Bad poetry corner

This one I dedicate to a cat in Göreme, Turkey:

I met a Turkish cat today.
A most amazing one.
In a restaurant, along the way.
To the table she did come.

Placed a paw on my chair
And said meeeeeoooow.
Now, how could she dare?
And what could she possibly want?

Inter-species communication?
Sophisticated scientific debate?
Complaints about constipation?
Or maybe simply a date?

The paw has moved to my shoe.
And are these claws that I see?
Her affection for me, is it true?
Or will she proceed to injure my knee?

Oh wait, you think she wants food?
Lamb chops, chicken or beef?
Or vegetables, would that be rude?
Tomatoes, onions and leaves?

Another meeeeooooow.
Sounding aggressive, me thinks.
Patience, my friend.
Could it be you want drinks?

Off she goes to the guy over there.
He threw some lamb on the ground.
No doubt, she was instantly aware.
Greedily devours it without a sound.

Oh you fickle and finicky one!
I was just starting to consider your need.
A strong and lasting bond I did seek.
But gone you are, makes my heart bleed.

Should I try to win back your affection?
Offer you steak, add fancy potions?
How did it come to this fatal attraction?
I’m all lost in conflicting emotions.

Waiter shouts at the top of his voice.
And off she zooms, is gone forever.
Forget her I must, have no choice.
See her again I shall never.

@ tom_a

Welcome to the cruel world of being a cat's bitch. Good work you've done there, old chap!

Andrew, how dare you put up your Crap Poetry Award as a profile picture!

Oh the torment, pain and agony! The all-consuming jealousy that I have to endure, whenever I accidentally key in your handle in the search function and then inevitably have to look at your award...

You leave me no choice. If I can't compete on quality, it will have to be quantity.

You have been warned!

ODE TO MY NOSE

It's big
and it's bold
and it sometimes gets cold
it's my very own filtering friend

There once was a man from Koblenz
Who liked to sit on the fence
When asked by his wife
If he liked his life
He said that at times it was tense.

Here's a somewhat weird one:
(Explanatory comment at the end)

Life's tough decisions

Tossing and turning, sleep I can’t find.
There’s one tough decision,
always, forever on my mind.
It affects so much, there’s no denying.
Oh Lord, please send me a vision!
I must be strong, yet feel like crying.

Time to get up, must face the day.
Why oh why, do we always must choose?
Not much longer can push it away.
But first something easy - coffee or tea?
This one decided, some tension I loose.
As for the big one, no clue, I shall see…

The coffee, it’s about to get cold.
Can’t possibly put it off any more!
So here it goes, has to be solved:
One spoon of sugar, or should I put two?
Some people say three or four.
But me thinks, there’s limits, I do.

No really, this is no laughing matter.
A man like me, by example he leads.
Maybe I should explain myself better.
If I put just one, there’s more suffering and pain:
Farmers bankrupt, their fields full of weeds.
Villages dying, suicides, lives lived in vain.

But then, two spoon’s just too sweet!
So what should I do, a dilemma real tough!
Well, guess this life ain’t no treat.
Let’s just put two, set my conscience at rest.
As a good deed, for today that’s enough.
I do hope that for this I’ll get blessed.

(Inspiration hit me when I saw the following big roadside poster in a village in Niederbayern: "EU Zuckerpreisliberalisierung - Arbeitslosigkeit, ruinierte Existenzen, Dorfsterben! Für die Zuckerrübe, gegen Billigkonkurrenz! Rettet unser Bayerland!" Loosely translatable as "If the EU liberalizes the price for sugar, the world as we know it will end!")

And to give no respite to Andrew, here's another one:
(wanted to post it right after the other one, but loads of work intervened...)

A "salaryman" at the Oktoberfest

Small, skinny, smiling uneasy smiles.
Saito-san’s crumpled jacket doesn’t fit.
He’s fallen asleep with wide open eyes.
Jetlag, utterly bored, room badly lit.

