Each week Marie and I have a difficult time choosing poems for the BEAUTIFUL BLOOMS because… well, they’re all that good. But here is the test.
For this week’s prompt, we want you to write a “Bad” poem. Surely, you can write about something bad. But really we want you to write a “bad” poem – a horrible poem… a completely atrocious poem. It could be written to form badly, for bad form to a poem is the worst. Lock your muse in a closet and let your inner bad poet loose, if only for one week. Be bad and you’ll be rewarded.
MARIE ELENA’S BAD:
A Measly Poem
Roses are red Violets are blue If I had the measles, I’d give them to you. Then we’d both be sick Doing, what do you think? Just scratching our heads Writing po-ems that stink. You think THIS is shamelessly Bad and oblique? Well check out the po-em I posted last week! © Copyright Marie Elena Good – 2013TERRIBLE WALT’S:
HORRIBLE HAIKU
Nature in short verse
Written in the classic style
Three lines, seventeen
syllables done badly.
© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
If I have a chance I will write a new bad poem, but this silly occasional ditty was written years ago. Its Title?
Badpoem
There is a young lady named Nancy
Who a bouncing new baby doth fancy.
Soon Randy the Dad
Will be feeling quite glad.
They’ll both be all songy and dancy.
Sheryl, this is way too well written to be a bad poem! 😀 Love it!
Marie Elena
How terribly cute! 😀
HUMMMM….. > 550
* * * * IT LOOKS LIKE
* * * * * THE GARDEN GETS MORE COMMENTS
* * * * * * AND POEMS
* FOR BAD POEMS THAN FOR GOOD POEMS…..
🙂 🙂 ❤
* * WE BAD!
I agree with Marie. Too cute! 🙂
ditto the rest of them sheryl, too rad to be bad…
Sorry, Sheryl, but you’re going to have to break cadence and do more to get this into the bad category. But you’ve clued me into what I could use for form. I can seldom ever get limerick to work for me.
Enjoyed this though.
Claudsy, I’m with you on the limerick. This is what I often come up with instead.
🙂 I enjoy them so much, and couldn’t write a decent one if someone was holding the bathroom hostage.
“holding the bathroom hostage” Never heard that one. Won’t forget it, now!
I should hope not. I went to a lot of trouble to create that new little cliche. Now it’s up to everyone else to over use it so that it can join the ranks.
“holding the bathroom hostage” !! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA!
I’ll be doing my part to make that a household phrase! 😀
Marie Elena
!!! Ha ha, HA!!!
I love “songy and dancey” . A fun read.
Ah, but I thought that phrase was what made it such a bad poem.
Ha!! That’s cute and fun…really not all that bad. 😉
This was pretty easy. I seem to be a little too good at writing bad poems. 😉 (and very is one of my “banned words”. It’s bad, that’s why it’s in here so many times. ;))
Somebody Save Me (a very bad 7/5 Trochee)
Something terrible happened
Today: I woke up with
A great urge to write
A very horrible poem;
A very horrible trochee to be
Very precise,
Without meter or rhyme
Or syllable count;
And it happened,
Oh yes it really happened,
Just read my very bad example –
Somebody save me!
Copyright A Very Confused Poet – 2013
You couldn’t write a bad poem if you tried!
Hear, hear!!
Marie Elena
Amen to that.
🙂 You got’a be bad-er!~
Thank you for the advice, M. 😉
ha, ha…
I totally agree with Viv here!
Thanks, guys! 😀
Very very good er bad!! ;)!!
Me too, Erin. “Very” is a pet peeve with me. Do you know this quote? We are in good company.
Mark Twain – “Substitute ‘damn’ every time you’re inclined to write ‘very;’ your editor will delete it and the writing will be just as it should be.”
Yes! I’ve heard that quote, Debi. It’s one of my favorite. 😉
Debi, I’m going to remember that. I hate very, too. And “a lot”. Darn, I should have written an A LOT and VERY poem.
I love lots, partly for this exchange from the Marx Brothers’ move, “The Cocoanuts”:
Hammer: You know what a lot is?
Chico: Yeah, itsa too much.
Hammer: I don’t mean a whole lot, just a little lot with nothing on it.
Chico: Any time you gotta too much, you gotta whole lot. Look, I explain it to you…sometimes you no got enough, it’s too much, you gotta whole lot. Sometimes you got a little bit. You no think it’s enough, somebody else maybe thinks itsa too much, itsa whole lot too. Now, itsa whole lot, itsa too much, itsa too much, itsa whole lot…same thing.
LOL. I love this! A LOT! A WHOLE LOT!
ha, ha, Ha!!!
Hehe, thanks, Hannah! Glad you liked, or didn’t like, it! 😉
William, thanks for clearing that up. ? ; )
Fun one, Erin, even if it was very bad. 🙂
Thanks, Claudsy!
You’re welcome, Erin.
Oh, my goodness! Banned words. Confused poet indeed! 😉 Very, very (oops) good, er, bad.
Yes, it’s been banned since I was in 4th grade. 😉 Thank you for reading, Sheryl. 🙂
While this was a very very brave attempt at being bad, it’s a pretty good bad. I guess there’s no bad like old, matured, broken-down bad. You’ve got another century to become that, Erin. Fun poem!
Oh, and I tried so hard! Sure it wasn’t even a little bad? 😉 So glad you liked it in spite of that, Jane.
Erin, I almost felt like you should be hollering, “can I get a witness?” …loved this “bad” poem…
Hahahaha! Thanks, Sharon. You are all my witnesses here. 😉
GENESIS
It was a dark and squirmy night
when Mortimer met Millicent;
the shrouded moon cast down its light
with ambience grandiloquent.
Their four eyes met, then locked in place;
their breathing merged. Thus inspired,
they walked along in common trace
toward a sinkhole. Therein mired
but unaware, they melded lips
and bodies as the sucking earth
extended forth its fingertips
and pulled them downward, girth to girth.
The legend says they never knew
the mastic mud was Mystic Mind;
but there they married green to blue
and birthed the whole of humankind.
That place today is slightly hilly;
the airs around are always chilly
upon the heath where, willy-nilly,
Father Mort met Mother Millie.
This is absolutely brilliant – betrays the rules of poetry without rubbing our noses in it. Bravo!
Thank you very much. I must admit: I never expected praise for this turkey.
Oh. My. Word.
I agree with Viv. BRILLIANT!!
Marie Elena
Very (apologies to Erin for stealing her word) confusing to know how to comment but, William, you have a knack for writing bad poetry or maybe that should be you’re good at being bad or… shoot – great job!
Thanks verrrrry much. Your comment reminds me of something my dad used to say: “Be good. If you can’t be good, be careful.”
Bad Fun…..Bad pun!
Agreed!!! Love that last stanza!
I agree with Viv as well! Brilliantly bad. 😉
What can I say (that the others haven’t already?) Brilliant!
Absolutely love this. Grandiloquent–where did you ever find this word? I’ve never seen it before anywhere.
I must say, Viv, you’ve expressed the truth of the matter beautifully, regarding this poem. A definite must read for all of those who absolutely love poetry. 🙂
Thank you. That word seeped into the detritus of my dreams somewhere, a long time ago. I don’t think I used it until this verse, though.
You’re welcome, William. I love finding great words like this, and seeing some of the words used here today, I could create a whole new vocabulary section in my “to be remembered” notebook.
Oh, wow! Oh, the humanity. 😉 Your word choice is squirmy indeed.
Oh, my word, William. This isn’t just bad, it’s exquisitely atrocious! It’s a whole mythology of horror! You’re like the best at being the baddest, man. I’m kneeling. Who will help me up? 😉
Thank you, Jane. Coming from a master (mistress?) storyteller such as you, that means a lot, “like” and all.
sorry, Jane…I can’t help you up because I am kneeling, too. I always look forward to reading posts by William Preston and he delivers again…totally aced this prompt.
Actually, I loved it! Probably because it’s something I would write and be pleased. Love how their four eyes lock in space.
From “a dark and squirmy night,” playing off the old chestnut, this was BRILL! Do you have a blog? Could not find a link. You are simply marvelous, sir. In admirative horribleness, Amy
Thank you, Amy. No, I don’t have a blog. Until a friend point me to Robert Brewer’s Poetry Asides forum, I didn’t even know what one is. I’d heard the word before, and thought it was some kind of vomit.
OM Goodness, william… hahaha!!
That’s just my concern, William–that any blog of mine would be regurgitative or cause queasiness.
I doubt that, but the word sounds bad, which makes it good for this prompt, I guess. Anyway, until recently, I didn’t know what it meant.
Everything I would say has been said…great example of what a good poet can do to make a poem baaaad
This is wonderfully bad. Love it, William.
CRUDDY CINQUAIN
It’s sad:
the ancient plaid
that dear Adelaide had
was buried with Adelaide’s dad.
My bad.
copyright 2013, William Preston, though I don’;t know why I bother.
HA!! Chuckling out loud over that copyright. 😀 !
Marie Elena
Lol!
Fun read.
Heh!
Such fun. Love that rhyme, William.
😉
Oh dear…well done, William! You are too much! 😀
Low five! Great fun!
