Maybe it's raisins in your cereal, those foul little pellets. Maybe it's a wrong number ripping you out of the bathtub. Maybe it's the guy downstairs, the one who plays Eminem at full throttle at 3AM. Here's your chance. Vent!
To provide inspiration, a great cursing poem by Robert Francis follows. (Yours need not be as long!) Like his, let your poem "take on" one of the little annoyances of life, not one of the big injustices, and let it avoid scatalogy. Have fun!
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The Buzz Plane
May my Irish grandfather from Tyrells Pass
Grant me the grace to make a proper curse on you, accursed!
You who on a holy Sabbath or a fair holiday
Buzz and circle above my head like the progeny
Of the miscegenation of a buzzard and a bumble-bee.
The great bombers I hate with a lofty hatred,
But you, Harpy, with your unspeakable clatter,
Your sputtering, stuttering, and you know what,
Queering both my music and my silence,
I despise as the perfection of pure nuisance.
Where is the wind-wailed island of mist and seagulls,
Where is the mountain crag mounting to eagles,
Where is the saint's cell, the hermit's citadel,
The nine bean rows and the hive for the honey bee,
Safe from your snoopings, swoopings, and defilements?
May your wife be a gad, a goad, and a gadfly.
May all your bawling, brawling brats never leave you peace.
May you grow bald and birds defile your head.
May your flights be tailspins and your landings crashes.
Fie, fie, fie on you! And the word has power!
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