Tag Archives: #badpoetry

This Poem…

This poem

starts off quite brightly,

being written with a pen held lightly

but, then – as so often happens –

it loses focus,

and begins to fade

like a… thing.

This poem

lacks the necessary thrill,

and leaves the reader


They say…

They say…

that ‘poetry’ cannot kill;

but, I believe,

that, though not (usually) being fatal,

it ‘can’ make you very, very ill.

Sick to the stomach,

nauseous, with the fear of vomiting,

and with a hint of acidic sourness

that pervades the nostrils,

coats the throat,

and, omitting nothing,

causes an imbalance

to the binary system.

Not that I write ‘that’ sort of poem;

no, there is no hint of cyanide in my words;

no deadly nightshade laced metaphor

that looks like a jelly sweet,

in my metrical feet.

My poetry is pure

and holy,

and wholly lacking

in anything likely

to raise the pressure

of the blood by a tad –

but, sometimes, I wish,

my poetry ‘was’

that bad.

I wanna be a poet

I wanna be a poet

just like my daddy wasn’t,

and write some beautiful poems;

but, like him, I’m not very good

at rhyming.



I burnt the bread this morning,

ending up eating toast;

then I toasted the queen

with the grill I loves the most;

she turned a golden-brown,

and I knew that she was done,

spread on top some margarine,

and a tablespoon full of hun-


National Bad Poetry Day was Yesterday!!!!

I have just heard

that yesterday

was National Bad Poetry Day.

“Oh, no!” I cried out

“I’ve missed it!”

But, luckily, when checking back I found that I had managed to write

six poems that were really


awful –

so I don’t feel so bad now.

When Haikus Rebel.

Don’t you just hate it

when a Haiku

just won’t fit the structure

and has too many syllables

to fit into three lines?

Overheard (in the undergrowth)


“And, even amongst the nibbling and the scratching of the oiks toiling round the clock around the cock and the gonorrhoea and the diarrhoea, I’m sure I heard a wood louse sobbing ‘Get me out of here!”

This is an awfully bad poem (and I said it first)

It stinks!

It stinks!

This is an awful poem
And that’s not saying
That it’s full of awe either!
Rather, it is just the wrong side
Of ‘really bad!’
And that really ‘is’ saying something.
Its redeeming feature at the moment is its length
Though it is now in the process of having ‘no’ redeeming features whatsoever.
Which is a sad and sorrowful shame –
Not really.
It is in English, I suppose;
So that could be a plus point pour tu.
But, the odd foreign phrase doesn’t help matters when it comes to clarity of meaning – n’est pa?

It has a first stanza that is too long.

And a second stanza.

And a third… And fourth.

Those are too short
And fraught with…
Nothingness in a bun dance.

This is what can happen
When poetry is attempted
Upon a Monday morning at silly o’Clock.