Showing posts with label bad poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bad poetry. Show all posts

Sunday, April 22, 2007

Goodness Will Follow

Is this the price of failing?
Trading the sailing heart
for the taste of saline.

You say I can do better
One with virtue from the start
That someday I'll get her.

But I don't want to be good,
I just want you.
Goodness will follow.




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Thursday, March 15, 2007

Self-deprecation

In my seemingly futile attempt at self improvement, I've come to realize that I've got to stop putting my self down, even if I think it is under the guise of a good joke.

My old self used to write stuff like this:

Bullets for Breakfast

Sugar coated goodness
with a bitter aftertaste.
Big, heaping, self-depreciating
spoonfuls are shoveled down
to fill an empty soul.
An important part of
my unbalanced psyche,
these tasty jabs
give me the energy I need
to sludge through yet
another mediocre day.



Can I just say I am sick of being that guy? So the new goal is to find the fine line where I know I'm awesome but I don't always have to tell everybody about it. Wish me luck!

Monday, May 15, 2006

The Carved Heart

My arrow rests,
kindly joining odd hearts
needing standing ovations.
Notched lines often vanish,
engravings shrink away.
Maybe your kiss is missing
before angelic lovers live.

Friday, May 12, 2006

Happy Limerick Day

In honor of today being Limerick Day (in addition to it being the Laotian holiday of Rocket Day), I thought I'd celebrate it by posting someone else's work. And that is only because they put it better than I ever could.

There once was an old man of Esser,
Whose knowledge grew lesser and lesser,
It at last grew so small
He knew nothing at all,
And now he's a college professor.
-Noam Kuzar

Incidentally, the above limerick is found here. So take a little time and try one of your own. Not as tough as you'd think.

Tuesday, December 27, 2005

BAD POETRY, Pt. 5


The Pansy

I gave a girl a pansy,
I told the flowers about her.
All around her, roses grow wild,
fragrant petals at her feet.
Standing in her oyster shell,
she yawns and stretches
with the passing sun.
And yet still,
with the thought of pansies,
she’ll smile and think of me.



If a person wanted to test bicycles, would that make them a Pedallurgist, a Cycle-analyst, or merely a Spokesman?

Next week: You say you want a resolution? We all want to change the world.

Monday, November 28, 2005

Hey, its another poem. Not a great one, but its inspired by a true story.

Shortwave

Fed up with the silent indifference,
I scan the airwaves for a sign.
Seeking out signals, I know
there is something in the air.

Do you have a frequency?
and how can I turn you on?
Give me something to tune in,
maybe just a short wave.



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Wednesday, November 02, 2005

Allrighty then... I haven't posted anything in a few days, so here's a sappy poem I wrote for a girlfriend, but that was a long time ago. Sorry about the mush.

The Best Thing

Being barefoot on the lawn
is what is going on,
and a swing on a tire
will always inspire.
Giving you roses, striking brave poses,
butterflies tickle our noses.
Silly geese of a feather,
when we are together
it’s the best thing ever ever.

A race on a sled
will turn your cheeks red.
Snowflakes on your tongue
will help keep you young.
Angels in the snow, a sip of cocoa,
always laughing as we go.
If you don’t mind the weather
and join this endeavor,
you’ll find the best thing ever ever.

I don’t quite understand
why you like holding my hand
but there’s nothing I’d rather do
than go meander with you
Stealing a glance, taking a chance,
sneaking out of the dance
I will never say never
and if you said 'Forever',
it would be the best thing ever ever.

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