THE ART OF BAD POETRY

Oscar Wilde quote: “All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling.” Maybe so, but you can’t blame a guy for trying.

A few days ago, in pondering the possibility of posting a post of putrid poetry for BAD POETRY DAY (August 18th), I took the precaution of reviewing a decade (my blog began in 2009) of August posts to make sure I hadn’t previously perpetrated poetic perfidy on unsuspecting readers on this day. Unluckily for you , I found that I’ve never posted a post on Aug. 18, so we’re good to go….make that, I’m good to go. Or bad to go. You have to stay, because if you don’t, you’ll break my poor art — and that wouldn’t be polite.

Perhaps you think that my calling bad poetry an art
doesn’t pass the smell test, like calling passing gas a fart.

Not to put you on the spot, but was that a bad-ass poem, or what?
Granted, it has a perfect rhyme, but is that such a crime?
As bad poetry, I still say it’s sublime….speaking of which, I’ll have you know there are actually high-class contests to determine how low a bad poem can get, such as:

With that behind us, it’s time we get back to sum-more of my cool august poetry:

CLOCKING OUT

Hickory, dickory, dock,
The doc ran up the rock.
The rock was more slippery
Than doc’s hickory dickory,
So down he fell, which cleaned his clock.

HAIR APPARENT

A Whig party wig
Is my saving grace —
It diverts your gaze
Away from my face.

I WILL ONLY STOOP SO LOW

I don’t do windows,
I don’t do lawns —
But when I doo-doo,
I do do johns.

And with that, I bid you a fond adieu-doo.

 

ZEE POET OR ZEE COMIC – WHICH EEZ MORE MORONIC?

In my April Fools’ Day post, I noted that April is NATIONAL HUMOR MONTH. As a poet of sorts, wouldn’t it be funny if April also happened to be NATIONAL POETRY MONTH?

Well, as you might guess,
it turns out that, yes,
that is the case….
and this is the place
where poetry and funny
join together as oney
until death do them party
or are doomed from the starty
by comic rigor mortis
or a poet out of sortis.

Oui, mon ami — this is going to be a post which joins zee art of zee poet with zee art of zee comic, and if you don’t like zee combinaison, you can lump eet. What’s more, I’ll do more such posts, zee likes of which will have you begging for merci. So if you know what’s not good for you, you’ll take eet and like eet….or take eet and fake eet. I’m not particular. (I’m also not hungry — I think I eet too much.)

Understand, I’m not one of those poets who doesn’t understand what he has written, but somehow expects zee reader to. Non, mon ami, I understand perfectly what I have written. It’s YOU who I expect hasn’t a clue. Why is that true? I have no clue. And, frankly my dear, I don’t give a fous (pardon my French).

Unfortunately, I see that my allotted time for this post is almost up, so zee funny poems I was going to publish here must wait until next time, for which I apologize. Thank you for your very kind attention….or, as zee Hoosier Hot Shots more etiquettely and poetically put it:

FRENCH LICKS / ROMAN WRINKLES

PARIS IS NOT NICE, & NEITHER IS NICE*

If we would please in society, we must be prepared to be taught
many things we know already by people who do not know them.
–Nicolas Chamfort, French writer

Beg pardon, Monsieur Chamfort, but since when have the French (even the
Nice* French) had a reputation for giving a damn about pleasing anyone?

*Nice (a city in France) is pronounced “NIECE” in French

• * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

NOSING AROUND THE HILLY ROMAN EMPIRE

The Eternal City of Seven Hills
Has more holy grounds than a catacomb.
But — be it ever so rumpled —
“There’s no place like Rome.”

Ah….Roma!

Arrivederci Roma!

BABY, IT’S COLD OUTSIDE!

I don’t know what the weather’s like where you are, but where I am, there was snow yesterday, today’s wind chill is below zero, and tomorrow morning’s predicted low temperature is minus-five degrees….but do I mind?

SNOW JOB

Take this job
and shovel it!

NORTHERN EXPOSURE

Around here, when you say
“Have a nice day” —
You won’t seem a fool….
Believe me, it’s cool.

GET IT

OBSESSION

buy Calvin Klein;
sell futures.

WIT HAS A MESSAGE

Ah.
Ha.

PHILOSOPHY A LA CARTE

I think, therefore I am.  –Rene Descartes

Monsieur Descartes, famed French philosopher, was born on March 31 and is considered to be the father of modern philosophy. Coincidentally, mistermuse was not born on this day and is considered to be the fodder of modern poetry. It is only fitting, therefore, to celebrate the day with appropriate Cartesian poems:

DESCARTES EPITAPH (1596-1650)

I thought,
therefore
I was.

PHILOSOPHICAL SKUNK

I stink,
therefore
I am.

PHILOSOPHICAL APE MAN

I Tarzan,
therefore
you Jane.

PHILOSOPHICAL PSYCHIATRIST

I shrink,
therefore
I think.

PHILOSOPHICAL JAZZ MAN

I think,
therefore
I jam.

PHILOSOPHICAL ABSENT-MINDED TRAVELER

I think I am
there — for
what, I know not.

PHILOSOPHICAL SHEEP

I think like ewe,
therefore
I lamb.

PHILOSOPHICAL MUSE

I think,
therefore
Why am I?