Bad Poetry Corner

Hello everyone.

For my homepage, accessible at the bottom of my posts, I’m going to be adding a new link called Bad Poetry Corner - Haiku Hell and I need some material to put there. I’m asking anyone who would like to contribute to post their bad poetry to this thread. I will give the writers credit, using your real name, screen name, or anonymous if you desire.

Now I’m looking for BAD here people. Intentionally bad, unitnentionally bad, goofy, funny, whatever, as long as it is original and lacking in quality.

[sub]Not all contributions will be accepted.
No purchase necessary.
Void where prohibited.
MA residents add sales tax.[/sub]

BTW, just because haiku is mentioned doesn’t mean submissions need to be haikus. All form of bad poetry are welcome.

Here is the only haiku I have ever written:

Too many syllables
Not enough syllables
Too many syllables

I wish I were an ocean, because I’d be so wet.
I think that’s because it’d be easier to shower, but where do you get the soap to wash an entire ocean? And how exactly do you get it to shower? Do you tell it “Hey, ocean, go take a shower!”? Seems to me it could just send a freaking tidal wave on your ass and soak you silly, and then it would laugh to itself (in little waves, and then bigger ones, or something, I don’t know) and beach a whale on your ass just to make its point.

Maybe I should be a desert.
Deserts don’t sweat. They do, however, attract a surprising number of stubborn idiots who think “Hey, I’ll drill a well here 300 feet deep so I can drink groundwater that doesn’t support basic vegatation! And if someone comes here to try and take my . . . big plot of sand and wind and 120-degree temperatures, I’ll fight them with a weapon that gets really hot, instead of pouring water on them so they boil alive.”

Or maybe I should be a marsh.
Yeah . . . I’ve always loved fatal diseases, and I want to know just how many mosquito bites I can get in an hour. I wonder if I can cover my entire body in bites in a day . . .

Maybe I should be a mountain.
They sweat a lot. They also attract a large number of idiots (not to be confused with sherpas, which are paid, highly-trained idiots) who try to climb big-ass mountains with pathetic tools like ice picks, which tend to get stuck in the ice and leave your ass exposed to temperatures that would make Siberia wet its pants, which would then freeze up . . . you gotta admit, that’s a funny mental image . . . this big, strong Siberian wearing his Siberian pants, only there’s this wet thing in them that froze up, and he’s crouching and bending and grabbing his nuts and trying to prevent his pecker from freezing off 'cuz he just pissed himself. AND he’s still got that ice pick to worry about.

I think I’ll just stay home and nap. I don’t think I can hurt myself that way.

Unless, of course, that pesky Boogeyman comes again.

Ok, I like those two, but do you guys have titles or should I come up with one? Also, do you guys want to be credited under your SDMB handle, which is going to be the default if I don’t get a preference one way or the other.

And I just had another idea: If you have a homepage, let me know, and I could make the author’s name a hyperlink if you want.

Hmm . . . a title.

I was thinking of “Jack Handy and Dave Barry present . . .” but I didn’t say “I am not making this up”, so that doesn’t really work.

How about . . . “I wish I were an ocean, because I’d be so wet.”

Here is my homepage.

SDMB handle is just fine, CF. My actual name is on my homepage, so . . . :slight_smile:

A Wrestling Based Ode to Stinky Paws… by hardygrrl
Like the Rock, you are electrifying,
Like Stone Cold Steve Austin, you are the Stunner.
Like Jeff Hardy, you are my Swanton Bomb.
Like Scott Steiner, you are my Big Poppa Pump.
Like Rob Van Dam, you are the whole f’ing show.
Like Triple H, you are that damn good.
[sub]Coming up next, An Ode to Sammy Sosa.[/sub]

Good post hardygrrl, cuz posting about your beloved Stinky Paws never gets old. :stuck_out_tongue:


Sue me Crunchy. :slight_smile:

You asked for bad poetry,didn’t you?

Ode to my Ex-Roommate

Not one damn spoon in the entire house !

I’m surprised he left the breadcrumbs;
To feed our little mouse.

Oh Ive got two cheese graters;
And dust-bunnies to spare.
But leave a spoon for my Waffle Crisp ?
Why, he wouldn’t dare.

Yes he took the dining table, toaster oven, microwave, and TV;
But the only dishes he left were dirty, as far as I can see.
Oh he didn’t forget the can openers, George Foreman Grill or Ginsu knives;
But he wouldn’t take that rusted-out, beat-up, petrified, ten-speed if
it would save his life.

I’ve got junk-filled boxes, dirty towels and dingy rugs;
Ashes in the fireplace and plenty of dead bugs.