Seven guys the Japanese they had sent,
six their mouths kept shut tight.
Nervous looks, heads downward bent,
while their boss, he knew how to fight.

Salarymen, on the org chart merely a dot.
Corporate soldiers, Saito-san and his kin.
Nails sticking out they are certainly not,
long ago been thoroughly hammered in.

Lawyer nods, CEO lifts his head.
“It’s time for signatures, I think�.
Saito-san wakes up from the dead.
Timidly asks “Time for biru, drink?�

Entering the tent, his amazement shows.
Strange people, music, noise, biru!
“What a large glass. Me cannot knows -
Will I have space? Is there a loo?�

Layers of shyness one by one fall away.
Climbs on the table, no longer sits.
Giggling weirdly, says “If I may?�
Hugs the big lady, forever oogles her tits.

In his Masskrug still remains half a litre.
Eyes dazed, he’s up in the clouds, far away.
“Migoto desu! So great, can’t get better!�
Happy as a child, morning of Christmas Day.

Hours later. One Mass emptied, face red.
Head on the table, all’s over and done.
Hey, do we need to carry you to bed?
Genki deska, how are you, Saito-san?

A lady on the subway gets offered his shoe.
She says it’s too stinky, he winces in pain.
“Arigato gozaimasu. So much thank you!�
Keeps repeating, broken disk in his brain.

Matané, Saito-san. Take care, you’re alright!
Off to Tokyo, back to your job and your wife.
Endless grey days your fate, no respite.
But tonight, just one night, you had a life!

@ tom_a

How could I not? I could not insult such an honour by anything less

write a poem about it, what are you a poet or a mouse? I am curious how you could accidently go to the search function, accidently type in six letters that happen to be my user name and what is inevitable about clickin on my username when it comes up? You have been trying to see the gossip behind all the threads that have been going on lately haven't you??

come and have a go if you think your poetry is crap enough

Oh my! You don't believe in unbelievable coincidences, do you?

OK, here's the poem:

No poems been posted a long time me thinks.
Oh, how to find the "bad poetry" links?
Ah, let's just search "Andrew", that's what I'll do,
And about his latest poetry I'll soon have a clue!

Satisfied with the explanation?

On second thoughts, the mini-poem I posted above is quite pathetic. Doesn't do the graveness of what I had to live through sufficient justice! Therefore, here is an extended version (came pouring out real fast, so obviously it comes from the heart...):

No poems been posted a long time me thinks.
Oh, how to find the "bad poetry" links?
Ah, let's just search "Andrew", that's what I'll do,
about his latest poems I'll soon have a clue!

Oh what is this? No! On his profile I see:
his Crap Poetry Award staring out right at me!
Oh the torment, the agony, the pain!
Jealousy and envy are flooding my brain!

Why is it that he’s honoured so,
while in obscurity I must stay below?
Tears down my cheeks they start to flow,
a deep depression is beginning to grow.

I’ve tried so long, I’ve toiled, all in vain.
All my hard work has brought me no gain.
Could it be, in Andrew’s league I can’t play?
That for my ambition, a price I must pay?

Is life still worth living, it does feel so cold,
when another this award he does hold!
Maybe jump from the window should I,
into thorny rose-bushes, slowly to die!

But no, I’m a man, I must put up a fight!
And soon Andrew, he will get a real fright.
His award under constant attack it will be,
And what will happen, well, we shall see.

Though tonight I found out, it’s no lie,
Andrew sure is a magnanimous guy.
From his bag, he pulled out some sheet,
his own handwritten poems for me to read.

Signed them, as a gift then gave them to me.
Maybe for inspiration, they’ll be the key!
If I put them under my pillow at night,
more ideas for crap poems might see the light…

does anyone actually read this thread other than me, tom_a and Majorbummer?

No

never, ever.

