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Okay, disclaimer, I’m in a ridiculously over the top too-tired silly mood.
But Wow, I can’t believe today is almost over (for me PST) and I didn’t know that it was bad poetry day!
The link below is a classic. People submitted bad poetry from their teen years and boy, is it awash in angst and deep thoughts. It gives me a new perspective on why a certain vampire authoress may be so very popular.
My favorite is the second poem. I think my aching heart just about exploded from aching just reading it. “Hug me! I mean really hug me!” bwahahaha
Anyway, in honor of today, anyone want to make a synopsis of their story in very bad poetry?
Here’s mine: Aargh! The boy who longs to be free Is sold to the violent sea A secret light he did find Which totally blew his mind And might save all humanity
Thank you, thank you. Hey, no tomatoes, please! I sweated bullets for at least two minutes to write that. Enjoy the link!
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I can't remember writing any angst-ridden poetry...for one thing, I didn't start regularly until I was about twenty-one...for another, what I liked best at the time was lighthearted and humorous verse and I think what I wrote reflected that.
(A little more thought reveals some angst in my poems...just as well only a couple, angst-ridden and otherwise, were ever published, I guess.)
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Thanks a lot, you made me go look up what I did as a teenager. Now I realize I was way more screwed up than I thought. (I was also running on four +1 hours sleep, so it may make cents.) Here's just a little example.
The Wall
The walls are closing in there making me paranoid I see the faces of the feinds I know the pain whithin A tourture on you all A wonder on the wall for in the night and in the fight they always come to sing.
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If I remembered where I put my poetry, I'd browse through it and put any couplets or lines or phrases I thought were really bad up here for everyone to see. I'm sure they're around somewhere...buried under the accumulation of twenty years or so.
I'm thinking a reread might be disillusioning...examining my past usually is...
quote: I burned my poems Crisp and white Ne'er again my angst to write. The pain was but A simple thing When once I donned A wedding ring. The pain was twice, Nay, thrice intense From vain and foul with girth immense, That female thief with stained soul, Killed the will and left a hole Where no one but the children play, And no one but the children play.
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I don't know why, but I thought of this a day or so ago and had to jot it down. For some reason the word document I saved it to couldn't be opened, so hopefully I'm remembering it right.
I just bought some rosemary, I thought to put it in my tea, but all my herbs are in the reliquary, and I have lost the key.
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