Ice cream and sun should never meet. For here is an ant teeming puddle, spreading 'neath my bare feet.
Try to read between the lines It's a matter of time Time heals all wounds All's fair in love and war I saw the writing on the wall All's well that ends well
Original...ditto. Ditto...original. Origin...domino... Hey, wait a minute...gremlins the have seized the keyboard.
It is late, my brain is toast, But even in bad poetry's form, I cannot slam. In words and nuance, I am the happy clam.
I've essentially made bad poetry my career (shameful plug), so I should be able to do this ... I Won't Go Down to the I won't go down to the Pizzeria or the shop For as of late there is no hunger So I will not jump or hop Not hop down to get a pizza Or drop or pop by my local man Nor go to any groceries-selling store Oh, no, my life is such a boring chore I worry about my healthy wealth sometimes As I hang around doing the dishes But I don't think I'll die of thirst Even though I don't drink I love the careful whisps of summer As they fly and I starve myself But nothing stranger ever happens Than when I stand alone
Smoking crack in my 'Lac Ass fat; needs a smack Hunnid NyQuil bottles in my pack You ain't shit; you look like Jack When he fall off that beanstalk My Instagram is bein stalked Yo page just seemin hot My syphilis is bein hot Aw shit, bitch, now I need some Advil Penicillin needles hurt worse than my ass will When my momma beats it Tell me keep them clothes on Tired of them STDs; this the eighth one When someone's breathin stop from lean You know it gon be me Benadryl and NyQuil Spiders is what I see
roses are red, violets aren't violet, oranges are green, who needs to explain why a day is called a day? glucose is bad, silence prevents violence, normally that means all other names remain when the n-word's not okay.
I thought one day upon a meadow bloom That all its ripeness will be gone too soon And that beauty is but an ephemeral thing That momentarily makes our hearts sing But as the flower will shrivel away Or the last act of a memorable play All men will approach their final day This could be entitled an ode to the transience of being- or some such crap. I find a lot of poetry quite cringe-worthy to be honest.
Please eat your dinner. Please eat your food. Quit throwing the potatoes, Quit acting so lewd. Stop hitting your sister, Stop licking his knee. These kids are exhausting, Is there wine in the fridge for me?
Preposterous, ridiculous, the octopus Your momma, she looks like a platypus I stuff in gargantuan jargon with pulchritude prose Because a thesaurus is all I own Fuck shit damn, now that I have some attention Let me show why an ass suffers from anal retention
Bad poetry is mutually exclusive Don't want to sound abusive But there's no such thing as a bad poem just because you don't understand it. Therefore this poem is good.
If you fart The fart to end all farts, The fart that levels forests, The fart that makes even Superman say, “Oh, come on!” The fart that makes even the gods on Mount Olympus scurry like rats, The fart that pickles cabbage on other planets, The fart that echoes throughout all time and space, The fart foretold in the most ancient of prophecies, The fart of Armageddon and Ragnarok, If you fart that fart, Your name will be carved into mountainsides, Never to be forgotten, And you will likely have to change your underpants, And you will be entombed in a large mausoleum, Preferably one lined with lead or something.
Is it a poem? Is it a riddle? There is something here... There is something here... Right in the middle. Is it a poem? Is it a riddle? Nah...just a mess...
along that path to the arched bridge as you dangled me on at the ridge of a tempermental binge drinking again
I am the last pickle floating in a briny sea in a jar pushed to the back of the fridge Won't someone Eat me.
Here's three attempts: 1: Don't ban me for cussing Don't ban me for language No warning? Such fussing, It was obviously coming. . . . ... Fuck. 2: Could a poem Under any circumstance have a Naturally satisfying deeper meaning? Well of course, Take a look at what I spelled vertically. 3: Roses are red violets are blue except they are violet I mean look at the fucking name Whoever came up with that poem was dumb and don't give me they are blue because they make people sad or sound a blues scale when hit with a tuning fork. The person meant color, they said blue, they were wrong. Violets are fucking violet. End of story. . . And to think my day was going well before this.
Haikus are easy. But sometimes they don't make sense. Refrigerator. I wish I could take credit for that, but it's been floating around the internet for a long time.
Roses are read That much is true, But violets are violet And not fucking blue! I, too, wish I could take credit for this one.
Hack poet. Quack poet. These words are mine. Hack poet. Quack poet. No claim to fame. Hack poet. Quack poet. My words all the same.
There once was a dog who lived out by a log, and made friends with a frog. They got drunk on some grog, then engaged in a snog. They moved out to Prague, because the frog liked to clog, and the dog liked to jog, and the natives of Prague take no notice of a dog and frog having a snog. They're quite progressive that way.
