NationStates Jolt Archive

I wrote a poem.
This is my James Bond Haiku,
I'm so proud of it.


BOND ASKS FOR A MATCH.
GRINNING, HIS CONTACT REPLIES
"YOUR FACE AND MY ARSE"

I
Like Cheese
A lot

-Freeform yo!

Rock!

BOND ASKS FOR A MATCH.
GRINNING, HIS CONTACT REPLIES
"YOUR FACE AND MY ARSE"
Sadly, I've read much worse poetry in my time. Namely poetry rife with clichés and sentimentality. In poetry, the latter means that you tell, don't show. Good poetry shows, doesn't tell.

On a brighter note, I very recently read "The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám". It's incredible, assuming you have a good translation. The translation by Edward FitzGerald is exceptional.

I am Goat
You are Goat
We all are Goat
Why are are we all Goat?
Because you are Goat!

Ah, I see I've out done all of you again................

Sadly, I've read much worse poetry in my time. Namely poetry rife with clichés and sentimentality. In poetry, the latter means that you tell, don't show. Good poetry shows, doesn't tell.

On a brighter note, I very recently read "The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám". It's incredible, assuming you have a good translation. The translation by Edward FitzGerald is exceptional.

*has it*

Sadly, I've read much worse poetry in my time.
Me too. Anyone ever heard of a woman called Carol Ann Duffy? She was considered for the position of British Poet Laureate (if I believed in God, I would thank him that she was unsuccessful). I was forced to study her rubbish for A Level English Literature. Literature?! Allow me to quote from one of her 'poems' (called '$'):

A one a two a one two three four-
boogie woogie chou chou cha cha chatta
noogie. Woogle wop a loo bop a wop
(...continues in similar vein for a further six lines)
Captures the zeitgeist of the 1950s, apparently. :sniper: :headbang: :mad:

There was a young man from nantucket...

*lowers tone dramatically*

There was a young man from nantucket...


Who ate KFC from a bucket?

Who ate KFC from a bucket?




I hope you're joking.........

Me and a friend came up with this one ..

*puts on weird accent*

I am the sun,
I rise and fall everyday,
If i take a day off,
You all die.

* ends weird accent*

Good huh ? :D

I hope you're joking.........
well d'uh.

If your pants could talk,
what would they say?
"I've seen you naked,
ewww god, please put it away!".

Employees smoking
Off company property
I'm doing their work

Red streak of tracers
Steady thump of machinegun
Splintering tree limbs

Sunlight on windows
Office buildings against sky
Stuck inside again

Yo Ho Ho
And a bottle of rum

A E I O U
I love you
A B C D
please go out with me

If your pants could talk,
what would they say?
"I've seen you naked,
ewww god, please put it away!".


I pissed myself for about 10 minutes over this. Brilliant!!!

uhh... metaphorically.

Essay two weeks late
Only 1500 words
Damn akrasia

I really want to eat a swan
Even though it would be treas-on -----------------sorry 'bout that! :P
I'd eat and eat 'til it was gone
Surely they can spare just one.

Why will no-one post? Why?? *wrings hands*

...Love............ meee.........

Glimt's thought.
----------------

Alone to a cave, afraid and quite glum,
a poor little fellow named Glimt did come.
His story is common and you know it too.
So here is a tale of why Glimt felt so blue.

Glimt is a thinker, the best that there is.
He knew this because the best thoughts were his.
"Folk don't accept this and I have been robbed...
of deserved adulation" a lonely Glimt sobbed.

Then with great speed and remarkable ease,
Glimt thought up a thought and then he decreed
"My thought that I thought is better by far,
than the thoughts that are thought by other folk are".

The fear flew away and loneliness stopped,
Glimt was so proud of the thoughts it would mock.
"If only, if only, if only..." he cried
"If only my thought could spread far and wide".

Quick as a flash Glimt raced out the cave,
shouting his thought at folk in the glade.
He Shouted it too at the folk in the wood,
shouted it louder as loud as he could.

He stopped to admire the effects of his thought,
but folk hadn't listened it all was for naught.
"why don't they marvel at the thought I have spread,
it's my thought...the best thought" a puzzled Glimt said.

