs her gay cocoon
And naked flies on powdered skies that darken must too soon.
Her fragrant flight desires ignite to light a night's embrace;
With fluttering heart she love imparts while dawn comes down apace
And fiery Sol the skies appalls and maidenhoods must sever;
A woman lies before mine eyes: the girl is gone forever.

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

It Would Seem Pat Rafter is an Art and Art History Patron

30 Louvre, 40 Louvre, deuces all.
What can art have in common with a yellow ball?
Pat Rafter I say, that Aussie who has backed…
Uh…backed what?...by Borg, jafranmastila we’ve been hacked!

[YesNo]

After putting the finishing touches on his time machine Dr. Brainiak decided to do the unit testing that should have occurred earlier but for lack of funding could not be done until now. Yes! Now! That moment in history when he would show how every past is Now and how every future is Now. He took a deep breath and then another and then another and then stopped. He was in the Now of pure, immoral, t = 0 alpha-omega anti-time generated by his machine proving conclusively that there couldn’t be another t.

He somehow died, they reasoned, because he couldn’t exhale, but how was he able to die being in the Now is still being debated by his colleagues. Hell should last forever. The university did need to get rid of the remains, regardless, which refused to decompose on their own, because he was no longer actively getting rejected for research grants.

He knew people would become irrational when they found him, but he could not get to t = 1 from t = 0. He could not even get to t = -1 although he tried that too. He couldn’t even unplug the machine because, assuming the machine was working properly, he wasn’t actually in the common delusion of time anymore although the video camera which was not in the Now showed how hard he couldn’t try.

[YesNo]

By Lily White Luvable


my
which
burning
boyfriend

burns

[YesNo]

By Lily White Luvable


thank you

with
(Shh! They can’t see us)gratitude

(Yeah sure)justice
humanity
(Nothing like playing this record backwards)decency

every
(That’s right)ware

belatedly
finally
recognized


i (That would be me)


accept

[tailor STATELY]

(lol: Lily White Luvable)

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY

[spikepipsqueak]

Presenting your rump to the headlights
And asserting your right to be on the road.
Furry, foggy feral.
Braking hard, we sit and wait,
Watching your back.
A marker to other cars.
Horizontally opposed paws,
Adapted for grasping
Clumsy out of place on stony tarmac.
Your prehistoric brain,
Eucalyptus fuddled,
Fails to grasp the doom that dwells on there.
You gain the verge and we proceed.
Silently thanking our lucky stars
No busy, bouncing truck
Swept down the other side
And cleaned you up.

[YesNo]

(lol: Lily White Luvable)

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY

Lily said, "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

[Pompey Bum]

Jens
Jens
He's one of our best frens
Jens
He talks about Euros, dollars, and pence
Jens
Economic theory can be a little dense
But if you listen to Jens
He actually makes a lot of sense
Jens
And in these days of uncertainty all men ask whence
Came Jens?
Jens
Jens

[Delta40]

Ok that offenses my senses Pompey. Well done.

[Pompey Bum]

Ok that offenses my senses Pompey. Well done.

Thanks, though encouraging me is always a mistake. :)

[Pompey Bum]

Haiku. Many, few.
It's like that with me and you.
This will have to do.

[Pompey Bum]

Bagel
Onion bagel
Toasted to a crisp

Something on top
My little friend?
Silence

Cream cheese left
When I became
A man

[Danik 2016]

Happy Bagel

Cream cheese left for good...
No matter
As long as the fridge contains
Butter

Butter the depressed bagel
If you want add rasps
of Provolone
Or whatever cheese you eat
with Macaroni

Toast it upside down
To your heart´s delight
Until it becomes
yellow, golden or brown.

[prendrelemick]

The assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold
After having put their iphones on hold
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
Although there was some kahki, truth to be told.
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
And they waved them about not without glee.
Ah, we write a good poem Byron and me.

[YesNo]

I much prefer the corn that pops
When popping corn is on my mind.
The kernels popped! I am so glad!
My deep thoughts now are not so sad.
But where’s the salt? I cannot find
The salty salt. I need that, too!
And butter? What’s become of you?
And thus I sink into despair
Abandoned by the world out there
That doesn’t ever, ever care.
Boohoo! Boohoo! I have to cry.
My soul’s disgusted with me. Bye!

