write a really bad poem

[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.

[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.