Five girls beating down the door
All bearing flowers and hearts for one
She looks the other way, longing
Two beautiful men
But they are held to each other

Not that crappy, but the story of my damn life... lesbians always like me and I always like gay guys. It sucks. I know that has nothing to do with the thread, but meh.

A local weekly magazine publishes a literary edition every year with poetry and short stories by local amateurs. This year "bad poetry" is one of the categories, with the idea of getting readers to write poems that are intentionally and hilariously bad.

I ran into an old girlfriend today,
Then I backed up,
And ran into her again.

:D

Get off your fat arse
And do some work, Great Scotia!
No degree for you.

Browsing nationstates
That's three hours you've been in here
Will you ever leave?

OH SHI
GOATSE

Less of the unnecessarily huge letters, please.

OH SHI
GOATSE

Cat Haiku
I love catnip mice
It's why I chew their heads off
They're good for breakfast

Today I must build
A replica catpult
Out of lolly sticks.

I'll rock the free world
It's for my presentation:
Siege technology

Amazed lecturers
Will give me a first, I hope
...
Now bored of haiku

Think I'll go shopping
Get some lolly sicks and glue
and elastic bands

Would you look at that.
Guess I had another one
In me after all.

" " "

I own you all. But i'm not sharing.

this may be a bit serious for this thread... but, hey, its still poetry :)
wrote this last year while going through some depression...

Wretched steel


The cause of
All my joy and all my grief,
And all the feelings
I feel beneath,
These forced smiles and white lies
That keep me from their
Prying eyes.

To them I appear, always
Happy, dandy;
The truth far from this,
Forever, sadly.

They cannot know
The pain I feel inside,
And yet it becomes harder
And harder for me to hide.

Some day the truth will out;
I will scream,
And I will shout.
I’ll let them know
What I’m really about.
No more tears
And no more lies,
And then will come
The biggest surprise –
I will show them how I feel,
Hands clasping
The wretched steel;
Thrust into my stomach
The knife: my final meal.

No more pain,
No more lies;
Smiling,
As I wave this world
My final goodbye’s.


any good?
(i have loads more btw :( )

this may be a bit serious for this thread... but, hey, its still poetry :)
wrote this last year while going through some depression...

Wretched steel


The cause of
All my joy and all my grief,
And all the feelings
I feel beneath,
These forced smiles and white lies
That keep me from their
Prying eyes.

To them I appear, always
Happy, dandy;
The truth far from this,
Forever, sadly.

They cannot know
The pain I feel inside,
And yet it becomes harder
And harder for me to hide.

Some day the truth will out;
I will scream,
And I will shout.
I’ll let them know
What I’m really about.
No more tears
And no more lies,
And then will come
The biggest surprise –
I will show them how I feel,
Hands clasping
The wretched steel;
Thrust into my stomach
The knife: my final meal.

No more pain,
No more lies;
Smiling,
As I wave this world
My final goodbye’s.


any good?
(i have loads more btw :( )

Well, I liked it... dark, brooding, gothic... just my sort of thing. :)

Sadly, I've read much worse poetry in my time. Namely poetry rife with clichés and sentimentality. In poetry, the latter means that you tell, don't show. Good poetry shows, doesn't tell.


IMO, good poetry is the writing of ones soul and it both shows and tells and when it has form it is an even higher art.

Weed is good and fun
harmless as a babies buns
dandelions i mean

The point of a thread
is to stay alive and well
this thread needs a bump

I wrote a poem.

Everyone hated it. :(

Good job I'm not a poet.

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Some poems rhyme,
And some don't.

Who ate KFC from a bucket?
But it was greasy, and he chucked it

This one is pretty good.

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And through the field the road run by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow veil'd,
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early,
In among the bearded barley
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly;
Down to tower'd Camelot;
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers, " 'Tis the fairy
The Lady of Shalott."

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.

And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot;
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls
Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad
Goes by to tower'd Camelot;
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two.
She hath no loyal Knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often through the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot;
Or when the Moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed.
"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armor rung
Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro' the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, burning bright,
Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.

In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining.
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And around about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance --
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right --
The leaves upon her falling light --
Thro' the noises of the night,
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
And around the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? And what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the Knights at Camelot;
But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."

With apologies to Gary Larson.

Cow Poetry
I see the green fields
they call me
Damn the Electric Fence, Damn the Electric Fence