Originally posted in General Talk (as if the poem's not bad enough, I had to go and embarass myself by mistakenly posting it there too!):
You asked for it, Carol. I don't know if this is the worst I've ever written (how could I possibly choose just one), but it's a sample from a whole collection of bad poems I wrote when I was about sixteen.
Swallowed
Her feet hit the floor gently
it's been a long, short time
since there's been such an absence
no waking to screams
and dreams that speed the heart
no hands trembling, no memories
It rains
without the sweet tippity-tap
that attacks the roof
hanging stagnant in the air
there's a silent, opaque
sea of water
Into the closet she reaches
chooses one of thousands
of long, straight, black dresses
that hang for miles and years
without disturbing the complacency
Night clothes fall from her body
slowly melting, dripping toward the floor
which neads itself into a soft dough
a thick paste
a watery batter
swallows the garment
and becomes whole again
the shower yields only
thick, soft, clouded air
her black hair unchanged
unmoved, unpolluted
by difference
everything swallows everything
and dictates no requirements
her run becomes a trot
becomes a shuffle
is a drift
asleep is awake is asleep
no happy, yellow, tortured sunshine
no green death fields
no blue screaming skies
no violet crocus hope
Now I flat-out dare anyone to do worse than that!!
Ginger
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