write a really bad poem

[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 😊