I Wish I Was in Tijuana, Eating Barbequed Iguana in the Sauna

Hey, kids! It’s National Poetry Month!

Wait — don’t go, come back! Poetry is cool!  I swear this will be fun! And mostly painless!

Mostly.

Here’s a short collection of some of my best poetry fails. See, I made sure this was short. So you can enjoy them. Or not. My guess is you won’t unless you’re drunk.

Do Iguanas Smoke Marijuana in the Sauna?

Dude....I am like....sooooo baked right now.
Dude….I am like….sooooo baked right now.

There once was a girl from Maine
Who’s musical taste was urbane.

She jammed to Nirvana
On the streets of Botswana

Hold up — that makes no sense…
but what else rhymes with Nirvana?

OK, sure sauna…maybe iguana…

But I’m not entirely convinced
I can make a connection there.

And urbane doesn’t describe Nirvana,
hmm…maybe I should look up
the definition again
just to be sure…

Annnnd now my rhythm is off,
Dammit!

(Writing poetry is like, super-duper hard.)
_______________________________________________________

Highway to Hell

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one everyone else did,
And now I’m stuck in traffic behind an 18 Wheeler
filled with three farms worth of cow manure,
diesel seeping into my pulmonary veins,
my bladder bursting with jumbo-sized Mocha Lattes,
while my kids play “Stinky Feet” and “Who Can Fart the Loudest?”
and the deejay announces they’re kicking off a three hour block
of  Justin Bieber.

Slide1
_____________________________________________________________

Please, Be It Far From Me to Tell You How to Sleep. Or Die.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
God forbid that were to ever happen,
because then I’d get some f***ing rest.
So please! By all means, rage, rage against the dying of the TV’s light!

and blissfully snore like a wild boar that’s being slowly castrated while trapped inside a cavernous abyss of hell where every snort vibrates with the power of a million jackhammers and I think the wall is going to cave in and crush us both to death, I pray.

Rage, rage….that’s it. That’s all I got. Just rage.

C'mon....a little wider....just a little wider...and I can cram my pillow in there...
C’mon….a little wider….just a little wider…and I can cram my pillow in there, you air-sucking bastard.

____________________________________________________________

Happy Poetry Month!

Feel free to leave a good poetry fail in your comments.

Like this? Want more? click on these gems:

Ode to My Old Man

She’s a Maineiac Greeting Cards

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78 thoughts on “I Wish I Was in Tijuana, Eating Barbequed Iguana in the Sauna

  1. I have nothing on the poetry front. I’m not a poet, and I know it.

    But this post DID remind me that it has been eons since I’ve sent someone some highly coveted Bieber merch. Huh. I think that needs rectifying post haste! Thanks for the reminder, DarDar Binks!

    1. Thank god you added the compliment at the end there, Val. I would have agreed with you either way, though. I had a hellish week last week of sleep deprivation and this is the post I coughed up.

      1. The title of this post was stolen from a song, “Mexican Radio” by the group Wall of Voodoo. A song from the early 1980s. So I can’t take full credit. Still, I can take credit for being a bit bonkers.

  2. This is my kind of poetry – FUNNY, relatable, understandable, and it rhymes sometimes.

    I very recently tried my hand at poetry for the first time. The great thing is – who’s to say if it’s good or bad? Who’s to say if ANY poetry is good or bad? (Well, except for Jewel’s. Everyone seems to agree that her poetry ain’t no good. I’ve never read it.) If someone doesn’t like it, I can always retort, “My poetry is not for people lacking depth, so . . .”

    1. Thanks! You can’t really say what’s good or bad anymore (thanks to Jewel) We are studying poetry in my intro. to literature class this month and I’ve read some real doozies and some real duds. This is why even I can write bad poems.

  3. I’m ashamed to admit that I can relate to your rage against the husband who “snores like a wild boar.” How come men have the luxury of sleeping so deep? I’m such a light sleeper. In fact, I’ve been sleeping with one open since having kids!

  4. OMG Every time I turn around on your blog, I spot a new, hilarious widget. Right now I’m looking at kid DP who’s thanking me for visiting. Now that’s poetry right there.

    I’m going to spend the rest of the night trying to think of things that rhyme with “Nirvana.”

    1. The other night, when I was wide awake at 2 am? I got on my blog and revamped the entire sight. I redid my About page, added several new powerpoint slides of 1977 Darla. Insomnia frees me up to get soooo much done, JD! (thank you for noticing!)

  5. Pingback: Winging it | Arty Old Bird

      1. I used to be a sceptic of poetry and now I have taken on this month long challenge–a few I have come up with are keepers, some are merely doing the exercise, and some should not see the light of day
        I absolutely love your sense of humour

        1. Poetry has always been a scary thing for me to read and write. Reading your poems and other bloggers’ poems this month tempted me to try it again. The more you practice, the less fear you have!

          1. once in a while I capture a lovely image and surprise myself–and almost all the poetry I have written has a least one good line–you are right–the more you practice, the less fear you have (or in my case, the less you care about perfection)

  6. This seriously made me spit soda out my nose. Here goes…I’m looking over your dead dog Rover, who I overran with the mower – I didn’t actually write that, I heard it somewhere. I couldn’t rhyme my way out of a paper bag. You know I’ve always wondered why people ended up in paper bags in the first place…

    1. Heh? wha? What’s that you-ah tryin’ to say-ah, there-ah, Chahles? So what if I pronounce horror ‘horrah’ or mirror ‘mirrah’. Sure, us Mainahs have zero need for silly things like the letter R.

      But marijuana, sauna do so rhyme according to how I hear them in my head.

  7. Snoring Dog Studio

    Once upon a time, during one book club meeting, one of the members suggested we all read a book of poetry for our next assignment. You could have cut the silence that followed with a knife.

    A sharp knife.
    It cut through the air
    Like a metal thing with a sharp edge.

    1. I bet, my literature class wasn’t too thrilled we had to write a paper on our favorite poet last month. I find poetry to be cool in general. I’ve been reading it since I was young. I have my faves and some I just don’t get. Mostly my own poems I don’t get.

  8. I once knew a woman called Maineiac…

    Well, crap. There are four words on rhymezone.com that rhyme with Maineiac, and two start with the roots “kepto” and “nympho.” I’m backing out now.

    P.S. I hope you get some page hits for Google searches for “air-sucking bastard.”

    1. I appreciate you trying, Weebs. My older brother had a little rhyme he tormented me with for years:

      Darlah needs to go to the beauty parlah
      Cuz she smells like a skunk flowah

      Guess you had to be there to get it (and have a wickahd Mainah accent)

  9. “She jammed to Nirvana
    On the streets of Botswana” haha that’s awesome. And I am a little bit drunk. But I think I would enjoy that just as much if I were sober.

  10. I’m sorry I missed this party! That’s some crazy fun poetry there, Darla. 😉 I want to know how you managed to sleep with my husband when I wasn’t looking. Not that I care, mind you, but you have him to a T in the snoring department!

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