http://www.deadlounge.com/poetry/index.html
Why is this so much fun? :o
The 21st century American business version of the same.
Hah! I didn’t need such artificial means to create bad poetry. I did it all with my imagination. I’d post some here, but I have some regard for the sensibilities of my fellow beings.
You scoff. But you haven’t read my poetry. I have, and it ain’t pretty. And it was a earnest attempt to write good stuff, too, which makes it all the more horrible.
Here’s a poem I’m making up as I type it:
I once had a cat
it was very fat
fat cat sat
I had a favorite hat
on top lay the cat
cat shat hat
I was really pissed at that
So I grabbed a baseball bat
fat cat splat
thank you, I be here all the week.
::strapping Vogons to Poetry Appreciation Chair::
::clearing throat that makes noise like cat in death throes::
::grinning evily::
::straightening poetry with a flick of wrist::
A-hem!
*petticoats, tag, games
twistin’, screams, whippin upside the head
Oh, well, gone now
job, robbing, yeah
jake gone, burying, see dog
think it’s a monster
figure I’d shoot you
Oh, first class comfort
helicopter, hmm eight o 'clock
well, I’ll bite you
says the snake your holding
contact pilot, contact pilot
and press green button
darling can’t come
too dangerous
oh, contact helicopter piot
take us and get gas
paper, peanut, daughter
charlie, second
night, stay here
miss you floor
hit the floor
tell you in hall
listen to you
I’d rather not
this sci-fi production
brought to you by
Taco bell!!!*
Now, tell me how good my peotry was(says me)
-Actually, I liked it- (say vogons)
What?
-I liked it-
You lie!
-I never!-
Kill them!
-But I liked your poem!-
::Looks down at peotry, lips curl up::
Death’s too good for them.
Isn’t it strange what you can get when you pull words from the TV?
Untitled
Slender beams of accusation enter
this darkened hall as I kneel,
always a slave, always in prayer,
frozen here,
waiting.
Robed forms wrought in panes of glass loom as
dust dances in the air,
forming an image in my mind,
penetrating my naked flesh.
Terror on a deathless face.
I raise my head, now submitting to
this oblivious salvation.
:rolleyes:
That poetry generator is fun!
stv
untitled
I am chained here, bound to loss:
thirsting through this bitter agony,
heart so bleak and dead.
this dread so severed,
a deathly abyss,
hurled away;
yet I wish for
your lips so frail.
Where’s my black turtleneck?
Not poetry as such, but I used to make up new lyrics with the girl I used to sit next to in History lessons at school (God, can that really be 14 years ago?!?). I can only remember a few lines from Elvis’ Are You Lonesome Tonight?
Are you lonesome tonight?
Do your pants fit all right?
Are you sure that they’re not falling down?
You should get a new pair,
With a little more flair,
And show them off all over town.
cough Well, um, yes. Next!!!
Squints and waits for post count to be revealed. I think I must be on about 5 now with the ones that I’ve lost…Hell, what will my Mum say? I can’t just say I lost them, she’ll never believe me…Disaster! Calamity!
In the lurid light
of a dead soul, burning
moribund gods laugh
at the altars of their sons –
waiting.
Even they don’t know why.
Their eyes,
gelid stars of indeterminate nature,
and uneven distribution,
hurl silent accusations
at the tonsured heads
of their howling prey.
Then, they feed.
(I can’t even blame to poetry generator for that one. I just made it up. Hope it didn’t cause anyone to gouge out their own eyeballs, but I couldn’t resist. 
)
How pathetic. I can’t even get smileys right.
But on the other hand, my feelings of inadequacy cry out to be expressed in more poetry!
Or not.
“burning
moribund gods laugh
at the altars of their sons”
That sound you hear is the universe collapsing into a bottomless void of suck. 
Thanks for sharing, Tenar!
Toidy pot, toidy pot, in the sky
Flushing poo, from up so high
Don’t look up, don’t even try
Or you’ll get poo, right in your eye!
I think this is the most underrated Java-applet ever.
Just check out this literary genius :
Alone in Darkness
the night falls with a silent sigh, stricken are we.
the understanding for which you pine
flares once, then dies,
swallowed by madness.
all hope must surely perish.
your heart beats no more.
how could you tear us asunder?
shadows surround us, crying,
we are fallen.
Actually it sounds like the poetry I once wrote in my pubescent angst-phase.