[Silas Thorne]

I like the corn that's on my foot.
It's bitter and quite sore
when chafing 'gainst my shoe.
It's much like you, my chafing dear,
you chafe like walnuts and the scent of pears
bathed in cerulean blue.
You chafe my shoe.

[YesNo]

A lot of stuff out there is free,
Too much for you to take.
Don’t let it soak down deep and drain
Your soul. Give it a break!
Don’t take it all! :hand: Just let it be! :nod:
The now is all you need, you see?
You don’t? :mad5: OK. :mad2: Then let me say
Outside your mind’s a lovely day.

[YesNo]

Now that I’m an imagist :D
My poetry is cool. :coolgleamA:
Emojis jump on every line. :banana:
That’s why I rule the school. :party:

The girls are all excited. :ladysman:
Their boyfriends are so mad. :flare:
I say they have to take their turns. :nopity:
Their boyfriends say I’m bad. :nono:

Eventually they’ll kick my butt :beatdeadhorse5:
And I would kick mine, too, ;)
But now I write pure poetry. :devil:
No other kind will do. :rofl:

No doubt you want me to go on :ack2:
But beauty calls tonight :angelsad2:
And when their boyfriends find me out :argue:
It’s safer then for flight. :auto:

[tonywalt]

This is how it is

The little ant stood on the edge of
the curb, to avoid being stepped on
and looked down,
as the city crowds shuffled by,
faces clinched to another
average day.

And someone noticed the little ant,
on the curb's edge - and shouted
to the ant, "Jump! Jump you little fu cker!"

It's tough out here.
Another rough-boy Christmas.

[SleepyWitch]

My husband's very bad poem:

"I am sad
My life is bad."

[mazHur]

I can't sleep
I can't dream
How can I see you then?

[mazHur]

Ever occurred to you Why
the Beggars will pray for you
Regardless you give them
Something or not?
Simple ......
They try to play with your sentiments
Inorder to influence you
To make you pity them
and dole em out some dough
Ha! These clever creatures !
These habitual flunkies !
Will pray so much for all
That even God gets confused
Indecisive
whether to answer the prayers or not.
If prayers are not answered
It's because of plethora
Of selfishness embedded in them.

[mazHur]

Please don't pray for me
Neither you nor I know
If our prayers would be answered
Probabilty is they won't
So leave the exercise alone
I don't want the extra burden
Which bleak prayers cannot
free me off.

[Danik 2016]

Now that I’m an imagist :D
My poetry is cool. :coolgleamA:
Emojis jump on every line. :banana:
That’s why I rule the school. :party:

The girls are all excited. :ladysman:
Their boyfriends are so mad. :flare:
I say they have to take their turns. :nopity:
Their boyfriends say I’m bad. :nono:

Eventually they’ll kick my butt :beatdeadhorse5:
And I would kick mine, too, ;)
But now I write pure poetry. :devil:
No other kind will do. :rofl:

No doubt you want me to go on :ack2:
But beauty calls tonight :angelsad2:
And when their boyfriends find me out :argue:
It’s safer then for flight. :auto:
Lol!:smilewinkgrin:The best bad poem I read for ages!

[YesNo]

Lol!:smilewinkgrin:The best bad poem I read for ages!

It is pretty bad, but at least it rhymes. I'm glad you enjoyed it!

[YesNo]

I know the weeping willow’s ashen form that
under the red star beats out my name so I can
see, yeah, I, the wonders that the drizzled
monarch holds, awaits with pink thoughts dying,
trying, having had no bloom into the wonders
deep and sensuous that would love to say,
with murder on their minds, they’re mine.

[YesNo]

Alice reported that
she understood
“.every.single.word.”
and so
I gave her a score
of “.zero.”.

[Silas Thorne]

miss blp.

Here's my bad poem:


Shadows of the tongues of supercalifragilistic occupation
Demand obsequious scatters of scat
left on my doorstep, shining
like desserted Hope, proud and perched in the
dreams of a vanity mirror, becalmed.
O seeker! bless the holy
anaesthetist like you bless me after sneezes.

[YesNo]

My imaginary friend, Alice, loved your poem, Silas.