So this is the sort of inspiration I get when sleeping with Andrew's poems tucked away under my pillow:

My last ditch effort to catch up with Andrew in the crappy poetry league. Afterwards I'll go in creative hibernation and will leave the stage to other aspiring crap poets for a while...

Here it goes:

"A green slimy monster from outer space spends an amusing rainy Sunday morning in the English Garden"

Hello, glad ‘n happy to see you reading this.
My audience from back home I sorely miss.
I’m a green slimy monster from outer space.
And sometimes here, I do feel out of place.

I live in Schwabing, already many years.
My spaceship once crashed, I was in tears.
Josef Schwampelhofer my neighbors now call me,
a beer-bellied Bavarian is all that they see.

We green slimy monsters our looks we do hide.
Always bring plastic surgeons along for the ride.
Beneath the surface, extra green and slimy am I,
Yet on the outside so human, oh what a lie!

I’m a sensitive, emotional monster, I must say.
Whenever sun’s shining, depression holds sway.
Then I dream of mud pits, carnage and slaughter,
times long ago, when I drank blood of my daughter.

Yet I just love rainy, cold mornings of Sunday.
In the English garden, for many hours I stay.
Patiently waiting, mostly hidden behind a tree,
Already picturing, what soon I will see.

My trusty ol’ phaser I carefully set on “transform�,
turn the young sexy jogger into a slimy cold worm.
Ah, there’s this handsome middle-aged gent,
guess he’ll have to adjust to life as an ant.

Old woman, a hairdo that seems like a rug,
probably won’t mind being turned into a slug.
Yet another lady, but this one’s too fat,
might strain phaser’s batteries, no, can’t have that.

Whenever I do this, my spirits are lifted.
In spite of my exile, I then do feel gifted.
My mind is inspired for artwork and poetry,
when these graceful transformations I see.

So next time when in the park you fancy a jog,
beware, be careful, bring a big scary dog.
‘cause if you meet me, and no one’s around,
you’ll end up as an insect, won’t make a sound.

But hey, be fair, don’t at me you get mad,
after all, don’t you think my fate’s rather sad?
Just a slimy green monster, so lonely all day,
stuck here in Munich, from home a long way!

Ah! The greatness of your poetic inspiration, without respite dishing out such brilliant works of high-quality crap poetry! I see it's time for another award..

And time to watch out when jogging in the English Garden!

An ode to a rubber chicken
[img]http://www.fundamentallyspeaking.com/images/tigris_sunrise_sm.jpg[/img]

Rubber Chicken,splendidly bald
Buddhistic tranquility seethes from your rubbery pores
Calming my troubled soul
On days likes these,
when only crap poetry
t'is what I do crave
when only crap poetry
t'is what I need to be brave
Below my skullcap blissful cavity to be found
Rock steady dullness that comes for a pound
You never change
My omnipresent featherless mage
When these four walls close in upon me
your face is what I will see
Rubber Chicken, immune to Avian flu
buy you today is what I will do!

You really are obsessed with the rubber chicken arent you !!

Minutes wasted on the board
Certainly make me less bored
Have a few other sites, thank the lord
Wonder whats going on in the Ladies forum
Nothing in the Mens forum to make me warm
Keep click ing the new posts link
Wonder how many TTers think Im a dink

@MajorBummer

I presume you are aware that under the Bavarian Rubber Animal Non-Discrimination Act, it is not permitted to give preferential treatment to any specific kind of rubber animal. Therefore, it is legally questionable to post a poem singling out rubber chicken while ignoring their equally worthy peers. To avoid any sort of legal repercussions for this website and a possible jail sentence for Editor Bob, I decided to add a follow-up poem on rubber ducks, as a pure precautionary measure.

What an eerie chill in the bone,
to enter a dark hotel room,
knowing you’re not alone.

Someone in the bathroom,
lurking in the dark. Waiting.
Patiently, to ‘scape from gloom.

Rubber Ducky in the tub.
Bimbotic grin on silly face.
You care, ‘gainst whom you rub?

