Bad Poetry in 100 Words or Less · Humor

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.)
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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
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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.

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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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Bad Poetry in 100 Words or Less · Family

Ode to My Old Man

How do I love thee?
Let me count the ways

 I love your shaggy hair,
the gentle glimmer in your eyes

I love that your mom tried to dress you
just like Prince, only pint-size.


I love how your dimpled cheeks
frame the innocence of your smile,

I love that you once thought Boss Hogg
was actually considered in style.

I love how your sense of what’s ‘cool’ evolved,
My, look at how much you’ve grown!

I love that you went to your junior prom
thinking you were Al Capone.

 I love how you wore your jean jacket–
with the collar flipped up–so very hip

I love that you thought mere peach fuzz
could pass for a ‘stache on your upper lip.

And most of all, I love you for being you–my sweet, crazy, dorky partner for life.

♥Happy birthday!♥

PS For one full month I am still 41 and you aren’t anymore.

PPS:

Bad Poetry in 100 Words or Less

Stuck

Stuck

It all happened so fast
I was too careless,
my heart full of glee
blindly rushing forward,
now I’m in too deep.

Struggling against its grip
I succumb to its judgement
and await my demise.

 Suffocation threatens
my last gasp

I push

I pull

I fight

It only strengthens the vice!
Panic leaks into my soul
Will I ever be free?

Wait–could it be?
a slight give?
a sweet release?
Could my soul bear to witness
a dream such as this?

It loosens
O joy! O happiness!
busting wide open like a wave on the sea!

One!

Final!

Tug!

–my jacket zipper breaks free!

Bad Poetry in 100 Words or Less · Humor

I’m Gonna Party Like It’s One Shy of 100

Go on! Fly away, little blog posts! I'll miss you all!

Today is a monumental day for me.

This is my 99th post.

I have been blogging almost 2 years. So I’ve achieved this milestone with the same speed as molasses running uphill in the dead of winter (or as myself running uphill in the dead of winter).  I guess I should try writing more? Or running? Eh.

Why am I celebrating 99? Why the hell not?  It’s a great number, has a solid history of being cool. Like:

The song from that freaky early 80s German band, 99 Luft Balloons
The song from that freaky little purple-clad dude, (can’t remember his name), 1999
The song 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall
Agent 99 on Get Smart

Ok, that’s all I’ve got.

This Big 99th Blog Post celebration was the icing on the cake of my very exciting weekend.

Saturday was my luckiest day. I woke up and was in disbelief that I did not win the mega-huge-gigantic jackpot of 500 million bucks.  If no one else won it either, I plan on actually buying a ticket next week.

But all was not lost, we took the kids bowling. I got three strikes.  Granted, the bumpers were up. And I used both of my hands to bowl. And I put the ball on the floor first, then rolled it. Then I stepped over the line and the freaky imaginary sensor thingy was activated and the buzzer went off so my points were worthless. But I  pushed that ball with every ounce of strength I could muster and knocked all the pins down after it slowly zigzagged from side to side and narrowly missed going into the gutter. It was my finest hour. There was lots of cheering (only from me) air high fives (only I participated) and at one point, I even moonwalked across three lanes in my clown-sized bowling shoes.

After riding that high all morning (all by myself–my kids and husband weren’t that impressed), I returned home after lunch and discovered I had won Peg-o-leg’s The Jacket writing contest. I was about as shocked as when the guy at the bowling alley walked over and told me to “please stop moonwalking, people are trying to bowl and there are young children present.” (My own son had filed the complaint with management.)

Thank you, readers, for any vote(s) you threw my way. Last I knew I was in third place in a very tight race, so I’m thinking Angie somehow figured out how to vote 50 times in one hour.  In honor of winning the prized green plaid jacket, I will videotape myself in it twirling a baton because I am just stupid enough or just don’t give a crap what anyone thinks of me anymore to do it.

Which reminds me. I am quitting blogging. Yeah, that’s right. It’s over. I am done. Finito. No more posts from this chick. I can’t keep up with all this writing and reading and then with all the constant commenting and the replying and replying to replies, blah blah blah, it just never ends. I am going to start doing wild-n-crazy things like being with my family. Talking to other people. Going outside. Letting the thoughts in my head stay in my head. Wish me luck.

So I want to thank you all, loyal readers and commenters and people who ‘liked’ my posts here and there. It’s been a great ride while it lasted.

I’ll leave you with a very short-n-sweet poem (inspired by k8edid, the Queen of Poetry, who is infinitely better at this than I am. Well, better at writing good poems, not better at writing bad poems…)

A Very Bad Poem in 99 Words

Waiting for the answer

Will it be golden perfection?

Or scorched to black?

A wasted form of what could have been?

Waiting for an answer–

It pops up!

Silencing the beating of my heart.

Heaven is within reach!

Pulsing-hot, scorching metal against skin,

Be Careful! I might get burned!

Maybe use a knife, some tongs?

Electric shock is no concern for me,

Craving to taste the divine

Pools of butter spilling

Into rivers of sweet honey,

I sink my teeth

Into the warm and crunchy,

Lick my lips and sigh,

I can make some damn fine toast.

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(oh, and Happy April Fools’ Day, if you thought I was being serious about quitting, damn, you are so gullible! If you knew I was just kidding from the get-go, then sheesh, you see right through me)
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image: deviantARTS