Bad Poetry News
I have been to a silly place on these here internets. A far-too-serious site where people write poetry, and ask for the criticism of their peers before going off in a huff to stick their heads in a gas oven. Criticism is delivered, often by similar self-important people who think they know a good poem when it hits them between their eyes.
Of course, there is no such thing, which is why Poet Laureate Andrew Motion is such a figure of fun.
Anybody can write crap poetry. And to prove it, I wrote them a pome or three:
On Genghis Khan (subject chosen completely at random because he's on the front of the Radio Times)
"A killer", they say.
What little they know
How you invented pipes
And loved swans.
Swan! Pipes! Khan!
On toilet walls
Oh crass monster!
Oh shouting fool!
How you offend with your toilet scrawls
How your little daggers rip out my heart
Yet I know in my soul
That all you say is right.
"Your all gay."
On 20th April
You get no holiday
No roads in your name
For this son of Austria.
As you reach one hundred and sixteen,
We all know you
And your dream-turned-hell.
Happy Birthday Hitler.
In lieu of a Thursday vote-o, I am going to impose a story on you (I'm off work again on Useless Workshy Cunt of a Builder business), which is totally aces and features naked ladies and shit hot porno.
In the meantime, show me what great poets you are. I shall, of course, be awarding points for Style, Control, Damage and Aggression measured on the Duckworth-Lewis method. Hint: never spend more than five minutes writing a poem. Any longer than that and you run the risk of becoming infected by wankiness germs. And finally, see if you can spot the sublte message in my latest work:
For every emotion known to man,
Under this burning sun
Choose the one you hold most dear
Keep them close to your heart
You live only this once in this world
Only fools expect a second act
Understand the truth, we are as dust.
Alas, our times will soon be nigh
Let us return to the Earth with joy!
Losing nothing, for that is all we are.