Naked bodies, lots you’ve seen?
Been molested? Used?
Subjected to things mean?

Duckie’s life’s no apple pies!
No, don’t look at me like that.
What helpless bimbotic eyes!

Just quickly passing through.
‘bout you, I don’t really care.
T’morrow, you’ll see someone new.

What, the eyes are pleading?
Take you away from all this?
Save you from the life you’re leading?

To live in my bath, alone with me?
Oh li’l ducky, if you only knew!
So many there ‘lready, ninety three!

(I feel obliged to point out that this poem has neither been inspired by nor is in any way connected to TT’s very own Rubber Duck.)

@Tom_a
That is a really scary poem.

Is it? Actually, when writing it I remembered a cleaning lady in a Singaporean hotel telling me that the rubber duckies they put in the bath-rooms disappear at a very quick rate, and nobody knows what people do with them (apparently, even long time guests get a new one every day, and they still tend to disappear every day). Apparently, the management had considered removing them altogether, because someone had complained that they could be used as "weird sex toys". I have not the slightest clue how that could work, but it really seems to have preoccupied the hotel's management...

See? I told you your poem was scary!

Master Tigo-Hu-Raband instructed me to post this poem:

-----------------------------------------------------

All dark and black is the night,
just a streetlamp, and a li’l moonlight.
Fog slowly gathering in the street,
timid ghosts hoverin’ out of sight.

Rhythmic snoring in the bedroom,
Cat meowing, somewhat out of tune.
Curch bells, softly ringing twice.
Night-time – calm, quiet, nice.

Spaceship, soundlessly descending,
on the roof across the creek.
Evil alien bodysnatchers,
surely neighbors’ brains they seek.

What is a dream?
And what reality?
Thoughts growing fuzzy,
the clock decides to strike three.

Sun is rising, chasing shadows away.
No more darknes, a bright new day.
And in the street the neighbors,
upbeat, cheerful greetings say.

Had such a strange dream,
wonder what it means?
‘cause in the light of the day,
oh so stupid it seems!

There comes the neighbor,
grinning broadly at me.
Says: “Don’t feel neglected,
soon, one night, your turn will be."

And of course he was right,
last week they came for me.
It barely hurt, when they implanted
the first-stage Pogo-Derlo-Ke.

Now I live to serve
Master Tigo-Hu-Raband.
It’s really very easy,
soon, you, too, will understand…

Ode to the announcer at Munich Airport

"We would like to remind you"
Oh yes I beseech you please do,
"That at Munich Airport smoking is only allowed"
A heavenly voice of which to be proud
"in specially designated smoking areas, thank you"
No it is I that should gratefully thank you
That everyday I hear your wonderful voice,
To me there could be only one choice,
If asked what I most love to hear,
That transcendent voice, so divine and clear,
I will not leave my luggage unattended,
The gods would be furiously offended,
If I should ever fail to obey,
Every word that golden voice should say
what sort of creature can you be?
That your voice can so exhilerate me,
Like Venus, were you raised from the foaming sea
Or were you sent to Planet Earth,
From the Nordic Gods's own hearth,
How I long to hear you say,
"Andrew, please report to the information desk without delay"
And there I will finally see you,
And joyous things we will do


Andrew Munich October 2005

Maybe you should send a note to the information desk, kindly asking to be summoned. Something like "Will young Andrew please come to the information desk, his mummy and daddy are looking for him and will adopt a Sudanese orphan in his place in case he does not show up immediately!"

