Category: Bad Poetry (Page 1 of 2)

“Trees” By Joyce Kilmer

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

* * * * * * * * * *

In the 1930s the federal government purchased 3,800 acres of old growth forest in North Carolina to stop extensive logging. The tract of forest was dedicated to the memory and service of Kilmer.

Kilmer also has a service station names after him on the New Jersey Turnpike.

“The Song Of The Cow” By Beto O’Rourke

I need a butt-shine,
Right now
You are holy,
Oh, sacred Cow
I thirst for you,
Provide Milk.

Buff my balls,
Love the Cow,
Good fortune for those that do.
Love me, breathe my feet,
The Cow has risen.

Wax my ass,
Scrub my balls.
The Cow has risen,
Provide Milk.

The Profane Poetry Of Zhang Zongchang

    • He was nicknamed “The Three Don’t-Knows” because he didn’t know how large his army, treasury, or harem was.
    • He started assigning numbers to his concubines because he couldn’t be bothered to remember their names.
    • He brought his elderly mother along in parades and consulted her for campaign advice.
    • He “accidentally” shot the cousin of former Chinese emperor Puyi while cleaning his rifle. It was most likely because the cousin was banging one of his concubines.
    • Before a battle he promised that he would either come home victorious or in a coffin. He lost the battle, so he returned being paraded in a coffin, smoking a large cigar.
    • When there was a drought, he went to the storm god’s temple to pray for rain. When he entered the temple, he went up to the statue of Zhang and slapped it, saying “Fuck your sister! How dare you make Shangdong’s people suffer by not giving us rain!” The next day, he ordered his artillerymen to fire into the sky until it rained. It rained the next day.
    • After seeing a basketball game for the first time, he allegedly asked “Why the hell are they fighting over a single ball? We’re the hosts. Are we seriously this poor?” He ordered all the players be given a basketball.
    • After a battle there wasn’t enough gold and silver to make medals for the officers, so he had makeshift insignia fashioned from the colored foil paper lining the insides of cigarette packs.
    • He found out one of his officers was having sex with a concubine of his. When he confronted them, he found out they loved each other and let them marry.
  • His penis was allegedly as long as a stack of 86 silver dollars (~9.31 inches).

These are the poems of Zhang Zongchang (dubbed “China’s Basest Warlord” by Time):

“Poem About Bastards”

You tell me to do this
He tells me to do that
You are all bastards
Go fuck your mother

“Praying For Rain”

The sky god is also named Zhang
Why does he make life hard for me
If it doesn’t rain in three days
I’ll demolish your temple
Then I’ll have cannons bombard your mom

“Untitled”

Someone asks me how many women I have
I really don’t know either
Yesterday a boy called me ‘dad’
I don’t know who his mother is

“Lightning”

I saw lightning in the sky
It’s like God wants to get lit
If God isn’t lighting up
Then why is there lightning?

“Visiting Mount Tai”

From afar, Mount Tai looks blackish
Narrow on top and wide at the bottom
If you flipped it upside down
It would be narrow at the bottom and wide on top

“Visiting Pengai Pavillion”

What a pavilion
Place is fucking nice
If the gods can get here
I’ll take a seat too
Have a drink by the window
Sing some songs to the ocean
Play some cards
I think I’ll get drunk

“my heart attack” By Rosie O’Donnell

its a semi-sunny monday
the light bouncing off the flat hudson
mish is sitting next to me
i am happy to be alive
last week i had a heart attack
here is what happened
on tuesday morning
while walking in a parking lot in nyack
i heard a loud commanding voice
“can u help me”
more of  a demand than request
a challenge – a plea
i turned and saw an enormous woman
struggling to get out of her car
she was stuck
“can u help me? she asked again
as i walked toward her
“oh u r rosie odonnell”
yes i am
the ghost of christmas future
me – if i did not wake
there r no accidents i thought
as i braced myself and lifted her
it was not easy
but together we did it
she was up and on her way
with gratitude
a few hours later my body hurt
 i had an ache in my chest
both my arms were sore
everything felt bruised
muscular – i thought
strained or pulled tissue
i went about my day
the pain persisted
i became nauseous
my skin was clammy
i was very very hot
i threw up
maybe this is a heart attack
i googled womens heart attack symptoms
i had many of them
but really? – i thought – naaaa
i took some bayer aspirin
thank god
saved by a tv commercial
literally
i did not call 911
50% of women having heart attacks never call 911
200,000 women die of heart attacks
every year in the US
by some miracle i was not one of them
the next day i went to a cardiologist
the dr did an EKG and sent me to the hospital
where a stent was put in
my LAD was 99% blocked
they call this type of heart attack
the Widow maker
i am lucky to be here
know the symptoms ladies
listen to the voice inside
the one we all so easily ignore
CALL 911
save urself

xxx

“Remembrance Of Who I Am” by Britney Spears

No more chains
That you gave me.
Enough of pain
Now I’m craving
Something sweet, so delight
How do you stand sleeping at night?

Silly patterns that we follow
You pull me in
I’m being swallowed.
By the ones you think you love
They pull you down
You can’t see up above.

Manipulation is the key
They screw it in
Because you’re naive.

You come to me now
Why do you bother?
Remember the Bible
The sins of the Father.
What you do
You pass down
No wonder why
I lost my crown.

You don’t see me now
You ask yourself why
My crown is back
And it’s way too high
For you to be in my presence
Especially my son
You should bow down
I’ve only just begun.