I counted 57 twist-ties, 2 empty bottles of Windex;
A container of Oxy-Kleen {which had exploded in a mess).
33 other widgets bought at the Mervyns Employee Sale.
16 half-burned candles, broken glass - and 14 rusted nails.

He forgot to bring the scrapes and scratches on the apartment floor;
But why am I not surprised he left the hole in our front door ?

Oh he took just about everything;
(Of course the Ab-Roller I can do without).
But not one tiny spoon !
Dude ! Whats that all about ?

Maybe you hadnt noticed, but I’m not young and able.
Do I look like I can eat my cereal with this oxidized Soup Ladle ?

I can hear the heating bill dropping quickly;
And the electric bill feels light.
I guess that’s what happens;
When you don’t leave the TV on all night.

Dont get me wrong now:
Some things about him I will surely miss.
Like stealing Quarters from his bedroom, when he goes to take a piss.
(Or when I trick his girlfriend into giving me a kiss).

…and this marks the end of my little dis.

- Lockfist, San Francisco

You can call mine “Dysfunctional Haiku” unless I can come up with a more pretentious-sounding title for it.

By the way, anyone with the slightest interest in Bad Poetry needs to check out Teen Poetry Corner.

A small excerpt:

The above, by the way, is apparently intentional badness. I hope.

I wrote this for a bad poetry contest a few years ago, and while it didn’t win it has gained me some measure of notoriety. The speaker is a scientist from the American south who has gone to Antarctica to study the penguins, and gotten a bit too emotionally involved with one of his research subjects.


Dear Muriel, I must leave you now,
It breaks my heart in pieces;
But I have a wife and kids in Alabama
Who are of my own species.

In the icy Antarctic night
I found comfort in your feathers.
O cruel prejudice! Cruel society
That won’t let us stay together.

To dwell with you on frozen shores
Is my profoundest wish;
But alas! I cannot raise your chicks
For I can’t regurgitate fish.

In any case, I must return,
For my research grant was cancel-ed.
How I wish I could bring you home with me
To share the comforts of my bed.

But stern are the laws of Alabama,
And sharp the penalty
For the man who, driven mad by love
Commits bestiality!

If I brought you home, I’d lose my job,
I’d have to get divorced;
I could spend up to ninety days in jail
(Though that law is seldom enforced).

O life is hard in Alabama
For the love that dares not speak its name;
But worse is the fear that some wretched hunter
Might mistake you for some sort of exotic game!

So please be careful, Muriel my sweet,
If you ever make it to Montgomery,
You must hide in the one place you won’t stand out:
Get thee to a nunnery.

My Dog is Fat

My dog is fat.
He wears a hat,
And likes to chase that cat.

He runs around,
Makes barking sound,
And buries crap he’s found.

And then one day,
I’m sorry to say,
A car hits him and there he lay.

So we did stuff
His carcass with fluff,
And in our living room he looks buff.

We got a new dog,
Sleeps like a log;
But don’t tell little Timmy it’s really a hog.

ode to the SDMB

remember in grade school
the teacher had that barrel
on its side with an axle
and a s l o w - t u r n i n g crank
to copy tests with
and that purply ink
that smelled funny
and not really good
but you couldn’t stop
whiffing it?

Is it any wonder this thread got 0 responses?

An Ode to Sammy Sosa

Lounging in the outfield,
barely moving a muscle.
The ivy shadows him as he watches the ball go by.

Shall I stretch and reach the ball,he ponders?

No, I may strain a muscle and ruin my stance,he decides,

As he watches the ball go by.

I woke this morning and went about my day,
What a boring thing, but what can I say,
I did things that I normally do,
took a shower, and made a little poo.
I ate, went to work, Oh what fun,
Just another day, under the sun.

Super Bunny, chocolate car.
Driving down the treetrunk burns
Hungry hippos looking for leather
Hungry for what? Tiddlywinks on a windowkill
Tits bum nude oops!

You motherfucker!
I hate you like an asshole.
Suck my dick and die.

Lather, rinse, repeat.
Shampoo is not that much fun.
Lather, rinse, repeat.

There are more where these
came from; I can’t remember
any more right now.

Here’s some haiku I scraped up:

A spot on my rug
marks the very place where you
knocked over your wine.

The back of the fridge
is a petri dish, of sorts.
Mold cultures abound.

I once felt inspired.
I just can’t recall why, but
I once felt inspired.

[sub]Unfortunately, I’m sure I can write more.[/sub]

There once was a man named Jed.
He barely kept his family fed.
He shot at some food,
And up came the crude.
Please turn off the TV in my head.


When I was young
I was
Not as old as I am now

Now that I am older
I am
Not so young as I used to be