La odeur de horreur

La premier semaine:

Oui, oui, let me tell you about that cheese
which is waiting in my fridge
I didn't not want to buy it,
I didn't want to try it
Smells were oozing through the plastic
It was totally fantastic
Vive la différence they say
And after smelling this you pray!
You vehemtly insisted
Because you just couldn't resist it
Home we took it to the flat
that cheese which smells of crap

La deuxième semaine:

Awoke and felt so queasy
and I left my bed so measly
Something evil to pay heed
Cheese which had gone to seed
The causation of my fear,waiting very near
Ten yards off and in your chair,
I was gasping for fresh air!
reading, chewing as you do.
After kissy kissy gave me,
I was running for the loo
On my lips your cheesy breath
which smelled to me like death

La troisième semaine:

Walking past the fridge aware
of evil lurking in our lair
In a tupperware container
Cheese that needs a restrainer
Moaning, shuffling inside
ghastly liquids from its hide
Masked receiving morning kiss
Gone are days of carefree bliss
Le vigneron au lait cru
what am I gonna do with you?
Confine you further to a plastic prison?
Your future leaves me totally riven.

La quatrième semaine:

The hissing sound inside my fridge
scared me senseless is what it did
Still you refuse to dispose of it!
Eating fromi like a masochist,
this job calls for an exorcist
Dialed 777, spoke to Father John
A cheese possessed that you want gone?
Smells of sulphur and of brine
Hell in my fridge is what you'll find
With his cross and holy writtings
He took care of cheese so frightening
Praise the Lord, it's back in hell!
The smell is gone and all is well!

There once was a punter from Munich
Who kept a sharp knife 'neath his tunic
On his way to a Doner
He got a big boner
And now he is known as a eunuch

Jebus, that's BAD poetry.

Heroes aren’t what they used to be

A young innocent virgin gets locked in her room.
Parents are angry, bad grades spell her doom.
“Until you have studied, turned into a good girl,
you’ll stay at your desk, far away from the world.�

Full of frustration, she turns on her PC,
using the net to send out her desperate plea:
“Any heroes, ready to free a pretty young lady?
No need to apply, if your background is shady.
But if your intentions are true, you’re a man free of sin,
the heart and soul of a virgin you may easily win.
To this address where I’m locked up please hurry,
Set me free, before my captors serve evening curry.�

Without delay, Batman jumps in his Batmobile,
Finally, someone to save, this is for real!
Arrives at the building, walks up the staircase.
Huh? He gets hit from behind with a hammer.
Old lady, her mind works in mysterious ways,
says to herself, in her voice a slight tremor,
“Capped villain in our house, dressed like a bat!
These people are scum, we can’t have that!�

Meanwhile, James Bond's in the elevator.
He read the plea on his handphone,
while leisurely fighting an evil alligator.
This mission is simple, to doubt he’s not prone.
Rings at the door, charming smile on his face,
Thinks “I’ll impress ‘em, all will fall into place.�
Door opens, right away he's shot by the mother,
she sighs, says “Why do they all have to bother?�

Now the Marlboro Man rides into town.
Stops a policeman to ask for the way.
The cop on his face gets a deep frown,
“Your horse pooed on the street, I must say.
Here in Bavaria, that's a crime, don’t you see?
People like you, can’t let 'em roam free.�
Locks up Marlboro Man in high security jail,
where without cigarettes he can only wail.

Harry Potter on his broom now arrives,
Always hopeful to save muggles’ lives.
Staring inside while hovering near the window.
Sees the virgin, thinks ‘boy is she pretty’.
Then thinks no more, on his head gets a blow,
Flower pot from above, oh how shitty!

In the living room, three men materialize.
One says “It’s life Jim, life as we know it!�
The second has pointy ears and looks wise.
Says “Shall we use phasers, or rely on our wit?�
But too late, mother’s gun is not staying quiet,
It’s spitting bullets, enough to end a whole riot.

