Best Worser Poems
I just tried out Soup’s grammar checker
It graded my work at just three
I smashed my IPad into pieces
You might say it kind of irked me
So I loaded up sonnet eighteen
(Compare thee to a summer’s day)
I copied and pasted that poem
Precisely as Shakespeare did say
Seems it’s a long way from perfect
For ‘owest’ he shouldn’t have said
And he’s gonna need to change ‘growest’
Alas, I believe Shakespeare’s dead
And then checker graded his writing
And set it at one point nine three
So what’s the big deal with this Shakespeare?
It seems he writes worser than me!
[Postscript: This epic ode achieved a 1.93: Cest la vie.]
My current days are trails paved abhorrent
for I wail money twisted and time blistered
within knot plots I cannot get untwistered.
I live as a searcher of dollar measure flexers
and as an oh what should I do now perplexer.
Even toilet paper is a difficult gainer
when basic nutrition is not an obtainer.
Being a face washer, teeth flosser, hair brusher
and body cleaner upper are now strainers.
All intentions proper flare up money impaired
when one’s pennies add up to not even any.
How to be a life liver as a faith believer
when your scenes scream just be a quitter,
a truly properly decent sanity splitter?
When losing my job hard spun me money shun,
my question grinder also lost its answer finder.
Tonight, I’ll be a bread crumb eater and soup sipper
but tomorrow I may be a slipper wearing mess
roamer, a senseless out loud streaming press
and a restaurant trash can nonchalant searcher
who forgot her thoughts once held nothing worser.
... CayCay
August 22, 2019
SIGN OF THE TIMES
Stones will be thrown down. The temple succumbs like Lazarus.
Inconceivable evil hurled inside and outside satan’s circle.
Good perceived as bad and the reverse a similar fact.
Noah’s days before our rainy eyes, hankies blowing it.
Other christ, the false one, the devil incarnate arrives.
Feast of beasts will turn the world upside-down in defeat.
Torrential weather, hate and great distress to impress.
Heaven looks on in horror but not surprised.
Evening becomes the norm without moon or stars.
The persecutions worse and worser, God’s children cry, wanting
It to end sooner than later, having suffered and died, blood
Mixes like a cultural conglomerate - we knew the rat race
Eventide, on its plenipotentiary screeching wheel, couldn’t
Survive but for Jesus Christ — His victory secured at the cross.
4/22/2018
The temple in line one is Jesus. In the final line His victory.
I think I must be seeing things
Before me stand the four of kings,
They shuffle when the Bishop brings
Annette upon nine raven wings
And Beanie rides a sea serpent
And wonders where the yellow went;
I go to pay the next day’s rent,
Where have they taken my new tent?
The bandstand kids look like Dick Clark,
Turn on the lights, I’m in the dark,
I’m standing in Grand Central Park,
A worm has caught a purple lark
And Kookie has run out of combs
So rents out rooms in old maid’s homes,
He has B.O. where ere he roams
So buys some spray and sells his tomes,
To your friend Ralph, yes you know who,
The one who should be in a zoo;
He sells used cars upon the tube
To each and every simple boob
And if he gives you stomach ache
Then Alkaseltzer’s what you take
And Bufferin too if you’re a rake,
Thus hath the Johnny Carson spake
Do I need a cigarette?
A camel says before me yet
‘yes, Luckys is the brand to get,
Be a he man, don’t you fret’
‘there must be worser ways to die
So buy brand X, give it a try’;
Just then another bird walks up
And asks me what I feed my pup
Then puts a nickel in my cup
And tells me I am full of crup
Of where I am, I’m unaware;
Why are the people all so square?
Who is standing over there?
He says he’s here to take my fare
But I’m not going anywhere,
Besides I feel my pockets bare
‘Well then I guess you must have paid’
At this I start to get afraid,
I think my mind will start to fade,
Then Hogen’s Heros make a raid,
Upon my sensibilities
And now it’s clear why each eye sees
So many people climbing trees;
It aint because of hungry fleas
As Tarzan swings upon a rope
I find I start to give up hope;
Jack Webb has started smoking dope
So now the crooks no longer mope
And Perry Mason kicks a judge
But finds the law will never budge
Unless big business gives a nudge
To Popeye selling ice cream fudge
At this I really have to rush
To our old john so I can flush
So far away this vacant mush
Before my teeth I start to brush
Then Josephine comes to my view
And says ‘I want to talk to you
Have you scrubbed your sink anew?
