Saturday, March 13, 2010

Back Off ! (A Tribute to Bad Poetry)

I am convinced something untoward happens to the brain somewhere around midnight when you've spent the entire day editing your current masterpiece and your eyes have gone all foggy. Your sanity starts to wane and before you get a chance to get your wits about you, bad things can happen.

Bad poetry, for one.

Now, I am decidedly not a poet, and I know it. But, as often happens, somewhere between that gloaming hour--between twilight and dawn the next day--literary hubris gets the better of you and bad choices can be made. Too much caffeine and too little protein is a recipe for disaster.

Or, in this case, bad poetry.


Back Off !
(A Tribute to Bad Poetry)

I understand the concept of spooning
in theory it’s heard to resist
but once it’s time to get down to real sleep
I’ll need you to cease and desist

I’d rather be the spooner
and roll off when I’m done
being stuck under a pile of appendages
isn’t even remotely fun

It’s not that I don’t like you
on a post-coital snuggle we can certainly agree
but once the snoring commences
consider the cuddling a fait accompli

Get your hand off my ass and your leg off my hip
slide your head from between my tits
I’m having trouble breathing, now--
this is as bad as it gets

I’m sweaty and stuck underneath you
feeling more than slightly homicidal
How many ways can I murder thee
and which mode of death rhymes with ‘idal?

Poison, hammer or garrote
What is your pleasure, my sweet?
Now you’ve got me pondering verse
and I punish you by kicking your feet

Back off! I scream and you jerk awake
wiping sleep from your startled eyes
When you get up to pee, I sigh with relief
something, something , something, something …guise

Shit! now I’ll never get to sleep!


I woke up the next morning with a slight headache and the knowledge that I’d actually posted this train wreck on my fantastic workshop site, The Next Big Writer.

What I didn’t expect was a guffaw-fest on reading the reviews that had crashed in; a tsunami-like deluge with unexpected delights contained therein. My fellow writers had, somehow, enjoyed my little exercise in pitiful poetry and many of their comments had me laughing out loud.

I suppose when you tackle a universal topic, even badly, it strikes a chord:

LOULOU: Your love life is a little scary. ...spoon-a-rific!

KAT NOVE: Screw good poetry! Screw it to the wall with a power drill and then hang a reproduction of dogs playing poker over it to make room for BAD POETRY! How am I to retain my title of World's Worst Poet with you around? The only advice I can offer pertains to spooning. You could do what I do - get yourself banished to a room behind the Berlin wall of boxes.

SUSAN ETHRIDGE: I've read some of your other work and writing comedy comes so easy for you, so why not stick to that and leave the poems to the poets?

FLOWING PENCIL: Picture couple million years from now as man evolves? Can you see it? They are watching scenes in their individual head as TV is no longer -- by then man simply watches the past in his mind. How confused will the poor suckers be when they see how man procreated! It will be to them as it was to us with imagining the cave man dragging woman by the hair. They had no Dr Ruth nor manual so I can only imagine what 'sex' was like. Probably she was hit over the head with club. One huge grunt and it was all over! Hmmm maybe it hasn't changed much!

JPB2NDCHANCE: Ogden Nash would be giving you some kind of medal while chiding you a bit for your rude language. LOL. Bad poetry? Maybe a little but not enough to be sent to poetry detention.

STHATCHER: I just hope you're bored again tonight…

DENNIS HART: Jeni! Jeni...Jeni...Jeni! You are dating yourself girl. …this is why woman have been awarded the wet spot in bed.

ODIN ROARK: Of course. This is Jeni… If only the subject in point were as easy to charm away. Took me many years to hook up with a mate that could tolerate your humorous roll call of night time imperatives. … you've allowed me to laugh about my nocturnal short comings…

SUSAN STEC: Show me a women that says she actually loooooves a dead to the world, sweaty, lump of weight across their body, cutting of circulation…and I'll show you a passive aggressive sadist into asphyxia.


But, what does it all MEAN, dear blog-follower? I suppose it means even the bad poem can make people smile.

And, hell, in this day and age, if that’s all it takes, I say:

Write Away! Write with wild, unfocused, unabashed, unapologetic, unrelenting, uneasy, un-rhyming, uncontrollable, unnerving, unmuzzled, unfortunate, unencumbered, unexpected… ABANDON!

It’s better than watching CNN all day and hoping for government to provide the laughs.



Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Outside Your Lines

Outside Your Lines

I am the sponge;
to absorb the frustration
imposing fists
needing, wanting, pleading
anguished cries
panic, misdirection

You, lost in plain sight
uncertainty becomes rage
verbal assault is child’s play
dodge ball of the tongue.

I am the switch;
a human redirection
a flick, a reminder
to turn on the light
and turn off the sound
change the channel

You, drowning in white noise
disorder hollows,
muddled gray matter
disintegrates the soul

I offer sinew;
marrow, and bone
unyielding essence
sense memory
when synapses misfire
ricochet past their target

You blame me
then change your mind
confusion, a dirty trickster
guilt, an invisible friend

I am the map;
to read between your lines
navigate fear, forgive trespasses
shimmy into your crevices
plant a seed of hope
expect a return on my investment

Precious tomorrows,
tomorrows, and tomorrows
an ache
a prayer
a whispered promise

one day.

(for my boys)