Another winner (loser?), from a poet whose work I had not read before. Great final line, too. Amy
You are relatively new to me William (I say relatively as I’m sure I’ve read a few other things by you, yes?) and this is priceless…wonderful slant rhymes and a great last line…my bad…heh heh
A vicious crime against poetry
I prefer to write the best I’m capable of But
if I wanted to write a bad
poem I’d end all the lines with
weak words and/or meaningless conjunctions
I’d try to make the rhythm lumpy
with too much or too little alliteration
assonance and consonance would need to
be avoided like the clichéd plague.
I’d have no respect for rhyme.
count syllables instead of stresses.
Lots of tautology abundant
punctuation missing or misguided
would exacerbate the felony
I’d fill the thing with adverbs and
misuse the blank blank apostrophe
End of
I did have fun writing this!
This might be bad poetry, but it’s good instruction. Great job, or maybe I should say, bad job.
It’s a good bad job, William. And yes, it would be a great handout in a poetry conference.
I agree with William! You could teach the course on being good at bad, and I’d take it! Great one, Viv!
Oh yes … another brilliantly bad poem!
They ARE fun to write, aren’t they?
Marie Elena
How not to write a poem-poem!! It’s perfection my friend!! 🙂
Yes, for sure, well done.
The fun shows and it was fun to read as well!
Love it! So fiendishly clever!
You’ve succeeded in the creating a fine example of your work in this “bad” poetry, Viv. I wish I could turn off the internal editor like that. Great job!
Oh my, Viv!! This is terribly clever! Wonderfully bad. 😉
Viv, as we used to say, “wicked good”! Ironically, it’s still good… ha ha
As always Viv, you take the instructions and turn them on their head and come up with something brilliant…this is as Amy has already said “wicked good”
love this 🙂
[…] Poetic Bloomings prompt 108, is to write a really bad poem. Here are the instructions. […]
…hee, hee… thanks for the early morning smiles… I will think about this one all morning at work… Happy Sunday, everyone 🙂 !!
A SIN OF A SONNET
A sonnet should have fourteen lines
and dance on bitty iambic feet;
its form should ever be discrete
and rhymes should rhyme with other rhymes.
It should not stress on asinines
and ought to be in thought complete
with little need to be discreet
for, after all, the lines aren’t mimes.
The count should be pentameter;
the sentiments, not amateur
but circling the parameter
and cutting the diameter
out of the heart of the entire poem
so that the poet can really show ‘em!
copywrong 2013, William Preston
Ohmigosh. William, you are on a roll! WOW!
Marie Elena
Thanks. You know what they say: a rolling poet gathers no dross.
Or powdered sugar. 😉
Marie Elena
Bwahaha…I thought oh this is pretty good and then your “copywrong,” cracked me up!! Love it!
Hannah, I didn’t catch that… I guess I was too busy admiring his terrible poem.
I know it nearly slipped by me too…the poem is a stunner! 🙂
I think you and I were on similar wavelengths today! But I’m applauding your work fiercely!
Thanks much (verily, I think I used up my veries). Coming from you, I appreciate this especially.
You have found a rich seam to mine, witty, and dare I say it, poetic.
And it’s wonderful to find a writer who knows the difference between discrete and discreet!. Until Hannah pointed it out, I had missed copywrong too…..
I just love how you’ve protected this one with your copywrong, William. As for your sonnet, I thought for a moment I was reading something I’d written, since sonnet is one of my most difficult writes. I always get them wrong.
Yes, I agree. Fun read – Sonnets are a challenge to me.
Gosh, this is so funny, William! You really are on a roll. Keep it up!
You had me at iambic’s bitty feet, which I pictured on point with maybe a tutu too many. This one was instructional too!
oh, mee too (iambic’s bitty feet)… 🙂 !!
“iambic’s bitty feet, which I pictured on point with maybe a tutu too many.” 😀 !!!!!!!!!!
Marie Elena
wow — where do you find your muse energy? send some this way would you? another zinger…
I posted this one last year. It’s still one of my favorites, so I’m being shamelessly bad and posting again. *evil laugh*
~Marie Elena
Old, Faulty Parts
My fibula is so untrue.
I lack the science gene.
I cannot take a ribbing,
And my brain is not too keen.
I’m told I have a pisiform.
I find that in poor taste.
I’d find it humerus, except
My funny bone’s misplaced.
© Copyright Marie Elena’s Bad – 2013
Oy! Such a good job of a bad poem.
I remember this one!!! I love it!! especially the last four lines!! Ha ha!! 🙂
That is funny – even if you aren’t with your Old, Faulty Parts (though of course that isn’t true. You have the funny gene in abundance!)
For sure.
heehee
😀
Oh, Marie, this was just too good. Hahahaha Jo says every medic and med student should know this one by heart. We’re both still laughing. Bad poetry, but great for those in the profession of easing stresses during a shift.
Gathers no dross? Groan. You are on a roll even in your comments, William.
I remember the first lines of this poem, Marie. If I accidentally skipped someone I am sorry. I had planned to work my bad plan, but there are too many “good bad” poems here. Reading these is adicting.
Too funny! 😀
I’m so fond of bones in rhyme ;)! This is a hoot!
🙂 I remember this one!!
Pisiform, LOL. This poem had “good bones.” Groaningly yours, A
I do remember this (vaguely…this is when it helps to have CRAFT…[can’t remember a freakin’ thing, for the uninformed]and it has worn well, bears repeating…
Dodoitsu
It was a dark and moonless night
so your eyes couldn’t sparkle
so I couldn’t fall in love with you
so blame it on the moon.
And speaking of brilliant?! Great … er … TERRIBLE work, Debi! 😀
Marie Elena
Yup.
echo…
Love this!! It’s perfectly awful! 🙂
Thanks you guys- I think? ; )
Chuckles! 🙂
YES
Oh, Debi, such fun. Love the twist in the middle taking me to somewhere I hadn’t expected. Love this bad poem.
Ah, Debi, this poem ends with an appropriate thud. 🙂
Awfully well done, Debi!
I like the so-so-so, pad-dum! Love it.
sooo baaaad….way to go Debi
🙂
Superbly negative!
Parched
~
This is just a stepping stone
in the pond of life,
a pouncing point…
a leap to another spent poem
that leaves one’s mouth dry-
abandoned to thirst
for true water;
relief in worded rescue-
voice of authentic inspiration.
~
Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2013
~
Poetic Bloomings-Bad Form/Bad Poem
~
Write badly. Simple right? Umm…
~
I was going to try for over alliteration and an over-used topic, stepping stones…I tried but my muse would not keep quiet. Does anyone have a fresh roll of duct tape?!!
~
Smiles and a happy weekend to all!
LOL! You are just the sweetest!! 😀
Marie Elena
Or if we were in opposite world here today I’d be the most sour!!! Thank you Marie for being here and being such a sunny spot in the garden to rest in!
Your “pouncing point” breaks me up; reminds me of the bouncing ball from “Sing Along with Mitch,” a TV show from very long ago.
Oh NICE!! I’m so glad it brought this for you, William!! Thank you!
hahahahahahahaha!
:)!!
Loved SAw/M! It’s late, so I saw your muse (the wench) pouncing, maybe onto all fours/combat poise in defense of poetry. this was a good one, Hannah.
Oh, I love your vision for this, Jane!! Thank you!
not bad at all!
;)!!
Thank you, Viv!!
Love this, Hannah, though it would take so little to turn this one around. It’s not unredeemable at all. Bad to good in one fell swoop. Now that’s talent. hahahaha Still laughing on line 4. I feel that way most days.
I’m glad you could relate!! Thanks so much for your words, Claudsy!!
You’re welcome, Hannah. I’m so glad that you’re back with us, no matter how long it may last with your schedule.
🙂 I must stop for now. :-(.
Oh, I love “a stepping stone in the pond of life,” That brings things down to a scummy point.
And I love this idea expressed…was thinking about that too when I likened to a pond…it can be telling the pond scum. 🙂
Hannah, this is so YOU!! Terribly sweet! 😉
Thank you, Erin!!
I hope you find that “true water;
relief in worded rescue-”
This needs to be written on PARCHment. 😉
Yes, I think that’s be befitting, thank you, Sheryl!!
Hannah… I just don’t think you could ever write anything “bad” 🙂 !!
No duct tape and muse poetry allowed with this prompt. But, i agree with Hen. Bad isn’t your forte.
Ah Hannah — you are the sweetest, probably couldn’t write a bad poem if your life depended on it…and that makes it all the funnier…
I agree, Sharon, but couldn’t find the words to express it as well as you did. 🙂
Marie Elena
[…] BAD FORM / BAD POEM – PROMPT #108 […]
The Jabberwocky’s Got Nuffin’ on Me – An Amphigory Sonnet Poem
They said, “Write some poetry. Really bad.”
“Sure,” saith I. I know some squerious nonks
which might, a bad poem make, but I had
a thought: ‘twas brillig just some mimsy bonks?
A sonnet, perchance, is just burbled kraff
that a frebulichen (that’s faux German
by the way) pens with a bit of the paff.
But beware the lurg. Don’t predetermine
your trochees. Sore feet don’t respond too well
when you walk with the gorminacular.
I get that this makes little sense but tell
me – how does one outgrabe in the vernacular?
Anyway, I know I sound like a total amateur
since (among other things) I proddled the iambic pentameter.