Your mop I think needs some shampoo’
I said ‘I think you are the plumber
And no one else was ever dumber
You’ve put me on another bummer’
My feelings start to get much number
continued in part 2>
You all say I'm the devil,
But he says I'm a saint,
You all say that he loves me,
For something that i ain't
You all say I'm a nuisance,
Even lower than a weed,
But he says that I'm everything,
That he will ever need
He says that I am beautiful,
Even better than Cinderella,
But you say "Get your eyes checked mate,"
"Feel sorry for you fella"
He says that I am kind,
Even to the paparazzi,
But you all say that I am mean,
Three times worser than the Nazi
He promised me his everything,
His life, his heart, his all,
But what have you guys done for me?
You've tripped and made me fall
But I think that i should thank you,
Because in the end,
You've taught me how to be myself
And not to just pretend
Abhorrent those phizog few,
At times they flood his mind.
He did not even know why them his mind drew,
He has got to get down, reasons to find.
His mindly nib, she oozes memories,
Of old and new… far but few,but many ,that he knows not.
On papyrus his mind scribbles and carries,
And then drains encapsulated emotions that afore are now brought.
His heart bleeds of porous feelings,
Bleached and dried by furious despotism.
Of people he knew real close in life’s dealings,
Of the ones he had no knowledge of their absolutism.
Blood flows from his weary eyes,
Tears flow from his broken heart.
But he has not yet learnt life’s game of dice.
All he has borne is the fury of the tyranny’s dart.
My thoughts like his lie chained ,
My mindly nib brings afore,
Glued stuck and stained.
Memories of the past eon all sore.
Get up my Goa…..
Can one dare to hope…
Instead of all in this darkness grope
All he can hear is Empty voices….. cold… dark and sterile,
Shapless dreams , but sought in the midst of peril
Black mirrored roads and murky simmering waters,
Is no place for perfect reflections, but for our dream slaughters
Leaving behind a land adorned by hungry eyes…
Its beauty diminishing like wisps of smoke amidst populous cries……
Get up stand up….
ElseWe will run blinded in the dark,
And meet the hard embrace
Of whispered truth and scolding truth without a scenario of a worser case
You are watched and inspected,
Governed , directed , censored and corrected.
You are told what to do,
You are told how far to go.
Where is that haloed glow?
No more a part of your grand show,
Have they driven your thoughts to a tangent,
Oh then even your smile could shortly become pungent.
Your sanity unseen
Your senses now dumb that were earlier keen.
I still cannot reconcile as to why?
Why why and why?
You still walk in sheathed in tatters of pride….
Lips closed but open eyed…..
How long……..
Do we have to be forlorn
How long……..
Do we have to be forlorn
If your headache is bad,
It's about to get worser.
The fun that you had
Is just a precursor...
To the fun you won't have
Once it's time to clock in.
There's no balm and no salve
That can quiet the din...
That clangs in your head
Once the work week's begun.
But at least you ain't dead,
And the man hasn't won.
So shake your fist and stick it to 'em.
Mondays, we all have to go through 'em.
Cursor Curser
Would there were only one cursor
for one is bad – two is “worser”
amid the streams of vitriol
I watch the drop down menu – fall.
I dread the pop up ads, and spam
the wasted time to make them scram
the bells and whistles, warning lights
that tell me all my wrongs – and rights.
Thus do I wander cyberspace
looking for a friendly face
sipping cold and oily brew
as download light grows slowly blue.
I search books that make minds numb
written by – and for – the dumb.
John G. Lawless
3/22/2015
i never saw the doornail die
never caught sight of a fox that sly
i didn't cure a dog so sick
didn't steal a glance of thieves so thick
i can't walk tight a rail that thin
can't see some sight as ugly as sin
i didn't ever take any punch so pleased
or been flashed by lightening that slippery greased
i can't light bituminous coal so black
or pointedly aim as sharp as a tack
didn't touch a witch's tit so cold
- i'd feel it's not as good as gold
i can't squish in any mud so clear
or finger a lobe cute as a bug's ear
folks shout i'm as deaf as a post
in fact i'm even worser, than most
i can't hear a fiddle so fit
in fact i don't give a - damn
a simile is as cool as winter's rain
so i utter them like, again, and again
true, i'm as buzzed as a bee so busy
but i don't think a bee's like a simile, is he?
