Long Bad poetry Poems
Long Bad poetry Poems. Below are the most popular long Bad poetry by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bad poetry poems by poem length and keyword.
Probably not my first battleground with this nasty bug
Still haven't tested positive after many attempts
But I know I have it now
False negatives or perhaps it's just my luck
I'm still kicking my way thru it, and I trust that none of you
Want to take this cross from me
But feel free
Grandma's got it too, that's my mom
Always taking care of us all no matter what the cost
Bless her soul
Hope all those vain vaccinations were worth it
So far so good . . . still here in the hood
No 911 calls yet but she says keep it on hold
This aint no ordinary cold
It reaches deep down and taints the soul
I feel for all the dead before me
Now is my chance to dance with this devil
Giving me night sweats and a backwards fever
I feel soooo cold like I could die
Really makes me feel that mortal mold
With an electric cord protruding from the back of my skull
Don't unplug me yet
I still have some more poems to write
Is tonight the night
I aint afraid
Jesus has my back
My faith is intact
He says Our Father forgives me when it's not
So, I say a few Our Fathers and struggle through some Hail Marys
(It's been a while since I've said those. Threw out my Rosary years ago)
I've walked thru so many Church doors that you'd think me a swinger
But I'm a deadringer for what is real
Ringing the dinner bell Ding Ding Ding Ding Dong!
What's wrong with me Lord, why'd you make me this way?
Extra toes and thumbs, kinda seems dumb
I think I would have been better off with an extra brain
Perhaps then I'da been a bit more sane
Less of a pain
More like everyone else like anyone else would care
I dare to overthrow tyranny and jerks
With a glare of my obvious godlike good looks.
I must get that from you, my Lord
Thanks for being there for me thru all these years
Putting up with all my failures and doubts and bad poetry
And to anyone else reading this malarky
Thanks for sharing!
I think I'm going to go now
And visit the porcelain thrown
For a while.
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!
Word is
You have to write bad poetry to learn from your mistakes.
If you cannot think of anything to write right now…
Then wait.
Inspiration will find you and take over your spirit.
Just give it a second. Try and you will feel it.
The immense wave of goodness, filling your soul with joy or anger.
Hold it in or let it go, but do not just let it pass you on by;
That would be called dropping a clanger.
You may never think of a better line,
So write like it’s the only poem you have ever written;
The best thing from your time.
This is no time for nonchalance.
Dive on in;
See what you can find beneath the surface.
Write it now or never word it.
The choice is yours.
I chose how to word this.
(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
"Bedouin"
I stand here
holding time in my hands
for you yet you remain hidden
watching
black sands on closing air
bedouin messages written
in code invisible to most
it blooms you open
the envelope silently spits
words, they escape into you
you breathe what's left quietly in
consider the path between
dreams and reality
I hijack your solitary cells daily
you’re a Skinwalker like a Selkie
shedding freedom for a bad marriage
the godless god
considers you not worth
a conversation, like a stalker
he follows you silently
without speaking
swallows what’s good
from the black buzzard perch
he sets the trip wire
unknown in the dark
there he sits
hidden in his vestry
shuffling the bad poetry parishioners
he weighs your worth
smirking he
watches on
turns your music off
(LadyLabyrinth/2021)
https://youtu.be/WU8m9m58XFI
Fi Fine, Fo Fun
Let me show you another way.
Let me breathe empathy towards your pain…
Hi Fi.
Remember me?
I’m the guy I think you need.
I want you to know, you are on my mind
And I hope you like me too.
Maybe we could go out together sometime?
Or just chill at mine; it is all up to you.
I want to look deep into your eyes,
Because there’s something there,
I don’t want to miss.
Maybe it’s the promise of a forthcoming kiss?
Or maybe that is just what I wish.
Your body wants to hide,
But your words are so open.
I have nothing to hide,
My soul is written down for you in poems.
So here I stand; yours if you want me.
Come chill with me some time
And criticize my bad poetry.
I should have told you.
How beautiful you are to me.
I should have hugged you,
To be more compassionate somehow.
I should have done more,
When you were so honest and free.