###
You gotta be kiddin’ me. I can’t even BELIEVE how brilliantly bad this is…
Whoa…
Marie Elena
😀
Ditto what Marie said. 🙂
Me too!!
Wunnerful, wunnerful! You have no problem with “monkey mind” (Natalie Goldberg’s term for the chattering editor that sits on your shoulder and says, “Don;’t write that! Don’t write that!”)
I know watcha mean. But (dammit!) I wrote it anyway. 😀
ha, ha, ha…. See what I mean (see below comment) :D!!
RJ I love your Lewis Carollish words, and you put them together so badly that is is splendiferous.
Ditto RJ, this is a treat to read even if it is bad poetry (not really sure it is).
I agree with Viv too!! Well done!
RJ, I have built a small shrine with your name at its center. It’s a shrine to extravagance–to literary and dictionary lexicon which soar above the heads and minds of average readers, writers, all thinkers.
Feel free to drop in anytime to witness the glowing candle beneath your name as a premier bad poet of the day.
NOTE: I almost couldn’t check the dictionary fast enough to keep up with those words that I’d never seen before. Love this as an example of why lit is taught in schools.
Oh my goodness – I think I shall pass out in a dead faint from such heady praise. Thank you! ♥
Yes.
Yes.
Marie Elena
I love the lines:”Sore feet don’t respond too well
when you walk with the gorminacular.”
I have such a natural problem with incorrect spelling – I simple use spell check and find it almost impossible to ‘choose’ to miss-spell. Miss-spelling to produce bad poetry never entered my mind – bad (fun) word usage is another story. I’ll work on that one. 🙂
How dare you proddle my pentameter?
Oh, Wow! It’s like Jabberwocky in Clockwork Orange! I’m working on how to outgrabe. More later 😉
WOW! You write funny poetry, too? (snicker) Great take on the Jabber, RJ. The last line sent it over the edge! A
Oh my, this made me choke on my Cheerios…you really are a master of the words woman…brilliant ones, bad ones, all of them…I’ll be worshipping at the shrine Claudsy’s built…brava.
AAAHAHAH… the whole lot of you…!!! Thank you for the laughter!!! :D!!!
This is too clever to be truly bad!
By the way, after I posted I read the other wonderfully bad poems here. I’ll comment shortly, but this prompt is a total hoot. Thanks!
The best prompt we’ve had for ages, and just what I needed to cheer me up.
Marie and Walt: Thanks for this prompt. it’s more fun than skipping rocks.
…and more fun than breakfast at McDonald’s too. 😀
The prompts and forms are all Walt’s! He’s tastelessly poor at it, isn’t he? 😉
Marie Elena
Nah…I’d say tastelessly rich.
Haha, yes, so would I!
Does he double as Charlie the Tuna? Good taste, bad taste, tasteless, tasteful, the man must think funny. But then, he IS from Cheektowaga, isn’t he?
:)!!
Love Poem
Roses come in an assortment of colors.
The wavelength of violet is relatively low.
I like #2 pencils.
What’s your favorite song?
###
Aaaahhhh,,,, rapture! Makes me think of the lamb lying down with the liar.
william… sometimes you make me burst out with laughter…
Ah, a love note from The Big Bang Theory. Hadn’t expected this. It was so BAD. Great job, RJ.
Such rapture! 😉
What an awful love poem!! 😀
Ah! Success! 😀
I’ve had conversations like this…with boyfriends! What’s so funny?!
😀 !!
Marie Elena
Not sure which is funnier — your poem or Jane’s comment — it’s a toss-up at this point, both are hilarious.
A BAD POEM FOR A BAD NIGHT
I had a dream
It was a scream
A nightmare mean
Where monsters teemed
And sidewalks steamed
When morning came
I heard the rain
And then a train
Now home again
It’s all so plain
I had a dream
It was a scream
An ogre’s scheme
To turn me green
Tear out my spleen
Then came the sun
The dream was done
A horror spun
A battle won
Some coffee, Hon?
#
hahahaha You know, Sal, somehow I can envision this conversation beginning one morning before breakfast–pre-coffee. Terrifically bad poem. Thanks for the laugh.
It least you did not ask for a tranquilizer! ! That last line is perfect.
yes, last line!!
Agreed!
Your rhyming is perfectly dreadful – very nice.
What a hoot! I’m still laughing! You’re very good, er bad, at this, Sal.
I like the form and the neat twist at the end. You’re terrible, Sal!
Egad, the man writes bad good; you are masterful Sal…why am I not surprised? Good one.
Oh my … what a hoot!!
Marie Elena
Like Marie, I was tempted to use last week’s poem. But this is how I feel about some sappy mother poems.
How Lovely is My Mother
Her lovely hair shinier than gold
Her lovely lips redder than roses
Her lovely nose, well it’s a nose
And her lovely ears ever alert, whatever is to be heard, she hears
And lovely eyes, like brown buttons, both in the front and back of her head
No mother has been more gloriously wonderful and lovely than my mother
Sweeter than sugar
Smarter than owls
Kinder than somebody who’s really kind
My lovely mother the best, she is
Aw, Connie, how sweet–thinking of your mother at a time like this. 🙂
I wonder–is your mother really this lovely, or does this come from the rose-colored glasses we each wear when discussing this subject?
Seriously, this was a great BAD poem. Enjoyed it all the way through, especially those last two lines.
I see you must have the same problem I do picking from all of those sappy Mother’s Day cards. Maybe you should also try a bad love poem.
That is way to nice to be bad!
Very funny, Connie…and sappy. 😀
It’s a good bad poem, especially since mother has surround vision. Fun!
ha, ha, ha… “surround vision” Love that phrase!! :)!
Oh Connie … I love this! Wish I’d thought to write it myself but it might have been very bad form this particular year … so thank you, it rocks and it’s very baaaad.
HA!!!!!!! Funny and written like a true amateur, Connie!! 😉 Grinning all the way through!
Marie Elena
Conjured up this in honor of “Bad Poetry Day” announced on a radio station I was listening to one day.
Cold Beer and a Hot Woman
By David De Jong
Workin’ part time at the local farm store; evenings, weekends makin’ extra cash,
Quiet night, an old feller comes in; overalls, cane in hand, sportin’ a long mustache.
He’s a wonderin’ all through the store; lookin’ and searchin’, scopin’ each isle, scanin’ each shelf,
A friendly sort, easy to chat, so I asked if I could lend a hand find it, or fetch it myself.
He chuckled and got a spark in his eye –
“Ain’t nothin’ I really need, – just passin’ by.”
He made me smile and start to grin,
I could tell right away – there was sport in him.
I replied – straight faced as I could –
Eye to eye – there as we stood;
“You looked a man on a mission”,
“I could tell by your looks, what you where wishin’,”
“I figured you to be lookin’”,
“For a cold beer and a hot woman.”
He raised his cane, thought his bibs to come undone, even made the hens start squakin’,
He laughed and laughed, nearly lost a button, stopped short, serious; and said – “Now yer talking.”
I could tell that fired up his memory, and soon some tales I’d hear,
But this one – this one is my favorite, right here:
I was a young buck like you once, he said,
Tall, handsome, hair long, and red.
Ridin’ for an outfit deep – deep in the west,
Drivin’ cattle, the old way, the horse way – heck-of-a test.
We’d been drivin’ for weeks, if not days,
Trail master sends me – me – out for strays.
So I ride each gully, and gather a herd,
Hot – dry – dusty – days hadn’t heard a word.
Daylight was fadin’, as I broke over a hill, an’ saw a vision, nestled under a butte,
The overland stage station – I walked in a-callin’ – “Just a cow-poke, no need to shoot!”
Closer I got, the better it smelled,
Every few steps, just to make sure they heard me, I yelled;
Been many a day, ridin’ this trail,
Gettin’ a might thirsty, for a good brewed ale!
I finally made it in, boots on wood, squeak in the door,
Dusted my hat, pulled off my chaps, laid em on the floor.
Kind woman at the counter said, “Welcome – What’ll it be?” – With a mug under her arm,
I couldn’t help myself, so I started at the beginnin’, and spelled her, my whole yarn.
Told in detail each stray I collected, how the trail had been long, hot, and dusty,
If it weren’t for her, they’d found me over the ridge, probably dead, and all crusty.
She finally got tired of it, and said, – “Enough!” – “Tell me what’ll ya have, not where you’d been”,
I only meant to explain to her, that’s how I got wishin’, it prêt-near became a mission.
Hadn’t given any thought, what I’d say next, would make it hit the fan,
So I told her, all I wanted now, was a cold beer, and a hot woman.
I’d never seen a woman raise and cock rifle that quick,
She had it done, and these words said, before I could lick;
“You dang fool this ain’t yer stop”,
“And this sure as heck, ain’t that sort of shop”;
“If it’s hot you want, well here I am”,
“Been cookin’ – cleanin’ – workin’ since early – dark – a.m.!”
“Got sweat runnin’ through my petticoat, down to my boots, I’m so blasted hot!”
“You get any wild ideas cowboy – I’ll kill ya – just one shot!”
I nearly busted my stitches, started laughin’ so hard,
Done offended her, in her home, on her own yard.
