Best Bad Poetry
Bad poetry is what one gets
when horny people don't have sex
so if this rhyme seems juvenile
give me a break, it's been a while
it's all your fault
that i got a rejection letter
the letters were wrong
and their order not right,
what was i thinking,
sending my thoughts out loud
to a Brit no less,
la di da
i digress
i just wasn't in proper dress
for the refusal,
metaphors all dressed up in
red silk and stiletto heels,
my panties in a bunch
in your pocket
Buk,
you've always told me the
truth,
shall i order hot dogs smothered
with onions and sauerkraut
from the vendor down Lorain Street
and write poetry on the napkin
i wipe with
send it, sealed with a kiss?
the eagle of my heart breaks
into its sojourn, and here i am
feeling like pay dirt, the sky
thunders, i think it's going to rain.
if your speaking of me
I do agree
my grammar isn't exact
I break the rules
because I don't care
but your poetry is a good example
maybe I do scramble words
fighting to speak from the heart
being isolated, I try my best
not to tear dimensions apart
dark or light
poetry heals the sickness inside
bad or good
I feel poetry can make a person fly
lost and wounded from battle
I don't know what is honest
are your here for war
or did you come here
to rub in that I am poor
I'm not desired or wanted
what I wanted is not desired
my emotions are tired of being a tire
I wonder why I can't be desired
whatever this place is about
I'm going to keep writing
because I have no other place to shout
Alexadrine’s gobbledygook:
Heidi morning was a beautiful dream
The whirlwind’s skinny day contemplation
loved by the moon
It wants my mom
I spell congratulations
w-o-n-d-e-r-f-u-l We were!
Our wonderful bells bells bells bells day
Oh no
I love my other grandma’s
every grandma
I love you fams
AWkqskqks,wsllwvmfkrheuuueuruueod
kekekkdjguirufitokfhekk
jfkkfkjkflfmfkoqajehgkgkgllrkkjhmgkgkkgklsl
In the end he couldn’t help the bleep
of his vogotten speech - he says it’s french
don’t believe him go back
to the beginning of Alexadrine’s...
5/30/2020
Vogon Poetry (really bad poetry) Quoopisk Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Team Poetry Soup
*The Bells by Edgar Allen Poe
**Much of this was from a page my five year old grandson wrote.
I try to promote poetry and he said it was his poem.
He used the microphone for some of this.
That is right August 18,
Today Is National "Bad" Poetry Day.
To all the writers,
here is your chance.
Write something "Great,"
for the world to read.
How about,
National "Great" Poetry Day???
Remember a rhyme is to rhyme,
not kind of rhyme.
A Limerick is to be a five line funny,
not sad or depressing.
A true writer,
writes from their loving and creative heart.
AI writes,
but has no heart to write from.
Many have told me,
less words are more.
So I am stopping here,
so you can add to my list.
Have fun day writing away....
Went to Jurassic Park
She didn't see even one
~ Dinah's Sore
Hastily he jumped into conclusion
That we are inept in this seclusion
Brought by dampened spiritual voice, that
Got audibly overwhelmed in this waft
Of the concessional sovereign reign
That ebbed away his vim in disdain.
Drifted in the upsurge of doubt
Divergent conviction his heart sprout
Whose fruits dangled ripe and low
To keenly inquisitive neighbor’s door
Alluring one, alluring all
To be charmed in artistic call
That exhibit deep roots
Feeding these vile fruits
You all lick lips acknowledging
Toxic venom like bad poeting.
Love has been over-written
There is not much left for me.
Even so, as I fall asleep
I try to write a romance
On your back, in circles.
My feet between your sleeping legs,
I keep quiet to keep you near.
I want to super glue your lips to mine,
To be held until we are faultless.
I am tired of loving vulgarly
More, most, insatiable;
Common notions in my head.
I am tired of the bad poetry
That is loving you.
National Bad Poetry Day
There you have it
I had no idea
I am in the perfect site
for today!!
which rhymes with
cliché
betray
and dismay!
Twas in the waters, I waborn from flames and lust
Ripped from the stars and the zoding fust
Cast into the salty and swirlin mesty sea
Twas in the sky, I was as a cloud in the sky and condsing for life to jofully cry
Cast to be a waste washed down from the batle between eunonia and phoslo
I fel as rainwater into the sea as the lively seuma wished so
Twas on the earth, that lively seuma minted me like coin with din
The zoding fust doctrines and counsels are tattoed into my skin
As a watery mirrection of the heavens above
Twas here, I was moulded to be an iron fetter for the ceel of stars kind of
If the bright demons go up, I drag them bak down to dardtars
If the eunonic angels descend to earth, I chase them back up to nothigness
Though I am unwilling and forced to dothis duty
Twas here, I was crafted to be a distiller between pure and impure
To be gatherin place al substances on Gai-tan
To release the light back into the heaveabove the skierms
Though I am unwilling and forced to dothis duty
Twas here, I was designed to be a spong that washes awa dirt from the bere
Just as the ten cies are cleaned through the three turbing wheels
Though I am want dardtars and eunonia to destro all
Though I am unwilling and forced to do thijob
(The sea giant from Manichaean theology)
The only bad poem is the poem that has not been written
Hunger crushes the lady bug, as the tears fall down her face. An open beak , unblinking
eyes, is all that faces the mirror. She wishes for that prince in her dreams, to take
her away from those thoughts. She only wants to run away, to a field where nothing
scares her.
She doesn’t want to drink the water, or taste what she should know. Broken thoughts are
scribbled down in an ink blue blood that flows. A tormented heel that creates a downfall
for which she drowns in night. A star could make her ever day different from that she
knows.
Maybe I’m just bad at this
but nobody wants to be the one
to burst my bubble
fearing they’ll hurt my feelings
though that’s never stopped anyone before
After all I’ve failed at almost everything
I’ve ever attempted for the last forty years
Perhaps I was pretentious to think that any thoughts
I might conceive relating to the world as I perceive it
would be of any interest to someone like you
or to people stuck like glue in front of screens
Poetry is passé today
obsolete as fax machines and landline phones
out of fashion like flannel shirts, shopping malls
and garden gnomes
In school, we had to memorize
A poem from time to time.
Of course, back then, most certainly,
It was a verse in rhyme.
Joyce Kilmer’s “Trees” was one of them.
For years I wondered why
The poet’s name was Joyce when
We were told he was a guy.
But I digress – for recently,
I read about a match
Where would-be poets vied
To write an awful poem from scratch.
It takes place at Columbia
And yes, it gets its name
From A. Joyce Kilmer, he of “Trees,”
His calling card to fame.
Professors pick the winner,
And the choices are diverse,
From all other contest entries
To find one which seems much worse.
I wonder what Ms. Klasowitz
Would think about a prize
Given to a poem as bad as that
She had us memorize!
If they were nasty, you do not have to read them, you should not read them.