Come one come all We have to buy A ping pong ball Or is it tennis of the table? To disinguish never am I able Anyway, down the way Which is a street We walk Meet a bum We talk He does hum We walk, away He hums anyway Alone I groan You have left me On my own I must also buy a tepee But only you know The location of the Mohawk mall So I stall Like an old bus No gas No you Where to? To buy a ping pong ball. Alone. I groan.
Don’t palaver that you love me Rather blather that you don’t Don’t dare swear by stars above me That you will and that you won’t! Be sincere in adulation and I’ll be pellucid in mine. Calibrate your intonation So it’s not a morbid crime.
If these walls could talk, what would they say? They seen you and I become very randy.... Please don't tell walls. For our spouses will quit.
Just a reminder that the purpose of this thread is to create deliberately bad poetry as a writing exercise - not to post poetry for critique If you want to do the latter you need to use the appropriate section of the workshop (this relates to posts that have been deleted not to the post it now suceedes)
The soft moose in the room Speaks His words unwording words That should have worded In a different place. He is moderate He is big We are warned
I have of late, lost my desire and the ability to concentrate. I start a poem in earnest, but alas my attention span is not wh
Climb the Pebbled Grasslands Climb the pebbled grasslands See the nearest eye I have what the girls want I've got this fancy scythe Climb the pebbled grasslands, come, and see for yourself the fields are so rough and rugged, and so smooth and soft Climb the pebbled grasslands My hands are shaking I am overwhelmed They should call them the bad-ass-lands Come and see the the badasslands They're totes awesome, dude They're really rad shake-your-hands lands You better come in the nude
The masses desire what I cannot give, Poets for hire For acclaim they live. But alas poor poet, For the masses are fickle, You and I both know it And here we are in a pickle.
Leaking dripping throbbing Purple hyacinths Rosy bushes moaning Lousy petals falling On a meadow green Higher wider stronger Oaks over ravine Leaves are thrown all over Creek is boiling splashing Thrusting boulder in With wings over the shoulders Swan on meadow green Bending neck, no longer Holding silent scream Faster stronger broader Waves are in the creek When I will grow older I will write for longer Rainbow sparkles glowing Through the drops within In forgotten garden Wanderer unseen Swipes this little screen
The elephant said "Excuse me, have you thought about just letting me be? You talk about me Like I'm a bringer of doom But have you though how it feels To be the elephant in the room?"
My muse is little fairy, She lives in petals jungles, She needs me less than air. She always is somewhere I looked in my junk boxes I walked into the attic She was not there flying I still will look for her
I had no plans to join in, but I just wrote this horrible piece of unholiness. I call it... Wind. As a nail in the wind, I do not move very far. As I lay there be-hind, you surely prove ev'ry bar. A star. As a nail on a hill, they prob'ly roll like a car. You have no time to kill. Stor-ming is your role. Blow me far. My star.
Having many things I'm driven to distraction Never finding peace Craving only action Go away! I'm busy.
It is like a summer bee that I to a flower flee for as a man of many minutes only as a flower be I free And to like or not to like my hair, my body my brain all polished like a new bike why then do you not love me? It is like a spring deer that I the truth near for as a being of many moments only lies shall I ever fear So to love or not to love my voice, my charm my smile all glittering like the sun on the Nile why then are you not my dear?
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My land has palm trees where the songbird sings the birds that sing here don't scream for help like the people in my basement
In every way on every day I for existence pay Why why? It all hates me the moon the sun the sky not even pleasure I gain from gramma's pie All is pain my life, a drain every moment every sound haunts, taunts, hounds my lonely brain
There was a young fellow called Reg, Who went with a girl in a hedge. When along came his wife With a big carving knife, And cut off his meat and two veg.
A few verses I remember from a very strange poem some friends and I created on summer's day a long time ago. I'm pretty sure it qualifies: Love. Love. Love. Hate. Hate. Hate. Broken. Broken. Broken. I Lost my body on rocks. frozen puppy tails their roots the bodies of angels I forgot these two lines Beneath trees I wept my world lay broken the food was gone my mother It went on... We lost the original manuscript, and it is now a half remembered meme.
My crappy limerick The was an old mid-wife called Barry Who had a lot on her back to carry Her muscles were aching The sun, hot and baking Burden is he to whom she would marry
I was inspired by a towel of all things for this goofiness - Dudley the drunken dragon drank tankards of ale and wine he guzzled and slurped and let out a burp turning castle to smoking shrine Dudley the drunken dragon strapped an iceberg to his head normally a charmer please don't clank your armor he feels like he's on his deathbed
War war it never changes as we charge on horseys sick their skins covered in manges jump we do over the fences my sword arm tenses as my whip I flick the destrier's speed increasing our enemies soon shall be deceasing War war it never changes as we roll in tanks booming their hulks our cages crash we do through fences my trigger finger tenses as my sight is zooming the tank's gyrations worsening our foes soon shall be cowering War war it never changes as I lie on me bed lice on me head tap I do onto keys my data stream freezes as my heart explodes the blood's flow ceasing I hope my funeral will be pleasing