I begged her forgiveness, and said “I meant no harm” –
“Just foolin’ – jokin’ – tryin’ out my charm.”
She finally eased up, and poured me that beer,
Fed me a meal; potatoes, corn, fresh skinned deer.
For some reason, my horse, always wandered that way,
Each time I’d visit, I’d hardly wait to say;
“Been ridin’ this hot, dusty trail for might long spell”,
“I’m just a cow-poke – don’t shoot!” – I’d yell.
She’d call back; – “Where ya’ll been, and what’ll it be?”
I’d smile and tell her, “Cold beer for my horse, and a hot woman for me!”
The stages are gone, but the cabin still stands, just under that butte,
I’m sure happy she waited, and didn’t just shoot;
Raised a family there, now all teachers, preachers, and docs,
I married that woman, hot in her boots, down to her socks.
Still smilin’, David. I think I met that old feller back in ’73. He was prospectin’ then, in the back gullies of the Tetons, watchin’ the herds pass by, not botherin’ to stop in to say hello. He’d come into town, coupla times a year, lookin’ for that cold beer and passin’ on the hot woman.
Just loved this this little western. Great job.
You should redeem this story by composing a good poem. I think it would work.
I think you’re right, Sheryl. BTW, that actually did happen. I lived in Jackson Hole at the time.
Thanks ladies – BTW, part of my story is true too – Tetons is one of my favorite places – don’t get much prettier than that.
So very true, David. Two years there just wasn’t enough to satiate.
You’re welcome. I know what you mean, David. Two years living there wasn’t enough to satiate.
Yep, I agree with Sheryl. Bad as it is, it’s a good story!
What a catch-ya, fun read.
🙂
Wow! What a terrible tale! I love this, David! 🙂
Have you thought about setting this to music? It has all the earmarks of a country song, an award-winning country song? I’m not saying all country music is baaad but some of it, well, this sure fits the bill…cool.
My daughters have said the same thing. Wouldn’t know where/how to start
Oh, great idea, Sharon! David, you could have someone write the tune for you!
Oh WAAAAAAAAAAA-AAAAAAAAALTERRRRRR …
(Yep, Walt composes music. Don’t know about C&W, but hey … he can do whatever he puts his mind to do. 😉 )
Marie Elena
ha, ha, ha… are you Sure you and Walt are not related ?!! :D!!
(with a note to William: I wrote this rubbish poem before reading any posted here, so the first line isn’t nicked from your frightfully (good) piece.)
Bounce
It was
a dreary dark
and stormy night, and we
knew it was alright, and so we
parked, right
there in
full sight, bouncing
the night away on the
back seat without wearing a safe-
ty belt.
A Cinquain
It wouldn’t matter if you had. This is a deliciously funny piece; reminds me of some drive-ins.
Oh, Misky, this is just too ornery for its own good. Love it.
HA! Good way to put it, Clauds! 😀
Marie Elena
🙂 ….In the old days….
Nice one!
Too, too funny because its so true…lol.
Misky, this is baaaaaaad!
Misky… you shock me sometimes… 🙂
Yes Misk… you’re delightfully shocking and oh-so-bad at times…this one fits the bill beautifully.
Hysterical! I thought about drive-ins, and parking spots that I will not divulge here!
ha, ha, ha…
Bad Dog
Cowering in the corner
with memories of a rolled up magazines
and angry words he can’t comprehend,
only the menacing face
of anger
creating an invisible fence
that he will not cross.
Bad Man
He thinks,
Bad man.
Sorry. Corrected second line:
with memories of rolled up magazines
Wow. This is different. It touches me; I love dogs and hate to think of this happening to any one of them.
Oh, Patricia. Surely you wouldn’t! Such a bad, bad poem. Shouldn’t that be the other way around?
Sorry fellows – but I do like the second one best. 🙂
This poem has more than one way to read it.
First, it is one poem where the Dog does the thinking at the end.
Second, it is two poems where Man’s thinking makes him bad.
I’m purposely making the reader think.
My bad.
🙂
I read it the first way, and was thrown off by Marjory’s comment at first. Great work of making a bad poem! Patricia, it is soooooooo good seeing you and your work!!!
Marie Elena
Oh no!!! I feel for that poor dog! Such a bad poem, Patricia.
Patricia, this reminds me of what Robert Brewer would say. Write whatever you consider a bad poem. Your good poem about a bad man fits the bill.
once explained, I finally get it and agree fully with sheryl’s comments…
Patricia, this is (sorry to say) a very good poem. I like the dual read, but it does have an edge to it, of abuse and no love lost.
😦 !!
Bad Poem
Dont know what to write
cause my muse’s
locked in the closet
hollerin’ let me out
let me out.
Sorry muse.
your in their
till im done with this
bad bad poem.
Fun one, Sally. I know just how you feel. Mine may go into hiding for a week in retaliation.
Clever.
Poor muse – tomorrow you can ‘come out’
… I think “time out” is a week long… (but I can’t figure mine out…)
Very nice! I love the way you didn’t put any grammar or punctuation…extremely bad. 😉
Yes, that bad grammar is enough to make it badbadbad. Shameful!
This might be bad and all that, but I think your muse got out before you locked dat door.
LOL! Thanks for the comments, guys.
smart one, especially love the purposely misspelled words…bad
Baaaaad indeed! And Sally, it’s good seeing you here, too! 🙂
Marie Elena
This has been such a fun prompt. I’ll see what I can do here and let you all be the judge of things. This is all off the cuff, don’t you know. That’s the very best way I know to make sure that my mixer leaves it as bad as it can be. Not that what I do is always good, don’t you know. But Muse has been frightened, left shaking and quaking and panting in her recesses dark.
It Stinks
Well, it does.
little thing can’t help it.
Its how it was made.
None can blame the
created for being brought
from the mold too soon.
It slides around, in search
of an appreciative pat,
only to find no hand raised
to lend it aid and comfort.
It can’t help itself or it’s odor;
its just a bad little poem.
Well done …even if Out too soon.
Thanks, Marjory. I enjoy doing off the cuff once in a while.
I agree with Marjory. Anyway, one poem’s stink is another poem’s perfume.
Oh Claudsy, I do feel sorry for the little pome. Put it back in and let gel a little longer. Nice job
Thanks, Debi. I just may have to do that. Sad, isn’t it?
🙂
Oh how clever, Claudsy!! I really like it, even if it does stink! 😉
Thank you, Erin. I appreciate the thumbs up.
Poor little bad poem. 😦
It is sad, isn’t it?
It’s like smelly cat!
Definitely, Jane. The cat that loves skunk.
Yikes!!
Oh…you make me feel bad for the poor thing…love your approach in making one feel without saying that this is just a bad lil’ puppy…well done!! 🙂
Aw, thanks, Hannah.
hah hah…it’s so not like your meticulous work, it’s very bad claudsy…well done
Thank you so much for the compliment, Sharon. It really is pretty bad, though the sentiments were good. At least, I think so. Weren’t they? Even a little? 🙂
Oh, the poor little thing! LOL!! Now THAT’s thinking outside the box in which it was incubating! 😀
Marie Elena
“…outside the box in which it was incubating…” Ha, ha, ha… (Geez, I need to get out of the apt. more often) :D!!
If you’re saying that very little thought went into to this sticker, you’re right, Marie. I opened the comment box and poured out whatever fell from the ether zone.
The period behind the word grammar was a mistake, but it was so bad, I decided to keep it.
Contest Winner, of Course
I know this stupendous posey will win your prestigious contest.
When you read all the bland, boring others, you will obviously see this as best.
All of the many, many, many others will fail because I am so blest
With such wonderful marvelous talent, this is sure to be the best.
I can now see those bad, sore losers beating their now-scarred breasts.
It will not help them at all, for mine will outstrip the rest.
You might as well stop reading the others; that is such a reasonable request.
Just give me my well-deserved reward, and give yurslelfs some rest.
My rimes, rythms, spelling and grammar. Will pass every scrupulous test.
I’ve though of enough reasons, so this is the end.
here is you r-a-w-u-u-u-r-d
Thank you, Majorie. I know i dis-serve it. 😉 Debi and Daviid, I am so glad you saw the lite. Ain’t we got fun.
Whoops, Marjory, misspelling your name was a bad bad :-(.
🙂
I’m tucking my tail, licking my wounds, throwing in the towel and saying goodnight Irene – you win. : )
Second that…
Amen to that, Debi.
Haha, too funny, Sheryl!! You’ll get a reward for the worst in grammar, I’m sure.
My 7th grade grammar teacher would have had a fit!!
Stupendous effort, Sheryl. That you did this as a letter is wonderful, that the letter would go to a contest committee is even more amazing, and that it the letter is this terrible boggles the mind.
Congratulations on a fantastic job done for this prompt.
here’s sum moore raword 4 U…brave-O
ha, ha, ha…
Oh, now THAT are a baddly rittin pome!! 😀
Marie Elena
ha, ha, ha… :D!!
“BAD NEWS”
A Tune-ful Poet Form….
When I was a kid, I dreamed of singing opera,
only I never could find the right tune.
Now singing in the shower
in the only stage I know,
but the family turns
the water off
when the fat lady begins to sing.
