The problem with young poets
Is that they’re much too earnest.
They emote so gushily, you gag,
But with age, they learnest.
Note: If I could, I’d record these short poems and put the audio up here, because they have a sort of timing that is a challenge to convey. Then again…if I was trying to write good poetry, I’d try harder to meet that challenge, I suppose.
I started watching that Game of Thrones,
I realize I’m a little behind.
Y’all are about 5,000 deaths ahead
But you keep going, I don’t mind.
See, I read the books already
So I’m not exactly a newbie.
I’m not shocked by a little blood
Or the sight of the ubiquitous booby.
I’m not scared of your spoilers,
I knew more than you did to start,
But my advantage seems to have slipped away
Because The Winds of Winter are mere farts.
Yes. I’m doubting you, Mr. Martin.
Another book? He’s just pretending.
I’ve given in, I’ll watch the show,
Just so I can see the ending.
I opened up my jar of Hope,
And found it was a jar of Nope.
The stuff inside was cracked and dried.
Seems to me…my Hope has died.
On this journey through Bad Poetry August, I’d be happy to take requests, I think? Leave them in the comments. Thanks for stopping in.
When I first wrote that thing,
The shiny hurt my eyes.
It was fresh and grand and new
And SO, SO great, you guys!
I wanted to put it out there
And blind the whole damn world,
But restraint finally prevailed
And I left that banner furled.
As it sat, it tarnished,
At first just spots of rust.
Then it sprouted grayish spots
And its luster turned to dust.
I couldn’t see myself reflected
In that thing’s surface anymore.
Looking at my former pride, I
Wondered what I wrote it for.
Maybe I could save this thing!
I grabbed a cloth and paste.
I scrubbed until my fingers hurt
Repenting what I wrote in haste.
After too much time, it gleamed again
Reclaimed its place in the arena.
It wasn’t shiny, but it had depth.
That’s not rust now, that’s patina.
Note: I decided that in August, I’m going to post a poem every day, or as close to it as I can get. Since I haven’t written any of them yet but the above, which I wrote today while my son was kicking me (he’s 7 and does Taekwondo, but this was just him snuggling when he played video games), it should be interesting. Get ready for my not-so-august August. The Tiny Giant is coming along nicely, the big wrassling match ended with me on top, and my shoulders are no longer scrunched up around my ears. Time to play with the words some, since I no longer have to teach them a lesson.
YOU SHOULD BE HAPPY 