Really bad poetry...

R

Rando

Guest
...because it's really funny.

And I don't want any of you saying how some of it's not bad and what not. Trust me, it sucks.
(and no, I did not write any of it)

----------------------------------
The steam from a cup of tea
sets frogs a-singing
in the pool of blood behind my typewriter

-----------------------------------------
Smash


I wanted to smash something
in their dull, so stupid faces,
until you reached out with a certain smile
and handed me a rose.

-----------------------------------------
A marvelous thing is a scab
The body's one means of rehab
But not for the diseased
They'll soon be deceased
And buried down under a slab.
-----------------------------------

Goddess of Dreams

she has sand-colored skin
and hair that flows like the air
her taste is salty
much like the oceans
and her eyelashes tickle me
little blades of grass that graze my cheek
as together we scale the highest mountains
and watch sunsets when we reach the top
when the sun goes to bed we jump off the peak
into the fresh night air
and fly between the blanket of stars
and the ocean waves
on a fanastical breeze
that carries us above our earthly prison
and whispers promises of eternal happiness in our ears
----------------------------------------
A new destination

racing at the speed of sound
through traffic lights while overground
behind me day still lingers on
as i speed toward a brand new town
where people there don't notice me
don't know my name and let me be
and all the while i start to think
is this the place that i am bound?
-----------------------------------

Spaced out-

i loved you like a little star
and like a star you lit the sky
when you blew to smithereens
i won't cry, no i won't cry
the world is dying
world is dead
his shoulder holds my throbbing head
but i'm alive and i'm still lying
awake from what you never said.


------------------------------------

More on it's way as I hunt it down.
 
G

Gerode

Guest
Never before have such emotions of anguish, humor, and awe have been struck within me. The power of each piece makes it uniquely special and extremely meaningful and important to the themes of life. The raw inner person of these writings give caharacter and depth to the larger whole in a mellifluous and symphonic combination of concise yet powerful words.

No, I didn't even bother to read the poems.
 
C

Chaos Turtle

Guest
There once was a maiden medieval
Who dwelt in a forest primeval
A Satyr espied her
And plied her with cider
And now she's the forest's Prime Evil!
 
R

Rando

Guest
Hmmmmm...

I guess this wasn't as funny as I thought.

I should have posted it in a forum full of English Lit. teachers, they'd be wetting themselves by now.

Won't happen again.
 
H

Hawaiian mage

Guest
Some of that poetry is really good. I think your just not getting it.

Like that scab one. It's an irony poem. The scab helps you, it allows you to live and not die of bleeding. But after it has served it's perpose it is simply discarded without further thought.
The samsh one is ment to describe what a little kindness can do for someone in a bad mood.

However, that frogs in blood of the typwriter thingy, that is grade A bull shiiiiiaaaaveing cream...

-Hawaiian "in the days of bold, when nights were bold, and toilets weren't invented, they would dig a hole in the road and sit there quite contented" mage
 
C

Chaos Turtle

Guest
No, it's mostly poop.

Then again, most poetry is poop.

It's rare for one who is not a poet (as in, knows and applies poetic forms and imagery to her/his poestry) to turn out anything that means something to anyone other than the poet.

The bulk of my poetry, for example, is incomprehensible to most people, doesn't resonate at all with others in fact, and is thus of little real value to anyone. That is, it's poop.

The wretched attempts above are very amusing examples of the angst-ridden stuff that teenage would-be peots put out. Substituting cliché for imagery, the "poet" cheats himself out of any self-realization (since he's applying his own truth instead of searching for real truth) and cheating his audience, who can't make any sense of hisa self-serving work.

Happy now, Rando?

You done got me all het up.
 
R

Rando

Guest
Cut these and paste them and then take them to your English teacher and see what they say.

Most people think that some rhymes and flowery words make a good poem. This is simply not true.

None of these poems has good tempo or metre, no good structure sceem, and the metephores are all bad, bad, bad.

A poem is more then some words thrown together and a rhyme at the end of every-other line. It is something that must be constructed one word at a time. Even so called "free-form" poems where no rhyme or metre sceem is at first evident, if looked into a little closer will be shown to be highly structured.

Also, making your poem so the the reader "get's it" is not big acomplishment. I fully understand what all of these would be poets are trying to say (well, except for the frog guy, he's just nuts.)

If a 3 year old made a dog out of play-doe, I'm sure you would get it and understand that it is supposed to be a dog, but that does not make it on the same level as a sculpture painstakenly crafted by an artist.

...now I'm happy, and I'm happy that the Tarapin of Turmoil gets it.
 
R

Rando

Guest
Hmmmm, Tarapin of Turmoil.

You should add that under your handle as a second nickname, Mr. Turtle.
 
T

terzarima

Guest
[me]Gasps[/me]

Cat!!!! How could you say such a thing, Poetry is not poop (just my luck, all this poetry stuff starts up AFTER I can't get on here often...)

And Rando, no peotry is bad peotry... except in some very, very rare cases...
 
R

Rando

Guest
Go and get the book "The Stuffed Owl". It is a collection of bad poerty and is advertised as such.

There most certainly is such a thing as bad poetry, same as there is good and bad everything.

Good poetry is more rare then bad.

But I will say that most bad poetry simply is forgotten. On rare occasions, there is a poem so rancid that it stays with us. What I have posted above is of the type that will fade away.