Oh, M!! You caught me as I was sipping some water. Now the lesson is learned; I’ll never drink while reading bad poems on Poetic Bloomings! 😀
Oh, Multi-tasking again! 🙂
Well, I was trying to. I better not try again though… 🙂
❤
The fat lady must be very dirty. Fun poem, Marjory.
Just ‘very’ (the word of the day) offff tune. 🙂
ha, ha, ha… You just Have to Sing… it doesn’t matter where or how badly… it’s part of living Creatively 😀 !!
Amen to that….
OBLIVIOUS
When a tone-deaf man sings in the shower,
he belts with a surplus of power.
His lack of good ear
creates others’ worst hear
as he croons though monsoons by the hour.
Yes, Yes, Yes 🙂
Love you response.
“His lack of good ear
creates others’ worst hear”
Oh, groan. William, now you are doing bad poems as comments. There is no stopping you now. What has Walt wrought?
Hen ….”You just Have to Sing…” So true ❤
Love it, Marjory. It says so much and does it badly.
Thanks, Claudsy
(I did want to sing opera….but not in my voice.)
hahahaha
ah — close to what happened to Erin — I choked on something (maybe a hairball, no that can’t be right, nevahmind, not important)…but like claudsy says…hahahaha
Hooops, gota watch those hairball…. Glad you recovered for a laugh. 🙂
ha, ha, ha… !! 😀 !!
Whoa! Too cute to be bad! LOL!
Marie Elena
Good one, Marjory!
Tanks Sara
[…] Bad Form / Bad Poem – Prompt #108 (poeticbloomings.com) […]
Country Love
By David De Jong
I love you bigger, than the back side of my horse.
I can’t wait to see you, so I hurry with the chores.
My love for you is so strong, let me show you how,
Stronger than my tractor, pulling that big old plow.
Holdin’ your hand comes normal, puts me at ease.
While you’re standin there; could ya hand me that grease?
You’re just like the spare tire on my old truck,
Ya help me get goin whenever I get stuck.
Won’t never forget the first time you caught my eye,
There at the county fair, when it plopped in your pie.
No one can fix an old rooster the way you do,
How you kill an’ butcher em, fixin’ that fine stew.
I’ll be thinking on you, while I watch the cows graze
Like green grass, I’ll be lovin’ you, rest of my days
New version:
I love you bigger, than the back side of my horse.
I can’t wait to see you, so I hurry with the chores.
My love for you is so strong, let me show you how,
Stronger than my tractor, pulling that big old plow.
Holdin’ your hand comes normal, puts me at ease.
While you’re standin there; could you hand me that grease?
You’re just like the spare tire on my old truck,
You help me get goin’ whenever I get stuck.
Won’t never forget the first time you caught my eye,
There at the county fair, when it plopped in your pie.
You licked it; and slicked it; wiped it all clean,
You is the prettiest my eye ever seen.
No one can fix an old rooster the way you do,
How you kill an’ butcher em, fixin’ that fine stew.
They don’t know what hit em when you whack em dead,
Their legs runnin’, chassin’ crazy, lookin’ for their head.
I know how they feel, tryin’ to recollect their hinds,
Love for you drives me loco, the only thing on my mind.
I’ll be thinking on you, while I watch the cows graze,
Like green grass, I’ll be lovin’ you, rest of my days.
I couldn’t stop laughing at this one.
Same here
Oh my gosh!! David, this is hilarious!! How could you be so, so bad? 😀
Delightful Ditti
Ohmigosh! WHAT an imagination! HA!!!
Marie Elena
Omigod — this had me howling — especially the eye in the pie; really, who could resist that? Too funny…
Ha, ha, ha… I had to look twice when I read the eye in the pie!!! 😀 !!
Aw, such a touching love poem, David. Whoever the lovely gal is who gets this testament of devotion would be a fortunate one indeed. You’ve captured a mindset from a long-gone era.
Good for you. Love the “eye” line. Having had friends with such aids, I can stand witness to the hilarity of such an accident.
Loved it.
😀 !!!
Marie Elena
…. oh Clauds… thanks for the laughter burst this morn :D!!
You’re welcome, Hen.
!! 🙂
Small Talk from Milton, 99 Years Young
Trees have leaves and birds have feathers.
His skin is like rhino hide on basset ears
hanging floppy-tough like he does in the sun.
Lavita dances dragging her right leg—
a sort of gallop, making others sway
this way and that to avoid collision,
a wise decision on their parts, for in these parts
we don’t make good decisions, by and large,
by whimsy or design, we call it fate.
There’s a trench between those fields there
that reminds me of WWI although the gas
is gone replaced with morning mist. That’s good.
A warning has gone out—steer clear of food
Miss Tilly made, for she’s been slipping fast
and there’s no telling what she used for meat.
She says her dog and cat are missing now;
could be they saw the writing on the wall—
a lively anapest—which she thought was a pest
Apocalyptic, when the rapture comes
and strips her naked pure
though she’s unsure if spirits have a limp
if bodies do. I side with ice cream
every single time, no matter what,
any flavor you got, as long as it’s peach.
Milton sounds like he lost a pair o’ dice. This has left me with lots of mental pictures, mainly of Lavita in the ballroom. Lots of fun to read.
What a fun poem, Jane! Very interesting. 😉
Jane, you’ve done it. You’ve gone and made me picture this old guy sittin’ on the sidelines doing a running commentary of an ice cream social like we use to go to when we were young. This was an absolute hoot to read. Great job.
Milton could well be spinning in his proverbial grave methinks…in the best way…good work
“a wise decision on their parts, for in these parts
we don’t make good decisions”
Jane, your poem is entirely too smart and well penned to be bad, but oh is it bad anyhow! 😀
Marie Elena
Musings
My muse enjoys a belly laugh
that stretches her like a giraffe
has neck to spare and spotty hair
and legs that run from here to there.
But she wants rhyme and meter used;
she’s cheered if she’s a- or be-mused,
but frankly lines that are abstruse—
we oft’ refuse, but she’ll excuse.
If she’s my muse, where has she gone?
Is there a bus she travels on?
I’ve been de-mused and need re-musing.
Are cocktails served at her museum?
I’ll try to help her laugh aloud,
alone or sandwiched in a crowd;
the hussy wouldn’t be too proud
to drink to muse-less mus-ic, plowed.
Pardon me while I stand up straight. This is funny enough to bring on asthma.
Oh my gosh – how amusingly funny!!!
Terribly funny! I like your muse-less side.
“If she’s my muse, where has she gone?
Is there a bus she travels on?
Let’s hope she keeps on traveling while you have your bad-poem fun.
Ha, ha, ha… Mine comes and goes… I Love it when he’s here with me…
I bow to a firmer grip on the ridiculous. You’ve won my lifetime admiration, friend Jane. As bad as this is, it’s also terrific for its fun. Kudos.
“she’s cheered if she’s a- or be-mused”
BRILLIANT! So De Jackson’ish! 😀
Marie Elean
Bad News Bares
So much of
life is timing—not
being caught
naked when tornadoes hit,
fires start, trees fall,
Thieves break through
your door, sheriffs come.
Avoid bad
news, but if it comes, keep your
pants handy and smile.
This sounds like something my mother would’ve said, only in her case it was, wear clean underwear.
Had the same thought – these are all fun Jane!
Good one, Jane!
For Sure!
Both are terribly funny. Even when you write “bad” it’s great.
Absolutely!! 🙂 !!
Terrific one, Jane. I nearly choked to death on this one.
Oh my, Jane! Keep ’em coming!!
Marie Elena
Jane, you are on a roll with these.
Bad Poem Excuse
Do not con-
demn
if when I type this po-
em
the lines breaks
are all a mess.
I try my bess-t
but as you might guess
I’ve trouble with the space
ing.
Cause I’ve got the hicc-
ups
and they
just
wo-
ent
stop.
That is probably the worst thing I’ve ever written but it was fun.
…and fun to read.
I like that!
That’s cute, Linda! 🙂
Love that hiccupy poem.
Hold your breath, drink a glass of water backwards – somebody scare her, anything to stop this bad poem. : )
hee, hee
🙂
Love it, Linda. 🙂
I’ve come back to this several times. It’s another of those that I don’t think of as “bad” because it’s so much fun to read. I can hear the hiccoughs in your broken words, and the vertical format apes the rise and fall of the torso when the spasms come. This little “bad” piece is awfully good for laughs.
Even your wo
ent
ca-
ent
make this a bad poem.
Oh, yeah … baaaaaaaaad but good!
Marie Elena
Brie
I think that I shall never see
a poem tasty as a brie.
A brie that’s topped with berries and
some toasted almonds? Sounds quite grand.
…Or maybe in a pastry wrap
with arsenic and chives? A cap
of poisoned mushrooms? Cyanide?
In cheese it’s so facile to hide
a toxin that is menu-wrought.
It’s cheesy, but one won’t get caught:
an epicure can make the plea
that only they can ‘snuff’ a brie.
###
Pardon me: comment misplaced; should be below someplace.
HA! Funner and funner, RJ and William. 😀
Marie Elena
Terrible! How terrible, RJ, you’ve ruined Kilmer’s poem. Now THAT is bad! 😉
Do I see a bad-poem chapbook coming on? 😉
Oh yeah!!!!