The guilt you fed me
Made me weak.
The voodoo you did
I couldn’t speak.

You’re awakening
The phone is ringing.
Resurrection of my soul
The fear I’m bringing.

What will you say
And what will you do?
She’s not the same person that you’re used to.

You trick me one, twice, now it’s three.
Look who’s smiling now
Damn, it’s good to be me!

**This is for everyone who thinks they know me…

“Ode On The Mammoth Cheese (Weighing Over 7,000 Pounds)” By James McIntyre

We have seen thee, queen of cheese,
Lying quietly at your ease,
Gently fanned by evening breeze,
Thy fair form no flies dare seize.

All gaily dressed soon you’ll go
To the great Provincial show,
To be admired by many a beau
In the city of Toronto.

Cows numerous as a swarm of bees,
Or as the leaves upon the trees,
It did require to make thee please,
And stand unrivalled, queen of cheese.

May you not receive a scar as
We have heard that Mr. Harris
Intends to send you off as far as
The great world’s show at Paris.

Of the youth beware of these,
For some of them might rudely squeeze
And bite your cheek, then songs or glees
We could not sing, oh! queen of cheese.

We’rt thou suspended from balloon,
You’d cast a shade even at noon,
Folks would think it was the moon
About to fall and crush them soon.

“The Late Sir John Ogilvy” by William Topaz McGonagall

Alas! Sir John Ogilvy is dead, aged eighty-seven,
But I hope his soul is now in heaven;
For he was a generous-hearted gentleman I am sure,
And, in particular, very kind unto the poor.
He was a Christian gentleman in every degree,
And, for many years, was an M.P. for Bonnie Dundee,
And, while he was an M.P., he didn’t neglect
To advocate the rights of Dundee in every respect.
He was a public benefactor in many ways,
Especially in erecting an asylum for imbecile children to spend their days;
Then he handed the institution over as free,–
As a free gift and a boon to the people of Dundee.

He was chairman of several of the public boards in Dundee,
And among these were the Asylum Board and the Royal Infirmary;
In every respect he was a God-fearing true gentleman,
And to gainsay it there’s nobody can.
He lived as a Christian gentleman in his time,
And he now lies buried in the family vault in Strathmartine;
But I hope his soul has gone aloft where all troubles cease,
Amongst the blessed saints where all is joy and peace.
To the people around Baldovan he will be a great loss,
Because he was a kind-hearted man and a Soldier of the Cross.
He had always a kind word for every one he met,
And the loss of such a good man will be felt with deep regret
Because such men as Sir John Ogilvy are hard to be found,
Especially in Christian charity his large heart did abound,
Therefore a monument should be erected for him most handsome to behold,
And his good deeds engraven thereon in letters of gold.

The Poetry of Lillian E. Curtis

Lillian E. Curtis was born in Chicago in the mid-1800s, and she published two collections of poems. A third was written but was destroyed in a fire before publication. Thankfully, these gems survived.

“Only One Eye”

Oh! She was a lovely girl,
So pretty and so fair,
With gentle, lovelit eyes,
And wavy, dark-brown hair.

I loved the gentle girl,
But oh! I heaved a sigh,
When first she told me she could see,
Out of only one eye.

But soon I thought within myself,
I’d better save my tear and sigh,
To bestow upon some I know
Who has more than one eye.

She is brave and intelligent,
Too she is witty and wise,
She’ll accomplish more now, than many
Who have two eyes.

Ah! You need not pity her,
She needs not your tear and sigh,
She makes good use, I tell you,
Of her one remaining eye.

In the home where we are hastening
In our eternal Home on High,
See that you be not rivaled
By the girl with only one eye.

“The Potato”

What on this wide earth,
That is made, or does by nature grow,
Is more homely, yet more beautiful,
Than the useful Potato?

What would this world full of people do,
Rich and poor, high and low,
Were it not for this little-thought-of
But very necessary Potato?

True ’tis homely to look on,
Nothing pretty in even its blow,
But it will bear acquaintance,
This useful Potato.

For when it is cooked and opened,
It’s so white and mellow,
You forget it ever was homely,
This useful Potato.

On the whole it is a very plain plant,
Makes no conspicuous show.
But the internal appearance is lovely,
Of the unostentatious Potato.

The useful and the beautiful
Are not far apart we know.
And thus the beautiful are glad to have,
The homely looking Potato.

On the land, or on the sea,
Wherever we may go,
We are always glad to welcome
The homely Potato.

A practical and moral lesson
This may plainly show,
That though homely, our heart can be
Like that of the homely Potato.

“The Stuttering Lover” By Fred Emerson Brooks

I LU-LOVE you very well,

Much mu-more than I can tell,

With a lu-lu-lu-lu-love I cannot utter;

I kn-know just what to say

But my tongue gets in the way,

And af-fe-fe-fe-fe-fection ‘s bound to stutter!

When a wooer wu-wu-woos ,

And a cooer cu-cu-coos,

Till his face is re-re-red as a tomato,

Take his heart in bi-bi-bits,

Every portion fi-fi-fits,

Though his love song su-su-seem somewhat staccato!

I ‘ll wu-worship you, of course,

And nu-never get divorce,

Though you stu-stu-stu-stu-storm in angry weather;

For whu-when you ‘re in a pique,

So mu-mad you cannot speak,

We ‘ll be du-du-du-du-dumb then both together.

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