[YesNo]

Does the moon grow green in the
summer sheen? What I mean does

the nose like the rose so
near? I fear it does because the

moon grows in the summer green when

seen although I know it’s like
bliss that summer kiss when our only,
lonely moon grows green unseen.

[YesNo]

Alice wrote “Poignant ;)”

I asked
her what
that was supposed
to mean?

She asked
me what
my poem was supposed
to mean?

[Pompey Bum]

Where Seamen Dare

Oh, the sea is a green, rolling girl
Whose briny, wet kiss lingers sharp!
From barnacled rocks with wild, white foaming locks
I can hear the mermaiden's dread harp.

Ah, she plucks my desire as her song rises higher
O'er the rustle of hustling waves.
As she beckons me near I abandon all fear
At the thought of her dark, kelpy cave.

How the demon's fell glamor puts my heart to the hammer
As--God damn her!--her clamor resounds
O'er the dark, pulsing sea while the lifeblood in me
Beats a slave to her yammering sounds!

But sweet Prudence at last lays a hand to my mast
As she bids me to turn all about.
Yet I yield with a doubt, routed still by the shout
Of the pouting, proud ichthyian lass.

As I steer to the lee something rises in me
And I turn yet an ear to the trill
Of the sea's salty song that has borne me along
And resides in my soul ever still.

[mazHur]

Where Seamen Dare

Oh, the sea is a green, rolling girl
Whose briny, wet kiss lingers sharp!
From barnacled rocks with wild, white foaming locks
I can hear the mermaiden's dread harp.

Ah, she plucks my desire as her song rises higher
O'er the rustle of hustling waves.
As she beckons me near I abandon all fear
At the thought of her dark, kelpy cave.

How the demon's fell glamor puts my heart to the hammer
As--God damn her!--her clamor resounds
O'er the dark, pulsing sea while the lifeblood in me
Beats an slave to her yammering sounds!

But sweet Prudence at last lays a hand to my mast
As she bids me to turn all about.
But I yield with a doubt, routed still by the shout
Of the pouting, proud ichthyian lass.

As I steer to the lee something rises in me
And I turn yet an ear to the trill
Of the sea's salty song that has born me along
And resides in my soul ever still.

You call it a bad poem? Oh, no.

[Pompey Bum]

You call it a bad poem? Oh, no.

You are too kind, sir. The poor taste and absurdity of most of the the images would be more evident to a native English speaker (there are one or two off-color jokes, too--not to mention the out of control internal rhyme). But I will receive your compliment with thanks for an honor I do not begin to deserve. Nice to see you again, by the way. :)

[tonywalt]

Evening Sea

Searching the fathomless sea
with quiet eyes
after sun bows to the eve,
the moon sits high
gazing down in
soft glow content
on diamond caps,
Balletic waves dancing
gently to silent stars
then kissing timeless shores
rolling with immortal pleasure.

It is on this evening
the restless soul is pillowed
And my mind lies still.

(This is bad for it's cliched conventionality. I wrote it when i was in grade school)

[mazHur]

You are too kind, sir. The poor taste and absurdity of most of the the images would be more evident to a native English speaker (there are one or two off-color jokes, too--not to mention the out of control internal rhyme). But I will receive your compliment with thanks for an honor I do not begin to deserve. Nice to see you again, by the way. :)

You are quite right but modest. Apart from points you mentioned the poem is illustrious in rhthm rhyme and free flow and that was what which was impressive. If you can write such 'bad' poems i feel sure yours good ones will make a bang.

Thanks n best wishes
Mazhur

[kiz_paws]

Where Seamen Dare

Oh, the sea is a green, rolling girl
Whose briny, wet kiss lingers sharp!
From barnacled rocks with wild, white foaming locks
I can hear the mermaiden's dread harp.

Ah, she plucks my desire as her song rises higher
O'er the rustle of hustling waves.
As she beckons me near I abandon all fear
At the thought of her dark, kelpy cave.

How the demon's fell glamor puts my heart to the hammer
As--God damn her!--her clamor resounds
O'er the dark, pulsing sea while the lifeblood in me
Beats a slave to her yammering sounds!

But sweet Prudence at last lays a hand to my mast
As she bids me to turn all about.
Yet I yield with a doubt, routed still by the shout
Of the pouting, proud ichthyian lass.

As I steer to the lee something rises in me
And I turn yet an ear to the trill
Of the sea's salty song that has borne me along
And resides in my soul ever still.