I see an Agatha Christie in this “Miss Marple’s They Did it with Bad Cheese”
Just like you, RJ
😀
Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, Miss RJ. You’ve solved a writing puzzle for me that I hadn’t really considered until this moment.
For myself? Heavens no. For the novel I’m working on, of course. Such a bad poem to do such good for me. Perhaps I’ve been looking for inspiration in all the wrong places. Bad girls might just have more fun at that.
Indeed…bwahahahahahaha…
Yep, you gave me the device I’d been looking for for months now. Thank you again.
makes me think of brie in a whole new way 😉
Killing Kilmer softly with your song, eh? No fooling. The Sons of the Pioneers once sang Trees (beautifully, I might add), and I was singing yours as I read it. Personally, I think this is too good to be bad.
Genuine Feeling
“All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling.” ~Oscar Wilde
Into the crisper bin, I stick
my fingers. They feel something slick.
Is it a nasty cuke or is
it lettuce with a bit of frizz?
Tomato squished and turning white
with fungi? Other veggie blight?
A celery that’s limp and pale…
My crisper bin’s the moldy grail
of salad stuff that’s past its prime.
No wonder I feel (oh gosh!) slime!
My bin holds genuine produce
that presently is more like juice.
It’s time my fingers are withdrawn.
I feel a poem coming on.
###
Heh heh heh Haw Haw HAW
Soooooo picture-ous, and slimy feeling! BAD
So bad, it is good…
Oh so bad! I know the feeling. Yuck!
It never occurred to me a mushy, sticky, icky mess could be part of a poem. Yucky indeed.
Love the interplay of “genuine feeling” and touching veggies that have bought the farm (so to speak). Your poem is disgusting, but not bad.
I know. If they can made a self-cleaning oven, why not a fridge?
Yucky poem – good job
… a self-cleaning fridge… whowouldathunkit? :D!!
Well – my hubby can do a pretty good (fast) job of cleaning out the fridge.!!! 🙂
AAAHAHA… If it was sweet and yummy, mine could too…
Whew! Yuck! LMBO Terrific job there, RJ.
Ohmigosh! Way to play on Oscar Wilde’s quote!! RJ, you totally, TOTALLY stink!! 😉
Marie Elena
So I Says to My Muses
now you come around?
now you show up?
when I would least like to see
any one of you that is
now here you come, toting
metaphors and similes
trailing gaily behind
your pretty selves
tempting me with forms
galore and rhyming schemes
and other poetic devices
you never usually bring round
now, when I’d like to write
something truly horrid
the nine of you are playing
the old “pick me” – I’ll make you
famous, it will be fun
how about some enjambment
you know how you do love that
and on and on
you witches, you bitches
you out and out mean-girls
leave me be now
I am cracking up right now, Sharon! What a hilariously bad poem!!
And what sez those muses to youses? Ah, yes, they will make you famous. Such badness.
!! 😀 !!
This is so amusing. It just hit me: does “a” prefixed to “muse” mean that “amuse” means no muse? Horrible thought.
!!!
Oh, this was just too much bad in one place, Sharon. Great job. Still laughing.
For sure – when you want the muse, where is it – then when you don’t….
Great, bad bit of writing.
LOL!!! Would LOVE to hear you read this one, Sharon! 😀 !!!
Marie Elena
This poem laid so many eggs, it reeks! I am so embarrassed that I wrote this but it was an honest effort gone terribly wrong! I have since rewritten it, with obvious humor (see my site) but it will always seem odorous to me.
I Am A Poem (Yeah, Sure…)
My poem slithers through a murky mind
dependent upon times unblinking toll.
I practice with the surgeons hand to bind
the weakened line and cut away the droll.
My poem loves to paint with purposed thought
and surely loves a song with steady beat;
sometimes the wan`dring troubadour who sought
the winding road where is increasing heat.
My poem often dies before its birth
but sometimes, with a sudden lift of chance,
words gather wings and hover over earth
demanding life and so goes this romance.
My poem is of time and space and me
My poem is a fiery song to be.
That first line….ew!!! 😀
Yes, Ugh, too.
Yikes…
With you on this one, Hen. Sounds like one of my efforts, and not that long ago.
ha, ha, ha… I still have ones that turn my face beet red!!!
Great job, Jacqueline. Wish I could write that bad.
Grinning ear-to-ear at this one, Jacqueline!! I actually thought of you when Walt conjured up this prompt … wondered what you would do with a sonnet. BRAVO!
Marie Elena
For poetry I have all the tools
and I make sure I know all the rules.
A poem, I know, must always rhyme
or else you shouldn’t waste your time.
I think that big words are much better
than simple words, like a cashmere sweater
is better than a simple throw
of cotton, as anyone must know.
As long as a poem pleases the writer’s eyes
there’s certainly no reason to ever revise.
And rules, they say, are made to be broken,
so I’ll ignore grammar as a worthless token.
If I can’t use a rhyming dictionary
then novelists can’t have a fiction fairy
(what they call a muse) to help them write.
I just let the words pour out and hope, just maybe, the meter will be right.
Tongue in cheek all the way. You know, for this and lots of others here, I’m having a powerful problem figuring out what’s bad about them.
You’re not kiddin’!
I think you hit on all that points to bad poetry, Nancy! 😀
Marie Elena
I love the concept of a fiction fairy. 😀
I want a fiction fairy! Are they anything like a novelist’s gnome?
Ohhh… I Must invent a fiction fairy And a Novelist’s gnome of my own!! 😀 !!
Well, here is another case of my not being able to leave well enough alone…..
RESOURCE
The fiction fairy’s dictionary
is lightweight, almost airy;
it subjects muses to abuses
that end up in obtuses.
Poets’ shelves reject the help
of this cantankerous whelp,
but the fairy wheezes in its glee
as they look up OED.
Oh, good one, William–er… bad one.
What You Said??
When he said “Ferry”
She heard “Fairy”
and now can’t understand
why her story goes
from shore to shore
and back.
What if he had said,
“Fiction Fury”?
If this keeps up, we could get a song out of it. Trouble is, Ira Gershwin called the whole thing off almost 80 years ago.
You guys are way too much fun! My smiler hurts …
Marie Elena
You two are terrible! I can’t stop laughing! 😀
Ohmigosh! LOL!!
Marie Elena
😀
Only for children’s writers, Jane. 🙂
Wonderful, Nancy. I keep working on getting mine to read this well. How bad can you go?
They’re not necessarily as grounded in literary, you know. 🙂
A fiction fairy? What a cute idea!
A BAD (shadorma) POEM
indigo blue
moon shadows dancing
behind me
stained glass windows
sandstorms across the desert
blinding me
Well, Paula… I simply Love these images… 🙂 !!
The juxtaposition of these images, Hen, seems to draw the most dichotomy from the piece that can come from such a short form as shadorma.
heehee… how’s that for a bad review of this bad poem, guys and gals. Sorry, I just couldn’t resist. I’ve seen published poetry that reads not much different than this and I couldn’t understand why. And the reviews read much like mine here. Wonder what that says for the life of poetry in the future.
Maybe, though venues like this, poetry that melds sense and sound will make a comeback amongst the literati.
Drat again! “though” should be “through”
One can hope, William, one can hope.
Ha, ha, ha… Having lived with an intellectual (with a Ph.D to boot…) well… Oh, never mind… :D!!!
HAHAHA! Your comment cracks me up, Hen! You’re so cute …
Marie Elena
!!! ha, ha, ha…
This is brilliant. How much you wanna bet you could get someone to publish this as a serious effort? Now THAT would be poetic justice!
BRAVO, Paula!!
Marie Elena
I agree with Marie on this one. This is really good, Paula!
[…] for Poetic Bloomings Prompt #108: Bad Form / Bad Poem. Posted for day 78 in 100 Days of Spring – […]
MISGUIDED
It’s a long way: you reach Tipperary,
but your plan was to seek Tucumcari.
You try to address
your new GPS
but the voice has fled into the aerie.
😉
Heavens! I’ve been to Tucumcari. Haven’t a clue why you’d want to go there, William. Good take on GPS locators, though.
I’ve been there too, both in person and via Bobby Troup’s Route 66.
😀 !!
Marie Elena
What a Bad GPS!!
😀 !!
You guys are just having way too much fun! 😀
Marie Elena
Blame Walt for his “bad” idea.
Yes, and I’m sure Walt and you knew exactly what you were doing. But then, to get serious about it, fun is built in to this whole community you and he have built up, or so it seems to me. I mean all the prompts, not just this one, and I mean fun, not just funny. Thanks very much.
Now, one more and I’ll get off the soapbox.
FAILURE IS NO ABJECT
There was once a blue boy who failed grammar,
so he said these sad words with a stammer,
“I’m sorry I failed,”
but then, on he wailed,
“but I also failed Gramper too.”
groan – poor little boy blue.
go william!
Oh, my. Bad, William, really bad.
Awww! Poor little blue boy!
And thanks for the kind words. You all make this place what it is. Walt and I are just as blown away and grateful as can be.
Marie Elena
Poor boy! What a bad poem, William!
Oh No!
I Am
I am a shadorma
Oh no, wait!
Syllable count
is wrong, and I have forgotten
what subject I had chosen
to write about.