The young innocent virgin of all this commotion
remains unaware, while she puts on face lotion.
Thinks the noise must be due to her dad,
watching movies all day, his life is so sad.
Full of frustration, she lets out a deep sigh:
“Guess no hero can be bothered to save me,
but my life is not zero, no reason to die,
coming up on TV, there's ‘South Park’ to see.�

And a variation of the same theme:

------------------------------------------------------------

A young innocent virgin gets saved by a superhero

A young, innocent virgin gets locked in her room.
Parents are angry, bad grades spell her doom.
“Until you have studied, turned into a good girl,
you’ll stay at your desk, far away from the world.�

She opens the window, let’s out a loud cry:
�Can someone save me, please, don’t ask why!�
The Amazing Man, a superhero somewhat minor,
was eating a sandwich, downstairs in a diner.
He hears her cry, and to himself he thinks,
something to do, after I’ve finished my drinks.

His coke emptied, bill settled, all’s done,
to his newfound assignment he starts to run.
Through the window comes crashing into the flat,
manipulates minds, makes parents think he’s a rat.
While they’re confused, he breaks open the door,
quickly grabs her, then takes off with a roar.

In his superhero quarters soon they arrive.
A modest flat, in a bad part of town.
“Lately, my earnings have started to dive.�
He explains, when he sees her frown.
“Not enough crime, there’s nothing to do.
Except a second job, like cleaning the loo.
But at least no longer alone now am I,
finally I’ve got a consort, to bake me a pie.�

She hesitates, gives him a sceptical look,
then faintly smiles. She’s not a good cook.
But he saved her, of thanks she should be full.
It’s just - she expected at least a swimming-pool.
Still, it’s really romantic, to be a hero’s mate,
it just makes her sick that this place is not great.

Then he flies off, to look for some bad guys.
Before he leaves, he kindly looks in her eyes.
“Sweety, will you make me a good tasty dinner?
Lately, I’ve becoming increasingly thinner.�
She sighs, and into the kitchen proceeds,
cooking a meal, based on sesame seeds,
mixed with ketchup, chocolate and cheese.
When he eats it, he says “No more, please!�

At night, in bed he timidly draws near.
But she blurts out, “I’ve got a headache, dear.
And by the way, can you please clean more loos,
I need money, to buy some new pairs of shoes.
Superman’s girl-friend always wears fancy stuff,
all designer-made, while my wardrobe is rough.�

The Amazing Man finds there’s only one conclusion:
with his power to let her forget in her sleep.
That way it will all seem a dream, an illusion.
He picks her up gently, feeling like a creep,
flies her back to her flat, to her old life back there,
then goes off looking for bad guys, somewhere.

an oldie but a goodie...

"Little Miss Muffit
sat on her tuffit
eating her curds and whey.
When along came a spider
that sat down besider her
and said, Yo what's in the bowl bitch!"

Its friday, and I'm friggin bored, I'm sat 'ere on me tod
Thinking '"what shall I 'ave for me tea, I'd love a bit of cod"
See, fridays back in blighty, we all go down the chippy
And eat hot chips after the pub, to stop us gettin' nippy.
Soaked in tons of vinegar, wiv'a pickled egg on top,
An' no gravy thank you Gideon, you stupid norvern fop.
I've actually got some pickled eggs, inna lovely jar of brine
they don't 'alf make a lovely change from 'würstle' all the time.

Oh well, the chippy's not an option, 'cos 'ere we don't have any.
Instead I'm forced to try and cook with ingredients from Penny.
Bloody german supermakets, cheap yes, but don't pretend sir,
that their quality's not utter shite compared to Marks n Spencer.
Ready made nosh, mmmm, bloody tops, that'd do me right
I like to cook, thats very true, buit not every bloody night.

So shit, I guess I might as well just resign myself to my fate
I'll 'ave to go and cook from scratch, and end up eating late.
Its not bad, tonight at 9, there's 'stenders on the telly,
just wish I could be watching it, with a chippie in me belly

There was once a small boy called Edward
who often at night hated to go bedward,
till his father did land
with the flat of the hand
on the opposite end of his headward

If I could read your mind

If I could read you mind,
What secrets would I find?
I see a man, old and worn,
Would I see his soul, as dark and forlorn,
Next to him, do I see his wife,
What would I see of this couple's life,
Joy and pleasure, or only toil and strife,
Do you have a daughter or son
To whom,you are just someone to lazily shun?
Do you wish you could start all again,
Or would it always have been in vain?
And if you could read my mind?
What secrets would you find?
What would you say to me?
About how my life should be?
We need to guard our secrets with care,
Or else this life we could not bear.

