Bad poetry corner

There was an old lady from Ealing
Who got put in the nick for stealing
She lay on her back
Opened her crack
And pissed all over the ceiling

"Wie ein Kuh"
That's very good
I wonder if the audience
can stop chewin the cud

Machines on the nipples
Whats the problem ?
I've had worse
in examination post mortems

Bone meal feed
in the EU aint legal
How do I know ?
I read der spiegel

Brought up on a farm
with shit loads of animals
Dairy cows have it best
amongst all of the mammals

My Uncle has 400
You can count em if you must
But take my word for it
no need for double or bust

The bulls get castrated
the calves get dehorned
the worst thing for the cows
is some occasional scorn

I dont mind death
It comes to us all
but pain and maiming
that means more than fuck all

Milk is a product indeed that does hurt to make
But I will offer you that if my life is at stake
I know very well the perils and pains of being pregnant all year
Of loosing my children and all those I hold dear..
Your teeth you say are there to bite me and chew me
On top of the foodchain as you claim humans to be
From top of the foodchain I demand the use of your brain
And not choose to inflict on us serious pain
I do have strong muscles but choose not to kill!
You have teeth for chewing, and still want us on your plate!
On top of the foodchain for being able to maim?
Does that make humans better than us being able to murder?
I could do so as well but choose to be further!
Stop breading us, stop maiming us, stop eating us
So simple and not even a real big fuss.

Gosh!!!
I obviously cannot afford to rest on my poetical laurels!!!

I might take inspiration from "hitchhikers guide to the galaxy" and write a poem entitled "Ode to a piece of green slime I found in my armpit one morning"

I think it's the crappy weather today. Seems to bring out the crappy poet in us all.

when the muse comes, the muse comes, and one can do nothing else until the poem is complete, no matter what the weather

Summertime and the livin' is easy.
Deep muddy puddles, big collective sigh.
Grey skies, cold wet wind is blowing.
But hush little baby, don’t you cry.

One of these mornings, snow will be falling.
Penguins shivering, the ice pilin’ high.
But for now, the weatherman’s still stalling.
At least it’s not freezin’, so baby don’t cry.

Ode to a dead slug

I dodged you carefully last night
criss-crossing slowly all the way
your friends and yourself in the usual plight
of getting nowhere all day
Oh slimy one, quo vadis at all?
your way is mysterious to me
Then up came that yuppie and you did not see
the writing on the wall..
Yuppie was blind as the proverbial bat
sheltered from the rain under his stupid hat
I saw it before it happend and cried
Oh slimy one, you are going to die!
The sound of his shoes came towards us so fast
Slug, I knew your luck would not last
Squish it made and there was nothing I could do
That yuppie never acknowledge you under his shoe!

Oceans of water stretching
Forever around me, so sad.
Huge waves are crashing
where two-legged monsters tread.

Old one says you stay cool,
Just rain, it can’t hurt us.
Mere bad weather, you fool,
Sun will dry you, it does.

But then, water engulfs me.
oh help, it sweeps me away.
All alone when again I can see.
Dazed and confused, oh what a day!

Oceans wherever I run.
Endless, oh my soul is in pain.
No, it sure ain’t no fun.
to be an ant in the rain!

@tom_a
Words fail me, you really are good! It's a tie between you and Andrew..

Nah, I like the one about the slug better.

But this is about "bad poetry", so "good" really means "bad", right? So if your poem is better, that means it is less bad and therefore worse? Oh my, this is confusing...

okay, I am just gonna have to stop waiting for the muse to come to me and just write some more crap poetry. I am going to resume work on "inappropriate masturbational phantasy figures" you have been warned

Now you've got me confused. Andrew, if it stops me from taking a look out of the window to check if it's still raining.. give it your best shot! (no pun intended)

Well here is the first move in my defence of my title "TT's worst poet"

On Inappropriate masturbational phantasy figures

Sometimes when I take it in hand
Things do not go as I planned
My lust is inconstant like the sand

Sometimes I think of Cilla Black
Fetch me a vomiting sack
Vexatious like a toturers rack

Sometimes I think of a TTlady
If she knew how disgusted would she be
That in my pervy dreams her I see

Sometimes it is Persilbran's landlady,
How perverse is that of sicko me
To jerk off, on someone I ne'er did see

Sometimes it is a hot work colleague
Who is way way way out of my league
No chance there of achieving a Sieg

Sometime ahead, will I sadly find
That I have gone completely blind
'twould be a self inflicted bind

Sometime ago, I had my last girlfriend
Will Heavens above another send
Before I go round and round the bend

