Jamie over at class notes has allowed me to link to this poem that she wrote this weekend. Check it out. It’s certainly not as bad as some I’ve posted, but it gets “bad” points for the originality of its content.
Today is a common “bad poem.” I’d love to hear of the worst (but keep it PG, people) ending you ever heard to this one:
Roses are Red,
Violets are Blue…
EmptyBottle
the orchid leaned over its shadow, mesmerized by the shape
of its long, lean limbs as they swayed in
the summer breeze.
As night approached, it grew taller and more disdainful
the orchid developed a fear of its shadow, which mocked and towered
over her. She turned from it
and hid her face in her quivering leaves
When the stillness of the evening overtook,
she gathered up her courage and dared to look…
But Shadow was gone, and she rested peacefully,
Only
to have it return
the next day
Today’s poem comes from the throes of my teen years. Creative writing class again. Yay. So have at it–tear it to shreds, and for goodness sake, leave a poem for us to enjoy in the comments! Yours or someone else’s. I don’t care. As long as it’s oh so bad…
In the Thick of It
doughy rain hits my clean windshield
I try to clear it off, but the wipers are
caught in the gooey mess…
smearing it so much that I can no longer see through the glass,
I stick my head out the window
Great Globs clump in my hair and my eyes are slits
as I squint to see through…
my car’s engine heaves and sputters as it is weighed down
by the masses of floury paste.
At last it dies and I sit in the cold, watching the fields around me
become covered with batter. patiently I sit and gaze at the ponderous clouds
which
hang
ominously over me.
the blessed sun comes out and the dough bakes into a light, flaky pastry.
As I take out my scraper and clean off the car,
road crews are beginning to restore the road to it’s original condition.
I turn on the radio and Jive Clive shouts, “Thank God it wasn’t quick-rise!”
—————-
In other, lesser news, Legos celebrate 50 years today. Happy Birthday (Anniversary?), Legos. My husband loves you.
I wrote this limerick last week for a contest. I didn’t make the finals and couldn’t bring myself to vote for any of the finalists because not one of their limericks had proper meter. Call me anal. That said, I know it’s not top-quality poetry. So it won MY contest of being bad enough to qualify for today’s post. I’d love to hear your limericks, too! Leave one or 17 in the comments.
There was a fine lady from Prague
Who rode into town on a Hog
She kicked her mud flaps
And dusted her chaps
And wiped clean her Manolo clogs
There was a time when I was fairly enchanted by my own “intelligence.” This time crossed over my creative writing class. We read many 20th century American poets in that class, among them this fellow—Philip Whalen. I do not pretend to have any idea what this poem is about. But it is not well-written. Even for a Beatnik.
“Further Notice” by Philip Whalen
I can’t live in this world
And I refuse to kill myself
Or let you kill me
The dill plant lives, the airplane
My alarm clock, this ink
I won’t go away
I shall be myself—
Free, a genius, an embarrassment
Like the Indian, the buffalo
Like Yellowstone National Park.
I had no problem choosing the first poem for Bad Poetry Monday. In fact, I think it’s the poem that made me think of starting this theme in the first place.
The following poem was written by yours truly in Creative Writing class in high school. Its intent was to point out the deceptive temptation of sin. However, my friends insisted that it was a poem about sex. For my 19th birthday, I received an odd and rather lengthy video from three friends of mine containing different “shorts” of them doing things. One of the scenes was of my friend Todd reading this poem aloud (as he put it, “probably the greatest poem ever written.” HAHAHAHAHA!) in a heated, I-might-rip-my-shirt-off-any-second tone. At the time, I did not find it funny. Now, I think it’s hilarious. You probably will, too. With no further ado (or is it adieu…I’ve always wondered):
The Merry-Go-Round of Evil
The gleam in that red horse’s eye tempts you.
You draw near, wanting only to touch.
Your fingers stroke the leather bridle, then follow a track to its silky black mane.
You find yourself climbing up on the horse
and your wild ride begins.
Soft and slow, the music floats around you.
How splendid are the stirrups that fit your feet so well.
Your horse glides, up and down, round and round, in that circular
motion that soothes you
Faster, faster, you urge him on, your horse-
Galloping at full speed…
or so you thought.
The lights, so twinkling and magical
become a blurry whirl of shadow and luminesse
The sedating music quickens, and you scream for it to stop!
You try with all your might to get off this wicked ride,
But alas!
Your efforts are in vain, and you are caught in the folly of your own choice.
“Better luck next time!” squeals the greasy carney, and
you reach out to grab him, but he zips away.
You are in his crazy world now,
Trapped on his evil merry-go-round.
If only you’d chosen the yellow horse.
I hear you beeping
But he doesn’t until I
Throttle or smack him
Snooze that baby once
More and you can find yourself
A new place to sleep
All of this nonsense is to intro a couple of themes I’m going to try for awhile. Since the themes will fall on Mondays and Fridays, I figured since Wednesday is smack between those two it was the perfect day to tell about them…So…here they are…
Bad Poetry Mondays
Mondays will be dedicated to attempts at poetry gone awry (one example given above). These might be original works by Heidi, they might be poetry I’ve come across in books or on the web, or they might even be works submitted by you readers (feel free to email me with submissions). Also, I encourage you to comment with your own poems (or changes or additions to the posted poem that would make it even awfuller (not a word)). Yay! I’m so excited for this!
and
Fargo Fridays
This theme will be dedicated to the years I spent in Fargo, ND. I lived there for 8 years, which is almost 1/3 of my life (maybe closer to ¼ at this point). I have lots of interesting photos and stories about what it’s like to live in the most-forgotten and most sparsely populated state. If they prove to be completely uninteresting to readers, I promise to spare you mid-year.
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Quote of the week:
"Grandpa's smile faded and he shuffled on down the street, hopefully back to a wife that regularly beats him with a wooden spoon."- mableshouse.blogspot.com
