The worst poetry on the internet

Imagine it. They're bored. They're sittin' on the porch in their rockers going "tut tut" over the latest outrages committed by people younger than 60. They've just finished reading Women's Weekly and New Idea [which, ironically, hasn't ever had a new idea]. They figure, "I've been around a while. By golly I can teach the world how to get things right. They lay down their knitting and start muttering, "Now, what rhymes with....?"

A Thousand Points of Light	Patriotism, dog bless it, has a lot to answer for. It's killed more good men than anything else in history, and it has created some of the worst poetry and songs every committed.
-- for President George Bush
-- by Don Forse -- Copyright 1997 -- TheForse@aol.com
America is shining	American patriotism has the unfortunate tendency to become more of a religion than a case of national pride. It also tends to incorporate the brainless mawkish saccharine quality that Americans are prone to - see most of their TV shows for further evidence.
With her thousand points of light
Old glory is still waving
And her eagle is still in flight.	But this page is not about commentary on national peculiarities. This page is all about nasty poetry. Don is apparently hoping to be selected as the next poet laureate, but I doubt George gets any closer to poetry than he does to the "off" switch to the electric chair, so Don's efforts will be in vain, I fear.
God blessed her with great leaders
Generals big enough to cry
When they send her son's and daughter's	One must, however, admire Don's determined effort to use apostrophes whenever possible.
To defend her points of light.
God we thank you for America
The Red the White and Blue
We thank you for her points of light
We know their power comes from you	It is heartening to see the poetic use of apostrophes in stanza 3, and the religious refrain in stanza 3. The rhythm tends to wander from stanza to stanza: the superfluous syllable in the last line of stanza 1 and the 2 bonus syllables at the start of stanza 3 give the reader extra value for money.

(continues)
But Don's is not the worst poetry we can find out there...

Ugh! A Slug! -- by Bonnie Duckworth - Copyright 1999 -- earthquack@msn.com	Ugh! A Poem! -- remember this name. -- This is an official warning.
I liked the poem Jean Fox wrote about rain,	This is not a poem - it is an email.
it surely gives us no reason to complain,	Not about Jean's poem, perhaps, but this one is a different matter.
except in Western Washington State,	Poems handle some topics well, but this is not one of them. Try alt.gardening.
there's much about rain I could debate.	As poems go, it is, at least,quite geographically precise.
When all ya get is rain forever,	"ya"? "'bout?" "awhile"? Oh dear.
it makes you wonder 'bout the weather.
A little sunshine once in awhile,	"wanes the rustiness"? WHAT? Sun makes him/her happier? Why not just say that?
wanes the rustiness in my smile.
Now I'll be the first one to admit,	A simple sentence, hit by a runaway poetry truck, mangled piteously.
that rain we need to keep us fit.	?
If spread around it would be great,
instead of drowning just one state.
But one thing worse than rain lives here.
This pest gets worse from year to year.
With rain my flowers grow and span,	Span? Span?
until slimy SLUGS, eat all they can.	Here's the real heart of the poem: slugs! Now it gets interesting..
To bad the rain won't keep them away,	Too bad she can't spell.
they just keep coming back every day.
Now I've lost ALL love for "some" life,	What exactly does this mean, I wonder.
and sprinkle, with salt or stab with knife.	What's that comma doing there? "Stab with knife"?
I try to protect my beautiful flowers,	I hope Bonnie gets her CAPSLOCK key fixed soon. You need a driver's licence to drive. You need a shooter's licence to have a gun. But they let anyone write poetry.
from the DREADFUL slug, not the showers.
I'll take the rainfall, rust and all,
if ALL slugs would DIE before this fall!

