Poetry Recital
Those that know me well are aware that there's few things I love to hate more than bad poetry. My bad poetry radar is perhaps the most acute of all my senses - mainly because I honed it so well in high school when scrawling out my own awful stanzas. Which, incidentally, I've kept and will only show my future bride. If we get a divorce I'll have to kill her lest she releases the noxious drivel on an unsuspecting public - couldn't have that on my conscience - but that's another story. For now, enjoy some truly awful rhymes (well, not really rhymes) from that fine poetry anthology, Green Left. I've emboldened the highlights of the poems :
(Via Whacking Day)
And another!
Freedom’s Champion — for you who live in hope
Innocents skip hand in hand in pleasure’s garden,
seeking out love’s bloom and pulling the weeds
of jealousy from the field of hope.
But wait, my thigh is bleeding, I am wounded,
struck down by the vicious rumour of pain.
My life force drains away. There is no cure
I was your shield forged in love and dreams
I ran toward a bullet of persecution
aimed directly at my heart
I am your fearless hero
You are my final
breath ...
Coffin — for you who dream the nightmareARGH! The whole fuckin' abomination needs highlighting. What should you do with your heart, indeed. Good question - next!
There is a coffin on my shoulder,
Where is the graveyard?
Show me the way to the graveyard,
I have to carry this coffin,
I have to bury this coffin,
I must dig deeply in the soil with the fingertips of sentiment,
I must reach this depth with all my emotions,
Your memories are also in the coffin,
I want to bury it,
I have dug the soil,
I have found the depth of the hole in my memory,
I put the coffin in the hole,
I pour tons of soil on the coffin,
The coffin is resting quietly under the ground,
Pity on me,
I don’t know why I am so impatient,
What should I do with my heart?
I was able to bury the coffin of your memories in the grave,
But the ghost of your memory chains all my body,
What to do?
The only way is to kill your memories;
kill my thoughts,
Your dot in my heart must be erased,
How can I do it?
Because it is not a dot,
all my heart belongs to you.
My Nights — for you who are fearfulOne thing is certain. No one has ever experienced pain like this guy. Well, except the poor bastard who has to sit through his poetry recitals.
I can’t breathe tonight,
I haven’t any power that can help me tonight,
my legs are shivering,
my breath is panting,
my tears run away,
my heart is broken,
the road is narrow tonight in the land of my eyes,
mountains crumble in front of my sadness,
Rain feels shame in front of my tears.
Tonight is any night.
But I haven’t any feet or legs to run away from night,
night is mourning with black colours,
Night wears the shame in front of the sadness in my heart.
Oh, tonight is a night the same as all my nights.
Every creature is born in fear
But how can I live if I’m afraid of living
Love is a drop of fresh rain
But how can I love if drought won’t break
Oh, tonight is a night the same as all my nights.
(Via Whacking Day)
posted by James Waterton at 12:07 am
6 Comments:
Christ, James… As if the overweight naked hippy women-beasts- some with beards- weren’t bad enough, you point out that crap!
Are you trying to keep people away from your blog?
No, he's just trying to highlight that his comments are increasingly based on 'strawman' arguments. James has slowly been replacing 'Crtl-C, Ctrl-V' in place of thinking. Yes, James, we know the left are a laugh, but it's the same joke. Give us something better than the same old "um, dey stoopid" argument for fucksake. You've been given a link from the timblair.net - USE IT OR LOOSE IT, DICKHEAD! Go back and look at your better posts back in July.
I can understand your reluctance to 'come out' and stop posting anonymously. You and I both know that if you ever took me on directly, you'd "loose".
I've always found it a rather curious thing that there are people in the world (developed world) so ill-educated and so ill-bred that they truly believe that placing their banal drivel into a short line format actually makes it POETRY.
It’s NOT fucking poetry!!
heh heh... And so much 'not fucking poetry' too! Thats too much to read, why cant he write Haiku's?
How about doing a poetry recital on stage? Get people to sponsor the poets to be on the stage to recite their poems. And use that proceeds to donate to a charity or for something meaningful, just like poetry.
Post a Comment
<< Home