I swear, I blinked hard about fifteen times the first time I read it, thinking I had it wrong.
I still have no idea what the girl meant.
Fans of poetry jokes will like this: it’s a streaming file from the Prarie Home Companion website, a sketch with Poet Laureate Billy Collins.
Funny stuff.
LC
P.S.-
This is just to say
That the file I linked is totally legal
And the mods should probably leave it intact
For it is so funny and witty and good
This is just to say
That I forgot to put the link in my last post
And you should forgive me for padding my post count
For I am so stupid and forgetful and dumb
Those of us who forget
To post our links have much regret
Perfect beings we are not
We make mistakes a lot
So no need to fume and fret!
My first post 
Oregon coast poetry
If you’re walking down the path
and you see a Slug
bend over, pick it up
give it a Hug!!
Go ahead, do it!
It don’t bite or kick
Prove that you Love it
GIVE IT A LICK!!!
I think that in poetry, the line between the sublime and the ridiculous is the thinnest. When I remember, really REMEMBER, a poem with a…ummm, unique turn of phrase, I have to wonder if I remember it because it’s bad, or because it’s so good?
Therefore, the absolute worst poetry is poetry that really tries to be good, because you can’t hit rock bottom unless you aim for the stars! 
Written on the spot:
The room was painted a deep, dark red.
No candles, no flowers - romance was dead.
Her, and me, and the empty bed.
“You know, I love you,” I said.
It sits, gently
bleeding it’s life blood
onto the table.
The light reflecting off the blade
flashes back its grim rictus.
Disembowelled, empty, it waits.
It’s innards steaming in the pie dish beside it.
The Halloween pumpkin.
I thought it sounded like something from PsychoBabble.
(Not mine…a friend wrote it after being inspired by several works of fellow high school students who suffer from multiple persecution complexes)
“The Blood Conspiracy”
The rabid wolf rips at my calves
Falling, bleeding into the sea
The shark takes my arm in one lunging bite
I sink into the sky, floating in space.
The aliens rip out my eyes
I am as the government made me…
Dead!!!
Ode to A Day’s Hard Work:
When does a flower become a “weed”,
and when does a weed become a “flower”?
I ponder this
as I study the recumbent tracter tire
I grew flowers in last year.
The lush plant life
has since
swallowed the tire whole.
Are they flowers?
Are they weeds?
I throw down my trowel in disgust.
I sigh.
I bend over
and reclaim my trowel.
I wave it over the entire tire
like a royal sceptre:
“I dub thee FLOWERS!”
Then, hiking up my overalls,
I stretch, I scratch,
and I go inside for
a cold one.
“A Flea,” by Beadalin, age 8 (circa 1983):
My sister cot a flea
It’s color black as ink
And when my sister cot it
She washed it down the sink.
Transcribed as originally written.
" Ode To A Grecian Formula’s Urn "
Oh relentless marching Time you
Bastard who demands a rhyme.
You filter mitochondrial spattered gray
Through stealth of night and bright of day
I think I can, I think I can, I think I can, I think I can
You say you know the Muffin Man? Yes, you know the Muffin Man !
The pumicey glassine deadly ashes plastic fantasic punchy bashes
Knowing that we age with grace,
Fair of hair and full in face.
Devoid of artful craft or skill
The living poem I did kill
Iambia taps a wicked Pentameter
Violating wordsmiths tight parameters.
-fin-
Cartooniverse
( written about three minutes ago. )
Ode to a Lover
I like your body
I like it a lot
I like your body
I think you’re hot
I like your boobs
They’re like big boulders
I like your boobs
They’re under your shoulders
I like your butt
It makes me smile
I like your butt
Let’s do it doggy style
I like your legs
They’re long and lean
I like your legs
And what’s in between
I wrote this poem
It came out of my head
I wrote this poem
Now let’s get in bed
When I stare hard
At you
And after a while
Your features blur
I know
I’m drunk.
Let’s go.
Nobody’s said it yet, so welcome, kaycee!
My haikus to moving out of my dorm:
I am moving out
My clothes are in the suitcase
But what of my shoes?
Precious ethernet
In the dark land of dialup
I shall miss you so. 
RAH-RAH-REE
Kick 'em in the knee
RAH-RAH-RASS
Kick 'em in the other knee
The Samurai Pimp
I killed my prostitute
with a nunchukka stilletto
outside her destitute hovel
in the Tokyo ghetto.
She showed it with elation
A whore should not where that dress
so far above her station
It’s color was ashes of roses
I think.
There once was a boy from Kentucky
Who was quite exceedingly lucky.
When he walked down the street,
Each person he’d meet
Would hand him a large rubber ducky.
My passion was tres quick to pop
And my heart did quite speedily stop
As my newly aquired
Object of desire
Said, “Hey, by the way, I’m a cop”
Well, you asked for bad poetry.