Your poor shadorma lost its forma. You make a good point, though. Trying to write bad, I might not wrote good no more.
ha, ha, ha…
Try but you.
ha, ha, ha!!
W.P …..
“… I might not wrote good no more.”
That really hurt with bad.
ha, ha, ha…
This sounds like me about two lines in, Sara. Great take on a short subject. Otherwise, stinks, I’m afraid. Afraid it’ll spread and keep moving through future efforts for all of us.
Cool!
ha, ha, ha
Awww! HAHAHA! But I could SO see myself in this one.
Marie Elena
What a terrible Shadorma, Sara! Keep trying. 😉
kO.
Thanks all you sillie peepol.
ha, ha, ha…
Sara – that sounds just like a Senior Moment – but, U-R waaaaaay tooooo you to have those. 🙂
:D!!
Really? At 64, it is entirely possible.
Ah, another confused poet. :-).
:D!!
A Very Bad Plan
I snuck into the pantry
With a furtive glance behind me
My muse has been screaming all day
Oh the horror she cries
Just look at that grammar
Or lack thereof
And why aren’t you counting syllables
You shameless girl
And what on this side of heaven
Happened to your meter and rhyme
Shes an annoying pest
That muse I used to love
But today Im being bad and shell feel the effects
Anyway shes been screaming all day
And its driving me dotty
But I know the way to silence her
That bossy excuse for a muse
Ill eat a little sugar
Thatll shut her up a little
Sugar goes a long long way
It even changes bread and water into tea and cakes
Surely it can silence a near to exploding muse
So I snuck into the pantry
And reached a dirty inky hand
Into the jar
Not bothering to read the label
I stuck the entire handful into my yawning mouth
Oh the shock I got as I tasted
Not sugar as I had expected
But salt coarse and rough and salty salty
Now I have sores on my tongue
And as for my muse
Why shes shrieking louder than ever
And Im feeling the effects.
Copyright Me Again The VCP From Way Up There ⬆ – 2013
So here’s another one. Every line was torture to write. This is the first time I’ve intentionally used no grammar in…um…practically forever! 😉
As Mary Poppins would’ve said, this is practically imperfect in every way. Love it!
Hear, hear! Painfully fun read, Erin!
Marie Elena
Thanks, you two! I think that’s probably what she would say. 😉
Your talent know no boundaries, Erin!!! 🙂 !!
“knows”
Thanks so much, Hen! My muse is definitely getting tired of being locked up though. 😉
!! 🙂 !!
Terrific job, Erin. And you did it so well.
Thank you, Claudsy! This prompt sure is fun!
You ended it appropriately, Erin,
“And as for my muse
Why shes shrieking louder than ever
And Im feeling the effects.”
Now, lemme out of here! 😉
Haha! Thanks, Sheryl!
Bad Dog (I don’t think you could even call this a Poem)
NO!!!:
No Barking
No Jumping
No Biting
No that’s not your toy
No that’s not a fire hydrant
No Leave the catbox alone–NOOO… don’t eat that (Yikes!)
I guess this is a list poem. If it’s bad, I guess it’s a de-list. It sounds familiar, whatever it’s called; I’ve known such dogs.
ha, ha, ha… try living with them day in and day out for approx 14-17 years :D!!
HA! True dat, William.
Fun stuff, Hen! Hang in there with those doggies!!
Marie Elena
Ha, ha, ha… Tanks, Meg, they keep me feelin’ young… 🙂 !!
I ‘see’ you chasing puppy(s) around the house.
Have FUN friend, 🙂
Ha, ha, ha… actually this one is about my 4 big dogs of long ago… my precious, little puppies are much better behaved than those four (Shepherd, Irish Setter, Dobi, and a crazy wild dog mix… 🙂 ) Thanks, friend!!
Still smiling !!!!, and to be polite I won’t mention some really disgusting habits I’d add to this list !!!!
Aaahahaha… yes, I left out quite a few!! Thanks, Cloud… :D!!
Hahahahaha! Good one, Hen…or bad one…or whatever. I keep getting mixed up. 😉
ha, ha, ha!!
This prompt is right up my whammy alley. I’m an expert at bad poetry.
“Love Poem Won”
I love umbrellas
they remind me of you
-a splotch of magenta
on due-drops. Your my vinegar
and that little worm in the tequila
bottle. #winning
“Love Poem Too”
You are my childhood dream.
The one rite B4 the neon elephants
and my alarm. I brush the cobwebs.
You, too?
“Love Poem Tree”
First of all, I trust my olfactories
first of all–the answer is in the trees,
like a bat in a cave
the bats love lemons like lovers
love bats, for men it’s a reflex,
for women a cloud a rose like
no other.
You have a nice little tour de farce here.
Wish I’d have said that!
Due drops, huh? Your bad grammar and spelling takes first place. I wonder if Walt will simply need to hand out “Terrible Blooms” to us all?
Maybe we’ll all get dead-headed blooms. haha.
Die-heart rose?
The stench of your vocabulary arouses me, I have longed to be the worm in the tequila bottle, such sweet defilement, I need more, more,mooooor!!
Wow, Cloud Randy, that’s so ironic. I have long longed to stuff you in a tequila bottle. ; )
JK JK JK JK JK JK JK JK JK JK!!!!
!!! 😀
Won, Too, Tree
I love thee
and thy bad
poetry!
Great job Jlynn!!!!!!!
Marie Elena
Oh what terrible love poems! Great work, Jlynn!
“Of all the FIGS, I loved yours best. . . ”
Buddy, can you spare a peanut?
i wrote about one once
and
even
gave
it a NAME. THAT’s
the LAST time I give a FIG
about a FIG of yours. Buddy, do
you have a peanut for a tribute
to love?
I think this one needs a fig leaf.
That comment was bad! 🙂
ha, ha, ha….
Reminder to self:
When reading bad poetry and comments at this bloomin’ site,
put
the
coffee
DOWN.
Marie Elena
Gently, gently.
ha, ha, ha…
CRAP! I posted mine here yesterday, quite early on, and I see it didn’t “take.” And I’m on WordPress, too! Oh, the pain… and here is more pain for you. So bad I didn’t even put it on my blog….! Amy
Me, Bad
I’m a cup of coffee
I’m a glass of milk
Staring out the window
at the passing ilk
I’m the bowl and pitcher
on the table stand
I will crack if dropped real hard and
break at your command
I am sad as a navel
on a preg-stretched tummy
and as full of noisy crap
as a seashore rummy
All this is to say that I
think about me a lot
So take the best and leave the rest
because the rest is rot
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Reminiscent of Leonard Pynth Garnell (Dan Aykroyd) and “Bad Cinema” from SNL. “That was bad, bad, horribly bad!” I love it! W.
I don’t know the allusions, but this is funny. How can something that elicits so much laughter be bad? On the other hand, there are days when I think I HAVE seen “passing ilk.”
‘Tis the irony, I can’t help throwing in the funny stuff. Same with R.J. Clarken. I guess I was still finding the ridiculous in the bad! Coming to visit you now, Amy
Oh, Amy, label it as bad and place it on your blog. Be brave.
Definitely!
Okay – I just did the world’s biggest spit take! Yeah, I know – ewwwww, but still…
A Bad Brava to you!
Ohmigosh … Amy … Funny Girl gone bad!!
Marie Elena
Writing bad verse
Making it even worse
Takes time to think
To make it stink
But properly done
Could make it fun
To write bad prose
That curls the nose
But why waste time
Poeming bad rhyme
It’s a challenge you see
From Walt and Marie
A challenge well met, I would agree.
“To write bad prose
That curls the nose”
I’ll have to think about that, but your bad verse is among the worse. Congrats.
“Takes time to think
To make it stink”
😀 !!!!!!!
Marie Elena
Paula Nancy Mill-
Stone Jennings is vaporized.
Vogons move to two.
LINDA!!!! Welcome to our bloomin’ site!! Couldn’t resist, could ya?
That is like the third worst poem in the world. 😀 !!!!!!
Marie Elena (tell hardt to give you a hug for me, will ya?)
Gotta run for now. Will be back. These are all too bad to not finish reading for the laughter factor. See y’all later.
I find I’m usually ahead of myself, so if you didn’t notice how bad last week’s offering was maybe this will catch your attention !
Masochistic Poetry Piercing
O thrash me with your muscular muse
trounce me with verbosity found in the news
tase me with glorious verbification
a pronounced ribbing with interjected exclamation
expose not only my coordination dysfunctions
but also highlight subordinating conjunctions
pierce me with homely adjunct identifiers
lambaste me with steroid-laden modifiers
sticks and stones may break my bones,
but parts of speech excite me !
if your critique does not assail
like racing snail, my poem doth fail
Far be it from me to flail this one. Like so many others I’ve enjoyed reading here, this strikes me as too funny to be bad.
I’m reminded of a story about Sir Laurence Olivier, who played a comic part in some movie. He did well. When asked how he did comedy so well, he said, “By being as serious as i can”, or something close to that. I’d guess that most “bad” poems happen when folks don’t mean them to be, unlike the offerings here. I know that many of mine fall into the former category.
My interpretation of this prompt was as a chance to glorify bad behavior with verse !
ha, ha, ha…
Oh, wow! Such wording to explain bad poetry. Great foggy verse, cloudfacor.