I should never have met you…Life would be much easier;
But you are in my head now.
So goodbye for now,
What I meant to say,
Was I’d really like to see you somehow;
If there is a way.
I want you to be with me sometime,
If you have the time;
To fit me into your hectic life.
I should have told you,
You’re pretty…hot!
I should have told you,
I’m not good enough.
I offer Peace, Love and Empathy
And I hope you accept it too,
For you are more than welcome.
But my heart is yours to see;
Maybe yours to keep…
Or maybe just yours to use,
If you just want the same old story.
Would you like us to share our bodies, minds and souls sometime?
If you show me yours…
I’ll show you mine.
I think I would like it very much indeed,
If you were to spend some time with me.
I could show you I am an Angel
And confess all my sins…
I could put my hands around your heart and love you…
If you would only let me in…
But if you just want fun
And you don’t want my love…
Then I accept, let’s have fun….
Let’s chill and
Be good buds.
(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
from he'll
to hell
from she'll
to shell
well we'll
see how
deep it is
a dash
is a walk
but two or
more dashes
makes
me
run
a colon is
a man's gland
a gee spot
poked fun at by
a rubber covered
proctologist's
finger
a semicolon
however is
not in
any sense
of the word
a medical
condition
but as all
bad poetry
must end
and so
there
is the
period
it seems
a simple
dot not a
comma
nor a
comment
but an end
yet
for mi
Musa she
sees it as a
new beginning
to an end of another
month's cycle that she
with the moon
stays in tune
always a
blood
moon
but
i
realize
that though
twenty five the
twenty nine and
a half days that pass
make her entire being
whole
.
Form:
I have this inkling feeling each time before i break
a tightness in my chest, i swallow air
and each time i want to discard every piece of you i own
but i forget, forget, forget
i close it off, i just don’t think about it
and silently i let you barge in on my space
and ask for more
all you do is ask for more
then good days turn into bad days
and all my good poetry turns into bad poetry
now i’m standing in the shower thinking over my day
you didn’t do anything but disappoint me
i didn’t get a lot of birthday wishes this year
nor did my grandma send me the right book
but i wasn’t upset, cause there was always you
not anymore, i guess
at least not the way i want it
you make a point of walking over me and then wiping your feet
and i make a point of breaking down and crying like a little kid
and i don’t know how to say that i want to go alone
since you’ll follow me anywhere
but i need you to stop being attached
attached to me, your punching bag
Pulling The Plug And Cutting The Cord
Written: by Miracle man
1-1-2020
As this new year begins, with value I’m teased,
and I toy with thoughts over my coffee mug.
Non-essential increases leave me displeased,
I’m about ready to tell some to just pull the plug.
Once I agreed, to sign up using auto billing,
They must have assumed I was a tired old hack.
It isn’t affordability, but rather “am I willing?”
is the time upon me, to rise and fight back?
Oh, they’ll try to sell me, on a plan I can afford,
Seems everyone needs a raise, everyone but me.
That it isn’t prudent to pull the plug, or cut the cord,
But whatever their plan, I’m sure I’ll not agree.
Because I don’t need cable to watch politicians fight,
or watch Christmas movies for six months instead.
I can sit at my keyboard and bad poetry write,
and no, I didn’t rise, from the wrong side of the bed.
In the enmeddling clingsome cleavage
Of the windwrapped menacehugging road
Torchurtoting time turns dangler of sands
You slitrap the solum to seek hideous nook.
The road twisturns on your sleekshoulder
Oops griplifts you on its saddlekradle oldie
The jeopordized journey trottrots slothened
With the time’s dustrapped flagcart cranked.
At the edgeend of the ruinrubbled road
Tormentrudged time turns terminist instant
Chasetrack you till twilight sundown duskdark
You longwish to restep on faden footstamps.
The crackripped road crumbler of dayspun dreams
Throws wrecktrash you in dismayedark debris
The jocundgelled journey ends in incompleteness
Captivetrapped in time’s eternal sucksack infinitum.
June 15, 2020
Contest : Vogon Poetry (Really Bad Poetry) Quoopisk
Sponsor : Team Poetry Soup
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)