Andrew Munich August 2005

On being challenged as TT's worst poet

It was late this rainy crappy summer
I met my so-called number one fan MajorBummer
She proclaimed "Of all TT poets you are worst"
"For your crappy poems I have longing thirst"
"Your poems so crappy, leave mine in dark"
To me a most pleasing remark

But what is this she does say??
That I have a crap poet equal in Tom_a
Having a rival makes me heart hard
I am truly a jealous bard
Thou shalt have no other crap poet
I want all of TT to know it
I shall evermore write crap poetry,
Unheeding of please, for poetical mercy

Andrew Munich August 2005

A piece of green slime I found in my armpit one morning

I am standing under the shower,
wash away a smell of dread power
in right armpit, a most horrid feeling
As though a wound , were not properly healing
With a certain fearful alarm
I raise up my right arm
Wherefore do I see something green
Have I contracted some gangrene
But no, it is a surprising thing
I am too astonished, anymore to sing
The slime shines bright, like Kryptonite
Bathing the room in a uncanny green light
I feel awed by otherworldly might
Am I the new Prometheus
Bringing the gods green slime to mortals like us?
Is this a strange New World?
Into which I am suddenly hurled?
Or will it cause only discord?
My punishment, my armpit eternally gnawed?
O what am I going to do
With this unnatural green gloo?

with acknowledgements to Douglas Adams, Greek mythology, Star Trek and the Superman stories

Andrew Munich August 2005

@Andrew
Holy shyte. That really is the ultimate crappy poetry.. Tom_a is however not a native speaker I believe and for that I'd say his crappy poetry is truly in the same crappy league with you! Hats off to both of you fine gentlemen.
Edit: @majorbummer
What do you think?

I had not realised that, in that case every respect to Tom_a for writing such poetry in a second language. Perhaps one day in the future, when my german is good enough, I will attempt something in german

@andrew

I couldn't believe it either! Maybe he is lying. I checked his profile after reading his crappy poetry and it says there that he is German. I cannot come up with any crappy poetry at the moment. I am fluish from being out in the rain all day during the last week.

I actually think that I can produce worse poetry. after all I have only been doing this for a short while, and so far I have stuck more or les ot body functions for inspiration. Who knows what I could produce if I was to turn my hand to political poems or internal angst stuff?

Oh Andrew! Do except my sincerest apologies! But I also believe that you and Tom_a are about equal with respect to your poetic skills. And yes, as I have met Tom_a I do know that he is in fact German. We could ask him to show us his Ausweis. That was crappy work Andrew and on such short notice!
@cowgirl
Did that answer your question? Your poetry is very crappy as well, especially as you are of a different species. I always thought cows to be rather poetic, but I never thought they'd make good crappy poets.

An amazingly poetic cow, two weird blokes and a lovely lead recitalist specializing in slugs and socks - we could call ourselves "Catastrophically Crappy Combo" and go on a poetry-recital tour. Would surely provide us with enough tomatoes, eggs and miscellaneous rotten fruit to prepare a nice dinner after each reading...

@tom_a
ah, but you forgot all the other crappy poets here! The Don, our star cook, kza, keydeck, ulysses, weemun.. to name but a few. If we do go on tour we should definitely take out life insurance before the time, maybe we can even get cowgirl to let us ride her.

@majorbummer

Mooo to you! But I will not let you ride me!

Andrew, Andrew, be no fool.
Poetry is not your tool.
Do you think you will get better?
That you’ll become a real trendsetter?

Nah!

A crappy lot we’ll always be.
And the Light we shall not see.
Bad poetry, it is a sin.
So how can we salvation win?

God on Toytown did appear.
But He found our poetry queer!
Not one Godly poem did He post.
So I guess in Hell we’ll roast!

Oh, the Lord He was so near.
There at Shiva drank his beer.
Laughing Godly laughter,
Imagining us in Hell ever after.

Andrew, Andrew, we are doomed.
Down in Hell we’ll be entombed.
But at least, don’t you despair,
Surely God will be aware:

Cowgirl and MajorB are guilty, too.
So down in Hell, Cowgirl will moo.
We can feast on veal forever,
And truly lonely we’ll be never.

I guess the Major will be saved.
For her, the road to Heaven’s paved:
She knows too much about the Lord.
God’s afraid she’d spread the word…

Oh MajorB, I’m begging you!
Please tell God to save us, too!