Considda yaself thrashed! #notafail
oooooow, some more lashing please, flogging is such sweet pleasure !!!
I Assaileth thee, thee are guilty of writething a paragon of lousy verse.
How the heck are Walt and I going to choose the best of the worst this week??? But this one is up there, Randy. Man-oh-man!
Marie Elena
Haunting Thoughts of Bad Poetry
Whispers in the dark
Going through my mind
Both in the park and in the field
The kind of every type
The one that bothers most
Is why I cannot rhyme
I’d boast if it worked out
In time the skill will come
At least I’m good at stuff
like syllable counts,
enough grammar I have,
and low amounts of mispellings
I think there’s a lot of sneaky skill going on here, to make this bad. I don’t hear any screeching blackboards with this, but then, I’m deaf.
Sneaky skill, indeed!
Welcome to Poetic Bloomings, ewdupler! Gene, is it? GREAT JOB, and hoping to hear more from you!
Marie Elena
What?!
[…] I feel like there are fingernails screeching against blackboards, all around me! I wrote for the Poetic Bloomings prompt to write a “bad poem”. It really was hard to ruin rhymes, mess up syllable […]
Chalk dust torture abounding !!
[…] BAD FORM / BAD POEM – PROMPT #108 […]
I remember hair
Touching my shoulders and back
Now it just grows there
Ooooooooooooooooooo
Ditto that “Ooooooooooooooooooo”
Marie Elena
Treble it. Actually, this just hit me funny because I saw a production of Hair last week. I imagine that the title song’s lyrics would seriously resemble your poem if the original cast were to come out and sing it. 😀
FROM HEAD TO TOE
I had it in my head
what I wanted to write
Roses are red? No…
It’s on the tip of my tongue.
Violets are blue?
No, that’s for the young.
It went out of my head
as soon as I smashed my toe
on the foot of the bed.
Darn it.
It was going to be good, too.
2013-05-21
P. Wanken
Ouchie!
That was my reaction, too, RJ.
OM Gee… been there!!!
[…] for Poetic Bloomings Prompt #108: Bad Form / Bad Poem. Posted for day 80 in 100 Days of Spring – […]
Pomme de Terre-ible – A Sarabande for the Spud at Hand
“I for one believe that on a weekly basis I am possessed by the spirits of Couch Potatoes past…” ~Chris Orr
Remote in hand, I settle in
for a night of channel flipping.
Then…cable’s out, to my chagrin.
What’s a poor potato to do?
Not to worry. Popcorn’s at hand,
and next to me, a six of brew.
But wait…the cable’s back on. And…
I watch a minute of a show
about some iceberg. Time to change
the channel, take a swig and throw
some chips to the dog, who begs.
The phone rings. I won’t answer it
S-i-t-t-i-n-g! (I won’t get on my legs.)
I am a load. This I admit.
So, didja think a poem could
be about glorifying spuds?
My muse belches. I smirk, “That’s good!”
She says to the dog, “Oh, yeah, right.”
I laugh and spill some suds. I grab
pillows to hide the stain from sight.
Potato life is simply fab.
###
This tuberous sarabande deserves a hand. Front or back, I’m not sure.
Indeed I had thought this would be about bad spuds, but your imagination goes all over the place. I should have known better. How I love that title, though.
Okay…I will pen a pomme about bad spuds then. 😀
The Root of All Evil – Potato Gangs
The Russets and the Idahos
say, “We are here. You’re in our throes.”
These gangs are pomme de terrible
and in this lies my parable.
Beware the tubers, (beady eyes)
and don’t dismiss their wee small fries.
Those Tater Tots will steal your Bliss
and, oh Great Scot! – The Spud Abyss!
Oh no!
You know the cabinet that holds
collections of those Yukon Golds?
Forgotten, so their sprouts grow wild?
Becoming evil…so reviled.
And yes, each one of ’em has been heard to say,
“I yam what I yam! Yea, rhizome…
I set down roots right in your home.
I yam a red, white, pink or new
potato who’s out to get you.”
So hash those browns. The fingerlings
are waiting in the wings with stings.
I hate to sound so awfully arch
but this is life when you’re a starch.
The moral of this octave run?
Just ‘cause they’re cooked don’t mean they’re done.
Remember this: a rule of thumb…
Solanum tuberosum,Chum.
###
It takes a good poet to write bad on purpose. It takes a superb one to stink up the joint like this.
😉
!!! 😀 I Love this!!!
!! 😀 Yes, Your imagination is WONDERFUL!!!
POINTS OF INTEREST
Climb to the top of the twin peaks
to view all that is below.
Valleys, forests, gorges,
flowing rivers, gushing geysers.
One would be much wiser
to not view nature
in a such highly suggestive way.
What can I say, I’ve been a bad boy!
Whatever Nature this is, it ain’t Mother.
This is a BAD place for my suggestion, but do you think we might each aspire to a Pitiful Bloom once a year? I doubt we could get as good (bad) as we did this time, but not needing to be good at poetry at least once a year would be a great non-perfection vacation.
… those images…!!
(???!!)
A Be-Bad Prose Poem Letter to My Muse
Dear Muse-in-the-Closet, Though you come and go freely, it seems, I was wondering if you might sneak out of the closet and jump into my travel bag this weekend… I don’t think that I can bear to leave you on my next journey… You don’t have to answer right away– I will Feel you there when I reach my destination… Hugs even if you can’t make it, Yours, H
Hen, this is adorable! Not even remotely bad, just sweet. I hope your muse answers you soon. Hugs! 🙂
Aww… Thank you, dear friend, you read it exactly the way that I wrote it… (you sooo “get” my writing — Love it!!) Hugs, :D!!
Oh, I’m so glad! I really love your writing. Good to know I actually “get” it. 🙂
!! 🙂
Dear Hen, MMT here, I just received a special notice from your “Muse-in-the Closet”, she has gotten her ticket squared away, and her own bag is packed ready for a Big Weekend. She feels fresh and ready to go after her short vacation and promises to “Do her Best” for you. She has no idea where U-2 are headed – but knows it will be very poetic.
🙂 ❤
Awww… thank you, my friend, he seems to stay with me, wherever I go… this trip, a wedding, family, and MY GRANBABIES!!!!! :D!!!
Maybe this could fit in the bad poem category! 🙂
http://aboybestme.blogspot.com/2013/05/metric.html
Ah, Nathan, how often we all feel that way. Not so much a bad poem as describing how often we feel we are bad poets.
Nathan, I tried to post this on your blog, but for some reason I could not write the WordPress URL in a way that would suit them.
“Meaning falls to Form”.
That is the problem I often have in trying forms. Often my poems simply follow the form of the first two lines. Trying to put ideas and forms together is sometimes to hard. One time I wrote
Formlock
Trying to squeeze words
and ideas into form
is sometimes taxing.
If I Be
If I be
Than I am
But am I
What I be
If I be
Or am I
Just me
Maybe
Earl, are you a thinker or a stinker? The poem, of course, is a stinker. 😉
Sometimes I stink
Sometimes I think
And sometimes I think I stink
😉
U must be a real stinkin’ thinker.
Golden ibis stands
Silhouette against the moon.
Gunshots. Ibis falls.
OMG! This is just so wrong. Yep – a truly ‘bad’ poem! 😀
🙂
Not haiku, not senryu; just boo-boo.
INSIDE WALT’S HEAD
Random thoughts.
Episodes of old shows.
Old baseball stats and averages.
Lyric hook, no book comprehension,
Not to mention old girlfriends who linger
As memories tattooed on the cave walls.
Hear that noise? What is that?
Heiroglyphics and specific volumes
Of mindless minutiae, fuschia treatments
On the windows to his soul, sometimes
Mindless never heartless. There’s that noise
Again! Again with the noise! Boys chasing
Voluptuous vixens in a loop; me taking notes
Future reference for a story to hone later. Random thoughts. Erotic women with
Popsicle toes. It goes like it goes.
It’s amazing what you find in Walt’s mind.
What the hell is that #*?£!!! noise?
😀
Whatever else it is, that mind is fascinating.
Potted Shrimp
Driven to write a poem that’s baddest
The urge to rhyme drives me maddest
And I really don’t have much Thyme
Though there’s plenty of Rosemary
With grammar control switched to zero
And spell cheque off I fiddle like Nero
And contemplate the Parsley patch
And wonder why the Chives so tarry
I stretch my legs to take a gander
At the Basil, Sage and Coriander
(That’s Cilantro if you didn’t know)
Oh! See how my garden blooms!
Water, water each morn and night
If I drank like herbs I’d be a fright
But the Kumquat tree just loses leaves
Oh poor gardener, how his heart glooms!
Now hang on there, what nonsense!
I fear I’ve crossed the poetic fence
And instead of potting potty herbs
I should’ve rather Potted Shrimp
For lunch, with brown bread and butter
And a wedge of lemon on the side
And perhaps a glass of Ginger Beer
Hmmm…
Iain
Was this composed in a public house?
Haha….sort of, last night 🙂
‘Tis the season for bad verse, and this one is no shrimp. 😉
Nonsense
No meter
no rhyme
no chickens
no nickels
dirt between the toes
yes, and freckles
marmalade
Michelle, that is bad, bad, bad. And that’s not bad. 😉