Andrew Munich February 2006

Romantic Encounter

Excuse me, young lady. Don’t take fright.
Sorry to wake you in the middle of the night.

Didn’t intend to disturb you like that.
Came via the balcony door into your flat.

Hardly damaged the door at all, don’t worry.
Looking for cash, valuables, in quite of a hurry.

But you seem to have hidden them so very well.
Please show me where to find them, that’d be swell!

By the way, you look lovely when you’re alarmed.
Don’t worry, I’m not a killer, you won’t be harmed.

Who could do that to a lady so enchantingly sweet?
Calm down, I beg you, it’s only your cash that I need.

No, believe me, I have no intention to rape you, no lies.
Huh, you think I’m a big strong man with sensitive eyes?

That’s such a nice think to say, how kind of you honey!
But, please, can we get back to locating your money?

Hey, why remove all your clothes, now you’re naked!
You’re so pretty, can’t look at you, no, just can’t take it!

Don’t have much time, need to be going right away!
Oh, ok, if you insist, a few more minutes I’ll stay.

Yeah, that does feel good. Don’t stop, no!
Wow, mmmmh, aaaaaahhh, oooooohhh.

What did you say - you want me to stay for the night?
You’re frightened all alone, it just doesn’t feel right?

Someone might break in, do unspeakable things to you?
So many weirdoes out there, who knows what they’d do?

Tell you what, I’ll stay ‘til sunrise, no need to be afraid.
And I’ll do it for free, really, don’t have to get paid!

(thanks to Saan & Richm for their feed-back and comments)

A poem in honour of St.Valentine

Last night I was jogging through the park
In the meantime it had turned thoroughly dark
Snow cracking under the weight of my feet
The park almost empty, nobody to meet
The moon almost full, thin clouds going by
The stars were so bright, then I heared your cry
Like the sirens of old luring me nearer
Both peaceful and sad, calling the hearer
On an open field the moon casting its bright
The trees all around in the dark of the night
Alone we were there, owl and a wight
I looked up,hoping for a glimpse of your face
Of coppery eyes for me onto gaze
Your lonely cry calling, where is your mate?
Did it perhaps meet some cold and cruel fate?
Are you looking to find a new Valentine?
If so I will gladly let you be mine.
Owl and wight staring at each other
Wondering why we at all still bother.
Owl, for me there will never be another.

The day history might have been rewritten, but wasn’t

Somewhere between Padova and Ferrara,
right where the road leads off to Nogara,
there’s an old factory, long in disuse,
ruins, where once they manufactured shoes.

For years, no-one there, no human sound.
Yet now, in front of crumbling walls,
men are digging holes in the ground.
But enough for today, dinner-time calls.
They pack up and leave, time to unwind,
except one lone figure, who stays behind.

Alois, the old bearded archaeologist
is feeling truly and thoroughly pissed.
He convinced many a bureaucratic clerk,
to see the merits of his excavation work.
Marvellous Roman treasures he was after,
but all he’ll get now is everyone’s laughter.
Some weirdo, some screwed-up bloke,
seems to be playing a big practical joke.

Ancient walls, old many thousand a year,
covered with mosaics, splendidly clear.
Showing spaceships, astronauts and stuff,
He won’t look no more, enough is enough.

A man steps up to him from behind.
His face greenish, but the eyes are kind.
Above his head, there’s a faint sort of glow.
Says “Time has come for humanity to know.
From Nibiru my brothers and sisters had come,
But now, no others are left, I’m the only one,
who’s still here after thousands of years.
When I think of home, I break into tears.�

The old archaeologist lets out an angry shout:
“Rubbish, now what is all this truly about?
Is this candid camera, am I on TV?
With fake shiny mosaics, you want to fool me?
I’m sure old Professor Hugo Hummel-Kliert,
he thought it up, his humor’s always so weird!�
With a mad grin, he suddenly picks up an axe,
all of the mosaics to tiny pieces he hacks.