(Note to MajorB: As God chose to reveal Himself in the form of a man yesterday, I do think it is appropriate to stick to “He�. I’m sure the posts were He claimed to be of both sexes were motivated by His fear of anti-disciminatory lawsuits. You can’t be too careful these days…)

Hats off to you tom_a for finding energy to rhyme this morning. Great piece of work!

Rhyming takes less energy than working, I guess...

Ode to a clear drain

at seven in the morning, eyes wide shut,
looked in the bathtub
too see some gross smut
Italian food and a ring of muck
all of it there and the drain pipes were stuck
Love, why didn't you clean now I'm here?
"For you to do it" is what I do fear
Off I go feeling sticky and tired
my feelings of goodwill have long since expired
The bits I proceeded to take from your drain
Truly inflicted a whole lot of pain
The smell in my nose till late at night
That half-decomposed rat sure gave me a fright
Love, why is there nothing to eat?
"For you to go shopping", for me to feed
At last I had a clean and free drain
A drain smelling neutral, that causes no pain
At last there was some food in the flat
And a funeral service for a half-decomposed rat
Thanks you said upon eyeing the wonder
Of the cleanest bathtub ever a yonder

Banish the use of the four-letter words
whose meanings are never obscure.
The Angles and Saxons, those bawdy old birds,
Were vulgar, obscene and impure.
But cherish the use of the weak-kneed phrase
That never quite says what you mean;
You'd better be known for your hypocrite ways
Than as vulgar, impure or obscene.
When nature is calling, plain speaking is out.
When ladies, God bless 'em, are milling about,
You may wee-wee, make water, or empty the glass;
You can powder your nose; even 'Johnnie' may pass;
Shake the dew off the lilly, see the man 'bout the dog,
Or when everyone's soused, it's 'condensing the fog'.
But be pleased to remember if you would know bliss
That only in Shakespeare do characters ----.

When your dinners are hearty with onions and beans,
With garlic and claret and bacon and greens;
Your bowels get busy distilling a gas
That Nature insists be permitted to pass.
You are very polite, and try to exhale
Without noise or odour (you frequently fail);
Expecting a zephyr, you usually start,
For even a deafer would call it a ----.

You may speak of a 'movement' or sit on a seat,
Have a passage, or stool - or simply excrete,
Or say to the others, 'I'm going out in back'
And groan in pure joy in that smelly old shack.
You can go 'lay a cradle' or 'do number two'
Or sit on the toidey and make a 'do-do',
But ladies and men who are socially fit
Under no provocation will go take a ----.

Wow!

A woman has bosoms, a bust or a breast,
Those lily-white swellings that bulge 'neath her vest.
They are towers of ivory, sheaves of new wheat;
In a moment of passion, ripe apples to eat.
You may speak of her nipples as small rings of fire
With hardly a question of raising her ire,
But by Rabelais' beard will she throw fits
If you speak of them roundly as good honest ----.

It's a cavern of joy you are thinking of now,
A warm, tender field just waiting the plow.
Its a quivering pigeon, caressing your hand,
Or the National Anthem that makes us all stand.
Or perhaps it's a flower, a grotto, a well,
The hope of the world, or a velvety hell,
but friend heed this warning, beware the affront
Of aping a Saxon: don't call it a ----.

Though a lady repel your advance, she'll be kind
Just as long as you 'intimate' what's on your mind.
You may tell her you're hungry, you need to be swung,
You may ask her to see how your etchings are hung.
You may mention the ashes that need to be hauled;
Put the lid on her sauce-pan ('lay' isn't too bald);
But the moment you're forthright, get ready to duck:
The girl isn't born yet who'll stand for 'Let's ----.'

@Didsbury's Daftest

Welcome to the Bad Poetry Society! Where have you been hiding? I have to tell Andrew about this..

@ Majorbummer

Have you tried doing a advanced google search on "When your dinners are hearty"

http://www.nurturingpotential.net/Issue10/Words.htm

MY poems are original you know!!!

@Andrew

I never said they weren't.

C'mon, I never said they were mine, did I ?! And been hiding in Hamburg for the last 25 years. The rest of the story is too sad to talk about so I'll shut up...but good to have found TT...

indeed not, but how scuzzy is it to post under a false name someone else's poetry.
Just how low is that?

then you should have said, "Oh is something that I found," and that would have been okay, but because you did not people have thought that you were trying to pass it off as your own. For example on my poem "On finding a piece of green slime" I explicitly acknowledged The Hitchhiker's Guide etc.
You must understand us regular posters to this thread are very passionate about crap poetry.
Still let us not make too much of this.