How did you come to the conclusion that there is no bad poetry, except in rare cases.

Isn't that sort of like saying there are no bad novels, or paintings, or films?

What seperates poetry from other art forms that dictates that the majority of it is automaticly good? Art's very nature, that of the talented few and the mundane rest, contradicts that statement.
 
K

K9Archmage

Guest
GASP! ADemis is back? COOOOL! Heheh, i have more posts than you now!

Hoipa
 
C

Chaos Turtle

Guest
Not all poetry... just most of it.

I'm including every poem that any lovesick teenager scribbles in his or her notebook during an infatuation with the quarterback / head cheerleader / class president / English teacher.

Every crappy haiku that misses the point of this elegant form by cramming a concrete definitive idea into it, thinking that the 5-7-5 scheme is what makes it a haiku.

Anything published in Readers' Digest, for god's sake.

The trite little verses the overcaffeinated java junkies at the coffee shop puke up onto pages torn out of a spiral notebook and smugly tape onto the wall to display their oh-so-clever rhymes to the unwitting (or maybe I mean witless) grungy masses who drink and sweat and whine about how society just doesn't understand them...

I could go on and on... but I'm about to just get all crazy right here...

The point is, 99% percent of everything that is written is the equivalent of doodling on scrap paper. Mildly entertaining to the (ahem) "artist" but of no real value to anyone else.

Once in awhile, someone unearths a gem and polishes it to a gleaming work of literary brilliance.

Some people are better at this than others.

You will learn about those people in your college-level English Composition classes.

You may even be one of them.

Don't let this dissuade you from writing and sharing your poetry with your friends. Only accept the fact that - for the most part - it's self-serving, derivative poop.

And that's okay...

I mean, most of us are not skilled photgraphers, but I daresay most of us like to take pictures. Lots of them. Some of probably have boxes overflowing with Polaroids and Kodak-moment snapshots, but they are not art.

They are just bits of exposed film, capturing something that means nothing whatsoever to all but the few people who are acquainted with the subject(s).

(Why do you think vacation slides are so godawful boring?)

Just the same, we keep snapping away on our little disposables and digi-cams, as well we should. Likewise, we should all try our hands at writing. Most of us will suck horribly. Even those of us who are good at it will primarily turn out slush (any real writer knows this).

Which is why I call it "poop." Because it's something everyone can do.

It takes someone special to s*** gold.
 
T

TURD CUTTER!!!

Guest
i totally agree with gerode

my poems are always so boring
your mother is real good at whoring
 
G

Gerode

Guest
Here's some from the Realm of Niftyness!

http://udel.edu/~jgephart/haikus.htm

History class Haiku's*

In a vain attempt to fight off the urge to sleep today in my History of Renaissance Europe class, I wrote down a page full of Haiku's.
What do you mean, "So what?"
You're bored enough to be reading this, right?
So just scroll down and read some of the better ones.
You might even laugh...

Where did the plague go?
I wish it would come back soon
That would amuse me.



Wish I were a pirate
I would eat lots of lemons.
So I wouldn't get scurvy.



Sandal-wearing idiot
Doesn't ever close his dang mouth.
Hope the plague gets him.



Vegetables are tasty.
Why are they all green colored?
Corn has no value.



Writing keeps me awake.
My mind wanders from this crap.
Wish I owned a turtle.



Ten minutes are left.
Here come more meaningless slides
Look, yet another church.



No Matthew, shut your mouth.**
The pillars don't stand for saints.
They are just designs, genius.



Foot falling asleep
Lucky foot can sleep all the time.
Wish I was a foot.
 
T

Thallid Ice Cream Man

Guest
Gerode: Most of those weren't haikus.

However, I was reminded of something by FireSlinger's "A glance at the universe" thread:

Originally written by Douglas Adams:
Vogon poetry is of course the third worst in the known universe. The second worst is that of the Azgoths of Kria. During a recitation by their Poet Master Grunthos the Flatulent of his poem "Ode to a Small Lump of Green Putty I Found in My Armpit One Midsummer Morning" four of his audience died of internal hemorrhaging, and the President of the Mid-Galactic Arts Nobbling Council survived by gnawing one of his own legs off. Grunthos is reported to have been "disappointed" by the poem's reception, and was about to embark on a reading of his twelve-book epic entitled My Favorite Bathtime Gurgles when his own major intestine, in a desperate attempt to save life and civilization, leaped straight up through his neck and throttled his brain.
The very worst poetry of all perished along with its creator, Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings of Greenbridge, Essex, England, in the destruction of the planet Earth.
Click to expand...
Here is an example of Vogon poetry, written by the Prostentic Vogon Jeltz:

Oh freddled gruntbuggly.... thy micturations are to me/As plurdled gabbleblotchits on a lurgid bee. Groop I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes.
And hooptiously drangle me with crinkly bindlewurdles,/ Or I will rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon, see if I don't!
 
R

Rando

Guest
All I want to say, although I will no longer be posting anymore "Bad Poetry" for your ammusment, is that I'm glad someone around here gets it.
 
T

TURD CUTTER!!!

Guest
roses are red
violets are blue
this poem is really boring
AND YOUR MOTHER IS TOO!!

The poems i write never make any sense
In my backyard, there is a fence
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Top