For similar joys, visit http://seniors-site.com/poetry

O. J. and Me -- by Bruce Baker bab@iaonline.com	This poem's chief attraction is that it is short and the pain quickly goes away.
Are we quick to judge when others have set him free?	Apparently yes, if you look at the last line.
Could the color of my skin have made him guilty?	Pronounced "Guilteeeeeeee"
For months I watched the trial progress.
Always hoping that he would confess.	Assuming he was guilty, one suspects...
Now I hear him everywhere and see him on TV.
He's playing golf and roaming free.
Can I be so wrong, have my senses left me?	I think so
NO I shout, this man is GUILTY!	I didn't know you were a juror and heard all the evidence... (Sorry - not a poetic crime, a social crime)

~ Guardian of the Garden ~

A halfway witty pun in the title!
This person is old enough to know better.

He was the laughter - he was the sun
His hands were dirty when the day was done.
He caressed the roses soft and sweet -
He touched the hearts of those he would meet.

When I was a little girl - his guitar he would play -
And sing me the silly songs he made up that day.
He would take me stores with toys and candy -
Or even to places that were fishy and sandy.

~ ~ ~

(9 syllables, for future reference - we'll keep track of her psychiambic meter!)
(10) Another phrase murdered to rescue a rhyme
(9)
(9) Scan has gone to hell...

(13) And how often do you talk like THIS in real life?
(12)
(10) He would take me stores? "To" stores?
(13) "FISHY AND SANDY"? Dear oh dear.

A carwash on a rainy day - was his delight -
And sitting at the campfire late at night.
Staring up at the stars and making up tales -
About cheesy macaroni and giant snails.

I was indeed a grown woman - but he could see
The playful, little girl that I used to be,
And he would walk with me through the flowers -
He would joke away my tears and the hours.

~ ~ ~

(12) Reading other people's poems is like looking at photos of a stranger's family. In this case the photos are out of focus, with the thumb over the lens.

(12 syllables)

He was more than uncle - my friend for life -
He cared about my good times and my strife -
Like part of his garden - he treated me tenderly -
Growing up with kind hands and a grand memory.

He taught me to see his face in clouds above -
And I can hear him whisper on the wind with love.
He is the guardian of God's garden today -
The heavenly keeper where the angels play.

~ ~ ~

(10 syllables) Who had the kind hands and capacious memory?

Oh, Golly! The bucket. Quick!

(11 syllables)

This Poem Is Available for Purchase!

The real joy of this poem is the last line. I'll take THREE copies please!

Say No! To Drugs -- by Kenneth Crew -- Copyright 1996 -- kcrew@you.wincom.net	I can imagine the author quivering with indignation as he penned this ultimatum to a generation.
It is with regret I have to say, I am one of those who fell by the way. How young and gullible I have been, To start taking drugs at age sixteen.	Condescending and dishonest. Good start.
At a school dance, we stole away, To receive a high. We didn't have to pay. Our supplier friend knew what he was about. We'd soon by paying. Of that he had no doubt.
There were three of us, each one daring the other. Out in the garden, using darkness for a cover. Acting big and taking a snort of crack cocaine. Dangerous we knew, we would'nt do it again.	Err...don't you smoke crack? Another master of the apostrophe!
We didn't reckon how the experience of a high Would bring all three of us back for another try. It didn't take long for the drug to take its hold. Then we had to pay. The dealer wanted his gold.	Not since the seventeenth century, at least...
To support our desires we turned to crime. Robberies and purse snatching anything for a dime. Greater and greater the craving for more became. My two friends became members of the dealers game.	Please punctuate Apostrophe. Awkward.
To them I owe my life and my sanity. They died in a gun fight over territory. This shocked my enough to make me desire, Treatment necessary to get me out of the mire.	"Sanity...territory". It nearly rhymes. "my"? Another desperate rhyme.
The only advice I am capable of giving. Now that I am back amongst the living. Anyone with drugs, a friend can never be. So say NO! and NO! and NO! and be free.	GBH of the language. What? Say no! to bad poetry.

Last updated January 8, 2022 12:48

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Sabrina

A Thousand Points of Light

Ugh! A Slug!

Ugh! A Poem!

O. J. and Me

~ Guardian of the Garden ~

Say No! To Drugs