The old alien resignedly shakes his head.
His time’s nearly over, he’ll soon be dead.
“Too bad for humanity, they’ll never know�,
he thinks, then shrugs, and turns to go.

Hey diddle diddle
The cat and the fiddle
the cow jumped over the moon

and burnt up in re-entry.

I will fight for you

Once more I'll go out there my child
and fight for you like a thing gone wild
This time I'll stand there in the cold
with not even your hand to hold
What saddened me throught hours long
was that together we were strong
without each other there's just pain
and nothing worthwhile will remain
Through this long night I cried for you
"cause the vipers tongue speaks nothing true
And you so young my love, so small
but do not fear I'll fight them all
you can not see through all the lies
you never heard my silent cries
I only wanted what's best for you
although I failed my love runs true
I'll fight them all to hell and through
because my love my life is you.

why has the title been changed from crap poetry to bad poetry, how does that enhance anything?

It's already been like that for a while, Andrew. Nothing is sacred anymore!

I wish I could take credit for this but I can't. A friend of mine from college wrote it:

Drugs.
Glug.
Ugh.

Amazing! The simplicity! The style! The structure! The deep emotions!
It could revolutionize the writing of bad poetry, you know...

Math rooms, the torture halls
with whitewashed walls
where many fall

Math books, the instrument of pain
Where equations reign
And people go insane

My work...Thanks very much

I tor a twat in a Toytown tread and taught I should respond
Because he tawk'd a lot o'rot, I didn't wanna be conned
So I lashed out with my typobuse and clopp'd him round the ear
Coz a pratt is worse to have to read than any old nadir

©Me - A couple of minutes ago.

Did I mean so little to you?

Was I just another fool to you?
Someone to use for something to do?
And forget when I am out of your view,
Only mere hours to find someone new
We spent together a passionate night,
And a slow and tender morn,
As soon as I was gone from your sight
So it seems from your thoughts I was torn
In the morning you woke in my bed
That night, were you in his instead
Did I mean so little to you,
That waiting at least a day,
Was too much for you to do?

Ah, but Andrew! To some t'is but a vulgar word and you know how everything vulgar gets taken off TT immediately. Crap poetry is a fine art which only a sacred few of us will ever understand, castrating this thread's title is just another example of it. We know that we are crap poets though and they can't take that away from us, ever! My latest addition:

The mess on my desk

Little paper of palest blue
On my desk I search for you
Mounts of paper, soft- and hardware
No luck so far, you are nowhere
Wine-stained desk of darkest contrast
Why should this search quite be this vast?
Under letters and notebook I look in vain
This loss of you is causing me pain
Flower wilting perhaps knows the truth?
Or feels nothing but bits of ruth?
Looked again, still not to be found
I be long past the primilinary round
Curse you! Confound it! I'll do without you
Take new piece of paper of palest blue
Soon to be lost to a place near you.

MajorBummer
Member of the Crap Poet Society

Someone sent me to this section
Call it "online satisfaction".
Now don't think dirty, it's spiritual
Big city style... or just rural?

Creation comes creation goes,
Please do not delete my posts.

Keydeck, cover my chicken words
Good that the place an Alice hosts!
Cause TT, as it in itself can be...
Still a Wonderland for me!

Júlia FR June 2006

My First Haiku

Hear my first Haiku
Fitting words in syllables
Is very diffic

Creation comes creation goes
I feel rhythm even in toes
30 seconds just, for 1 line
if difficult, Expat, DON'T RHYME

wow. was that me? oh. crazy!

Unfinished haiku
best poem I have read here
laughed my bollocks off