(lol: Lily White Luvable)
Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY
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(lol: Lily White Luvable)
Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY
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.
Lily said, "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"Quote:
Originally Posted by tailor STATELY
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
Ok that offenses my senses Pompey. Well done.
Thanks, though encouraging me is always a mistake. :)Quote:
Originally Posted by Delta40
Haiku. Many, few.
It's like that with me and you.
This will have to do.
Bagel
Onion bagel
Toasted to a crisp
Something on top
My little friend?
Silence
Cream cheese left
When I became
A man
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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:
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.
My husband's very bad poem:
"I am sad
My life is bad."
I can't sleep
I can't dream
How can I see you then?
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.
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.
Lol!:smilewinkgrin:The best bad poem I read for ages!Quote:
Originally Posted by YesNo
It is pretty bad, but at least it rhymes. I'm glad you enjoyed it!Quote:
Originally Posted by Danik 2016
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.
Alice reported that
she understood
“.every.single.word.”
and so
I gave her a score
of “.zero.”.
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.
My imaginary friend, Alice, loved your poem, Silas.
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.
Alice wrote “Poignant ;)”
I asked
her what
that was supposed
to mean?
She asked
me what
my poem was supposed
to mean?
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.
You call it a bad poem? Oh, no.Quote:
Originally Posted by Pompey Bum
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. :)Quote:
Originally Posted by mazHur
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)
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.Quote:
Originally Posted by Pompey Bum
Thanks n best wishes
Mazhur
Bum, your 'bad' poem was delicious. Thank you :)Quote:
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.
In Grade School, you certainly found a talent, Tony. :)Quote:
Originally Posted by tonywalt
Thanks to mazHur and Kiz_Paws. And yes, Tony Walt is a genuinely talented poet.
😊😊😊😉😉😉😘Quote:
Originally Posted by Pompey Bum
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.
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.
Ha ha, shades of Chekhov or what!! :)Quote:
But if one simply
looks upon their own
face, red and pimply;
Good ones to both emerson1999 and Mazhur. :)
Thank you very much 😊Quote:
Originally Posted by kiz_paws