This is getting silly! Did I sign it or what ? This thread is called 'Just bad poetry`.
I made no attempt to pass it on as my own. It's just bad poetry. I've enjoyed it for many years so I thought I'd share it. I didn't realize this has to be originals only. May be I should have bothered reading through the other pages first but I do have a job to do as well. Humble apologies to anyone who feels misled, no intentions!!

ODE TO ANDREW

Posted some poems in good faith,
Should have been my own work, my mistake.
Apologized profusely, fell on deaf ears,
May be the complainant should act his years.

(no offence, just a bad poem)

Didsbury Daftest, we are all lovers of the crap poet that haunts our reptilian souls. I enjoyed reading your crap poetry, but enjoyed your own small poem here a lot more! Keep up the good work, chuck!

yeah whatever

@Andrew

I'm still waiting for your work.. your are afterall our star-crappiest-crap-poet!

Irreplaceable Lady

Proud she sits, waiting for her time to come,
That moment when she reaches perfection,
The splendour putting all others to shame,
They pale to her strength and majesty.

Her gown of nocturnal velvet,
A masterpiece of flawless excellence,
Without trimmings or sparkling trinkets,
Natural beauty reigning supreme.

Without comparison is her visage,
Skin as smooth as silken sheets,
Delicately creamy and without a blemish,
Her sovereignty to me is unquestionable.

Viewing The World From Over A Glass

Viewing the world from over a glass,
Opinions on life and his son.
Talking of wars and the chances of rain,
The country and how it is run.

Viewing the world from over a glass,
Remembering a life that's now past.
Keeping a check by the clock on the wall,
Swearing that each one's the last.

Viewing the world from over a glass,
Watching all those who arrive.
The young folk, the couples, the father and son,
The dreams that once were alive.

Viewing the world from over a glass,
Trying to reason out why.
The clock strikes the hour, the barman calls time,
With a glass in my hand I will die.

okay using Martians contemplating the Earth is a well used device, but I though what the hell, why not? I am currently working on a number of poems such a "A stripper", "When I close my eyes" and a reworking of "Zombie" by the Cranberries and was going to wait until they were all ready, but with this poem I think I have attained a new level of crap poetry and decided not to wait for the others.

The last Martian

All alone and desolate I stand
In my planet's vast deserts of blood red sand
Red with blood of my kith and kin
And soiled with the wages of Martian sin
A once beautiful and flourishing world
Long ago in darkest depths hurled
Day after day I struggle all alone
Not knowing for what I must atone
Something in the skys makes my senses keen
A round light of blue and white and green
Does it offer hope and promise?
Or is it merely an unhappened demise?
I must travel there I surmise

Into depths of darkest space I plunge
Leaving behind my Mar's red, dead grunge
The black and lifeless void of space is so vast
How long can my hope and courage last?
Will this interminable journey never end?
Before my soul is broken beyond any mend
How much longer can I endure space's pitiless cold?
Of how much more of my soul will it take hold?
For how much longer can I cope?
The third disc ahead is my only hope
At last I reach the tendrils of atmosphere
And it wipes away my despair and fear

It is a world of vast and blue seas
Of bountiful big green trees
Magnificent buildings reach proudly to the sky
Pointing defiantly to the horrors I did fly
There are so many wonders here to see
That are all strange and exciting to me
I am amongst so many women and men
And yet there is a terrible omen
I look coweringly inside my mind
And there something most horrid find
The deserts of blood red sand, that I flee
Were always all along inside me
Is there no hope for a Martian like me?

Andrew
Munich September 2005

Well done Andrew! You have outcrapped Keydeck and Tom_a (in his absence, I have to add in his defence though) yet again! Good work!

Oh no! Away for a mere week, and I've already been downgraded!

Guess I'll have to crawl back into my hole and lick my wounds until inspiration strikes again...

@tom_a

Getting the crap poet award means constant, hard work. But in all fairness I did say "in tom_a's absence". Katrina wrote a nice one yesterday on a different thread that got deleted. A shame, would have loved to see it here.

This is not mine.. but its bad (only the 3rd worst in the universe though, apparently)

Oh freddled gruntbuggly,
Thy micturations are to me
As plurdled gabbleblotchits
On a lurgid bee
That mordiously hath bitled out
Its earted jurtles
Into a rancid ???
Now the jurpling slayjid agrocrustles
Are slurping hagrilly up the axlegrurts
And living glupules frart and slipulate
Like jowling meated liverslime
Groop, I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes
And hooptiously drangle me
With crinkly bindlewurdles,
Or else I shall rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon
See if I don't.