Bum, your 'bad' poem was delicious. Thank you :)

[kiz_paws]

Evening Sea

Searching the fathomless sea
with quiet eyes
after sun bows to the eve,
the moon sits high
gazing down in
soft glow content
on diamond caps,
Balletic waves dancing
gently to silent stars
then kissing timeless shores
rolling with immortal pleasure.

It is on this evening
the restless soul is pillowed
And my mind lies still.

(This is bad for it's cliched conventionality. I wrote it when i was in grade school)In Grade School, you certainly found a talent, Tony. :)

[Pompey Bum]

Thanks to mazHur and Kiz_Paws. And yes, Tony Walt is a genuinely talented poet.

[mazHur]

Thanks to mazHur and Kiz_Paws. And yes, Tony Walt is a genuinely talented poet.

😊😊😊😉😉😉😘

[emerson1999]

Often it is said
Poems can be dull,
dry and dead.

But if one simply
looks upon their own
face, red and pimply;

Life is written in poetry
a language nature wrote,
be it rock or a pretty tree.

So before poetry is shunned,
haiku or half-baked scribbles,
think and one will certainly be stunned.

[mazHur]

A really bad poem
Has a good affect
On the rights you do
Reversing the defect

So go on writing
Scribble on walls
Anything that comes to your mind
Anything on your head that falls.

[kiz_paws]

But if one simply
looks upon their own
face, red and pimply;Ha ha, shades of Chekhov or what!! :)

Good ones to both emerson1999 and Mazhur. :)

[mazHur]

Ha ha, shades of Chekhov or what!! :)

Good ones to both emerson1999 and Mazhur. :)

Thank you very much 😊

[Pompey Bum]

A month gone I tripped on a stair;
I hovered a time in the air
Then tumbled with gravity
Down nature's great cavity
And landed balls o'er derrière.

My shoulder removed from its socket
(Such happens when fate opts to knock it);
Though spared a concussion,
My head played percussion,
The rhyme for which is--oh well, phock it!

I sit here, my arm in a sling,
Exuding my Pompey Bum bling;
My head bears tattoos
(Though it's really a bruise):
Of arms and my noggin I sing!

Here ends my precipitous rhyme;
All battery's succored by time.
Though it still hurts to move,
I shall soon find my groove:
I have fallen but hardly declined.

[fudgetusk]

Who needs the sea
when you have the wind
Who needs to swim
when you haven't even sinned
I don't have to leave my chair
to have the wasteland in my hair

[YesNo]

The Sea

There once was sweet land by the sea
And a wind that blew stuff needlessly
But the people had sinned
Like a bug who was pinned
Or a wasteland without any tree.

[kiz_paws]

A month gone I tripped on a stair;
I hovered a time in the air
Then tumbled with gravity
Down nature's great cavity
And landed balls o'er derrière.

My shoulder removed from its socket
(Such happens when fate opts to knock it);
Though spared a concussion,
My head played percussion,
The rhyme for which is--oh well, phock it!

I sit here, my arm in a sling,
Exuding my Pompey Bum bling;
My head bears tattoos
(Though it's really a bruise):
Of arms and my noggin I sing!

Here ends my precipitous rhyme;
All battery's succored by time.
Though it still hurts to move,
I shall soon find my groove:
I have fallen but hardly declined.You poor dear.

This was NOT a bad poem ... but that's not the point. Get well. Ya hear?

[kiz_paws]

The Sea

There once was sweet land by the sea
And a wind that blew stuff needlessly
But the people had sinned
Like a bug who was pinned
Or a wasteland without any tree.A ha! A limerick! ;)

[kiz_paws]

Who needs the sea
when you have the wind
Who needs to swim
when you haven't even sinned
I don't have to leave my chair
to have the wasteland in my hairI liked that last line, fudge.

[YesNo]

Thank you, kiz paws!

[tailor STATELY]

meet me in the cloud

welcome to the tag cloud !
astrologers and spooky variety
funny funny poems and george orwell

welcome! babankswami2 and vbccxxxxds
with your love problem solutions
stay awhile for holidays halloween

1984, 1984, where's the humour...
xmas? christmas! where's the horror ?
nursery rhymes and elizabeth gaskell !!!

8/27/2019


Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor