[Roger Slater]

Lament

My heart is a lonely partygoer,
a blade of grass beneath a mower,
a summer breeze defiled by skunk
when sorrow throws me in a funk.

It used to pump my blood with glee
but now it's of no use to me
since every beat it sadly thumps
drives me further in the dumps.

Someday I hope my heart will wake
to see it's all a big mistake,
no need for cardiac arrest,
no need to even be depressed,

and then, I hope, my heart, grown hardy,
won't be lonesome at the party.
 
 

[Janice D. Soderling]

Advice to a Man Intent on Lamenting his Fate

Life has never been a joyous party
for me either. Not even when I was hearty
and hale. But my heart has worn wings
to try to see the good in things.

It's not always been easy though
I've never had much fame or dough
But a cheerful mood will get you far
and that thought has been my lodestar.

So my advice to you today
is to try it my way.

[Roger Slater]

TGIF

My
Way
Is to fly
Away

In the sky-
Way.
But why
Weigh

What I
Say
On a sigh
Day,

A Me-Oh-My
Day
Like Fri-
Day?

[Orwn Acra]

snip-snip-snip

[Janice D. Soderling]

Bob, I didn't think you could control yourself, but yes, that is a bad poem.

Orwn, I am eternally grateful that you posted this poem here and not on Non-Met.

[Roger Slater]

Thanks, Janice. But which one did you mean, TGIF or Lament? Or, dare I hope, both?

I really admire bad poets. They make it look so difficult.

[E. Shaun Russell]

Not to sound like a fuddy duddy, but I really hate the idea of putting any effort whatsoever into making a deliberately bad poem. I think there are enough bad poets out there to do it for us.

[Janice D. Soderling]

Fuddy duddies are nice people, Shaun, they keep the joint respectable.

Believe me, there is no work involved. I can do it in five minutes max.

Once I had a buddy
who tried to be a fuddy-duddy
he said my poem was cruddy
and I replied (my face a tad ruddy)
I can write much worse
verse.

1.5 minutes. Ha!

It goes quick when you don't have to bother with a rhyming dictionary or a thesaurus. Man, you don't even have to think! It is dangerous though. In my younger years I wrote greeting card verse. For money. They are no-brainers, but they really drag a girl down into the soiled and seedy parts of life.

Bob, I meant TGIF that was a baddie. But the other one, Lament, had some interesting qualities and solutions. A blade of grass beneath a mower was a memorable line, actually light verse caliber. S2 was pretty bad though, you can be proud of that one.

[Wendy Sloan]

Bob -- you done real bad, and here, that's good!
But Janice is giving you a run for your money ...

I, however, feel (diabolically) inspired ...

"Suicide Sounds"

Trapped, in this dim orb of oscillating consciousness,
trying to lift the stillborn shards of our one-time love--
Party on.

Party on, they said --
You can hear,
through the dull drift of anemic orifice
Still.
Party on.

No -- no more.
No more of the drill,
the shrill
soft heart of paralysis.
No!!!!

But it will
end.

[Janice D. Soderling]

Oh I love, love, love stillborn shards and dim orb. And soft heart of paralysis. That does indeed lift this deceptively simple poem to new heights of badness.

This poem reminded me of the night my pet racoon died. I don't think I am saying too much if I say

Pure genius.