Dude, I wanted to make an anthology.

Hey! I won my own contest! It would seem that I’m the only person reading this blog who writes poetry that stinks! Either that or no one reads my blog.

Lets just assume the former, shall we? It would appear that you illustrious versifiers need a lesson on writing poetry that a donkey’s ass would turn away from.

First, pick a topic. Make it really, really big, something that makes you vaguely nervous. Like Love. Or, make it something like, Flowers. Next, try VERY HARD to write about it.

If that doesn’t work, get drunk. That should do the trick.

I’ll give you an example.

LOVE
by Blue Ox

Love
Lifts you up
and puts you down
down, down,
down.
Into the pit
in Hell
descending
forever
Love.

Flowers
by Blue Ox

O come into the spring, with me into the
flowers
And we will dance and make
love in the
flowers
Rainbow stretching overhead
Butterflies tickle your
ear
And lets just take a deep breath,
O Flowers, Spring Flowers are
here.

I think I’m going to hurl. But now you get the idea. Try it out! You’ll feel so much better.

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7 responses to “Dude, I wanted to make an anthology.

  1. what’s summer good for?
    too hot, too tired – i swear i
    should be noctournal.

  2. Good one! Blech!

  3. Maggie Jochild

    David Letterman once said
    It was so hot today
    Fat people were making their own
    gravy

    Yeasty
    Secret compartments
    Put some ice between your teeth
    Come try my blue plate special

  4. Thank you for your contribution, Ms. Jochild. We’ll be contacting you.

  5. Maggie Jochild

    I don’t write deliberately bad poetry, just like I don’t ride roller coasters. Terror and bad verse will come along on its own, I don’t have to seek it.

    UNNAMED

    I am so sick of being ethical
    when what it gets me is alone
    or the best pal or the one
    everybody admires but I eat dinner
    alone except for the cat who won’t beg
    doesn’t like people food, no just sits on a high spot
    watching because maybe I’ll do something
    remotely interesting
    She must be so sick of me, too
    All those lies they told us about
    how we’ll find the right match and
    getting swept away can lead to something
    and your children will appreciate you for
    the clear limits you set and
    the truth always wins out and
    listen long enough, you’ll get a turn
    and you will not be alone at the time
    of your death or the hour leading up to it
    you will not be the only person left alive
    in your whole family at age 51
    Turns out those lies really were lies
    Oops
    Look around, find something else to believe in
    Monique she’s dead too now but she did say
    There was a time when you were not a slave
    Remember, make an effort to remember
    or, failing that, invent

    Invent

  6. Joy and Pain

    Joy and pain,
    Happiness and tears,
    Hopes and dreams–

    you have killed
    killed dead
    my tongue
    like these words
    together
    have beaten
    like a horse
    (a dead one)
    the meaning from themselves.

    Bad enough for ya?

  7. I’m crying. Seriously. *sniff*

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