© Goode Guy 2013-03-06
A Little Phone Call Malcolm and Donald
by Bob Moore
Hello Donald
That Afro-American President, lived there just before you
agreed to take these Middle Eastern fellers from Naru
they are a bloody handful, getting worser every day
when you gonna send a boat, and take them all away
A deals a deal out here in Oz, even if its dumb
hope you will not renege, we’re still your bestest chum
here in the Southern Hemisphere, and maybe in the world
we help to fight in all your wars, so don’t act like a girl
--
Hello Malcom
I heard about that stupid deal, you did before he left
a swap for some Columbians, you both must be bereft
not sure which of them is worse, but one thing that I know
there’ll be some heavy vetting, before you let them go
Out here we have our own problems, don’t know if you’ve heard
eight years of Pres, Obama, but now the people stirred
they want to make America, the way it used to be
no matter where you come from, settle in, and you’ll be free
So nobody can tell me, what is best for me to do
friendship, begging, threatening, its not all about you
I have a land of willing soles, and if they work with me
we will make America, great again, you’ll see.
Goodbye
Oh, I'm tired of bending my back for a buck;
See, it comes out of falling so far on my luck
That I now have to work with some tools and a truck
And a cynic might say that my plight's gotta suck.
Now, I tried putting Parker to paper, but then
A whole lotta nuthin' resulted, so when
The larder was empty at a quarter to Ten
I ran to a place that was looking for men.
They gave me a job scrubbing decks on a ship
And told me be sure and show up with my slip.
So, straight as a laser I sped to the boat
And made enough dough so's to keep me afloat.
In an ideal world I could sell my hack rhymes;
For the nonce, sad to say, I must roll with the times.
For as much as I'd like to go scribbling out verse
I'll be much better fed if I've coins in me purse.
'O hail the gods of men whom vanity and oblivion forever seeks but never finds,
Such purity, beauty and complexity,
Immortality is but a minor gift.'
He's a boy, a boy like me,
And he still cries, cries till he falls asleep,
You won't see the tears cause his heart is broken inside,
He lost what he thought he had,
Gained what he thought he couldn't,
So he still cries, cries till he falls asleep.
For years he's been searching,
The plains have bore nothing,
Futility is his reward,
And though he knows this,
He still dreams.
"Oh what a soothing feeling it is,
To fall asleep,
To cast ones burdens at the gates of reality,
To fall in a hole where reality can never reach,"
He says in his sleep,
Then reality comes knocking,
Not with a gentle tap but with tanks and war machines,
The walls keep fading,
His heart keeps beating,
His dream starts breaking,
And nightmares start taking,
The thoughts and memories he keeps hidden,
Are finally open for everyone to see,
Then he wakes up, no one by his side,
Lonely, desperate for a kiss,
He realizes it was a mare, a dream, a beast,
And as the morning sun shines through the window,
He realizes,
That reality is worser than his dream,
So he lurks in the shadows by day,
Where all powerful wizards grant his every wish,
And finally he is at peace, holding the moment for as long as he can,
Breathing and feeling, Seeing and living, as he pleased,
For soon reality's brutal soldiers will be at his door,
So like a child with a new toy,
He holds onto his dream,
For even he knows,
Utopia is but a dream.
I Cherished our moments together.
I'll Cherish them moments forever.
I'll capture our love in my memories
right before it dies.
I'll forget about your love
when you get sick of me
and I can't say that I didn't try
to love you
but Ima learn to forget you
and girl I won't even miss you.
They say love is pain and vice versa
well if you keep this up
our love will get worser.
I can't even talk to you
I don't even acknowledge you.
I'm not even proud of you
I don't even smile for you.
If you needed visine I wouldn't give you
or drop or two
but if you really loved me
I'd empty out the whole bottle for you.
I held your love
right here in my palms.
I held your body in my arms.
Girl when you got cold
I definitely was the one who kept you warm.
Everytime our love got old
the love was religiously then reborn.
I guess our love rebirth
would be the answer.
does my my opinion even matter?
Making our love work
would of been the answer
but was the love real?
that is my final question
and if it was
it would take you
only a couple of seconds to answer.
Recent Moments. Endless Memories
a deep emotion that's living within me.
When
the
angel
of mercy
spoke of Light and Love,
they not only failed to listen,
they invented a false symbol of pure evil, a
counterweight to the voice of Truth that gave credence to worser demons of their nature.
With dire consequence, a great many 'living hearts and hearthstones all over this broad land'
derive great meaning from this illusory figment...
In steadfast determination to prove it real.
A KID’S OPINION ON FOOD
Some food is horrible, such as carrots - they are carrible
Not fit even to feed to parrots - taste just terrible
And worser food such as maize is more horribler:
He calls corn-on-the-cob - corribler.
(I know its corny to say so, but when he tests it
It’s obvious he just detests it.)
Horriblest of all, even if the harvest is blest and bountiful,
Is fish - given repeatedly by the mouthful.
But the ultimate poison, - in the opinion
Of an expert in food like my little son -
The mostest horriblest is. . . . . liver :
It should simply be thrown in the river.