Limericks are hard. Harder than Sonnets, even.
There once was a girl from St. Lime
Who couldn't get limericks to rhyme
She said "It's all fine
"Till I hit the last line
"And then I just give up."
An old man who lives on Mount Dense
Writes poems that don't make much sense
A bird on the arm
Is a fish in a farm
Squid fiddle, blue Armstrong, one pence.
An activist stood by a tree
He muttered "I'll make change for free"
And then one fine night
A man said, "I'll bite"
"Your change is a buck ninety-three"
A woman known only as "Vowel"
Swore in Chicken, and caused a great howl
"Your words are so crude
"And their usage so rude
"Don't you know that your language is fowl?"
I'd write some more limericks, it's true
But I simply don't know what to do
I'm all out of twists
And I've mucked up my wrist
Writing all of these limericks for you
And now I'm done, and I never have to write another limerick again. Thank God.
Thursday, 10 April 2014
I Told You There Would Be More (75-ish Lines of Free Verse)
Yes, more poetry!
Zombie Love Poem
To my sweetest, dearest, deadest
When I look upon your bones
As they poke above your muscles
And I hear their creaking moans
As we shuffle oh so slowly
So as not to lose our limbs
You set all my flies aflutter
I give in to all their whims
As our flesh melts off our bodies
As it puddles to the floor
To me you look fresh bitten
And I love you even more
So my dear I wrote a poem
And my fingers fell off, too
But I wrote it for you anyways
I wrote it just for you
And I hope you like my poem
For you know I took great pains
Now let's go and find some humans
And then eat their tasty brains
Brains
B r a i n s
brrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
No one does romance like Zombies
Another Poem about Poetry
When one is writing poetry
For English class, the poetry
Is often not-good poetry
With nothing much to say
And so to pass, the poetry
Is tongue-in-cheek-style poetry
I call it meta-poetry
It's what I wrote today
In fact, this meta-poetry
Is meta-meta-poetry
Because I can't write poetry
That's clever and sincere
I stick to meta-poetry
And half my classroom poetry
is tonuge-in cheek-style poetry
And has been all this year
I'll write more meta poetry
But meta-meta-poetry
Is rather tiring poetry
And so I'll pass the ball
And relish meta-poetry,
Cause, really, meta-poetry
Is better than no poetry
No poetry at all
Okay, so those were the more poem-y poems that I just put in this section because I like them. Now on to the more artistic-ish stuff.
Insomniac
Tick
One
Breath. . .
Tick
Two
Breath. . .
Tick
Three
How long has it been?
Breath. . .
Tick
Four
What time is it now?
Breath. . .
Tick
Five
Oh . My . God
Breath. . .
Tick
Six
How much longer is this going to take?!?
Breath. . .
Tick
SEVEN
I am so freaking tired.
Breath. . .
Tick
EIGHT
Focus. Stop thinking. Breath, Breath, slow down, slow down
"Twitch"
Eyes closed in out in out slow down easy calm even if it three in the morning
and i can't sleep and and i have school and a test and sometimesitmakesmeso
madandicouldscreamorcryorpunchsomethingor-
Crap.
Tick
One
Breath. . .
Fun fact: This is actually based on how I try to get to sleep. It works. Most of the time.
And now one more.
Hearts
The human heart
Is the most powerful organ in the body
It pumps five litres of blood
along 60,000 metres of veins
for a lifetime
And it never gives up
Muscles don't break
They bruise
And tear
and hurt like hell
But they do not break.
I am sick of metaphors
That make the heart weak
fragile
a blown-glass phial
Shattering on a moment's notice
The human heart is the most powerful organ in the body
and it does not break
Well, that's all folks
More to come
Zombie Love Poem
To my sweetest, dearest, deadest
When I look upon your bones
As they poke above your muscles
And I hear their creaking moans
As we shuffle oh so slowly
So as not to lose our limbs
You set all my flies aflutter
I give in to all their whims
As our flesh melts off our bodies
As it puddles to the floor
To me you look fresh bitten
And I love you even more
So my dear I wrote a poem
And my fingers fell off, too
But I wrote it for you anyways
I wrote it just for you
And I hope you like my poem
For you know I took great pains
Now let's go and find some humans
And then eat their tasty brains
Brains
B r a i n s
brrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
No one does romance like Zombies
Another Poem about Poetry
When one is writing poetry
For English class, the poetry
Is often not-good poetry
With nothing much to say
And so to pass, the poetry
Is tongue-in-cheek-style poetry
I call it meta-poetry
It's what I wrote today
In fact, this meta-poetry
Is meta-meta-poetry
Because I can't write poetry
That's clever and sincere
I stick to meta-poetry
And half my classroom poetry
is tonuge-in cheek-style poetry
And has been all this year
I'll write more meta poetry
But meta-meta-poetry
Is rather tiring poetry
And so I'll pass the ball
And relish meta-poetry,
Cause, really, meta-poetry
Is better than no poetry
No poetry at all
Okay, so those were the more poem-y poems that I just put in this section because I like them. Now on to the more artistic-ish stuff.
Insomniac
Tick
One
Breath. . .
Tick
Two
Breath. . .
Tick
Three
How long has it been?
Breath. . .
Tick
Four
What time is it now?
Breath. . .
Tick
Five
Oh . My . God
Breath. . .
Tick
Six
How much longer is this going to take?!?
Breath. . .
Tick
SEVEN
I am so freaking tired.
Breath. . .
Tick
EIGHT
Focus. Stop thinking. Breath, Breath, slow down, slow down
"Twitch"
Eyes closed in out in out slow down easy calm even if it three in the morning
and i can't sleep and and i have school and a test and sometimesitmakesmeso
madandicouldscreamorcryorpunchsomethingor-
Crap.
Tick
One
Breath. . .
Fun fact: This is actually based on how I try to get to sleep. It works. Most of the time.
And now one more.
Hearts
The human heart
Is the most powerful organ in the body
It pumps five litres of blood
along 60,000 metres of veins
for a lifetime
And it never gives up
Muscles don't break
They bruise
And tear
and hurt like hell
But they do not break.
I am sick of metaphors
That make the heart weak
fragile
a blown-glass phial
Shattering on a moment's notice
The human heart is the most powerful organ in the body
and it does not break
Well, that's all folks
More to come
I HAVE RETURNED! (WITH TWO SONNETS!)
Greetings, all! I return to you now with some original compositions; in this instance, Sonnets
A Sonnet to Unproductive Criticism
"What were you thinking? This is so inane
I can't believe you ever wrote this down
It is so pointless that it causes pain
It's crap like this that makes me want to drown"
"What a load of trash this is, I see
What an utter waste of precious time
Why even bother rhyming in line three?
It simply is inferior to mine!"
"Okay, that's great, but what about some tips?
A good critique always includes suggestions
What useful notes, what editing, what snips?
"Um..." "So that answered my question."
"I'd do it so much better, don't you know!"
"Okay, that's it, it's time for you to go."
Ahh, there is truly nothing finer than passive-aggressive vengeance enacted in Sonnet form.
Sonnets are Hard
O, tell me, why are Sonnets hard to write?
When read, they seem so easy, so relaxed
the flow so simple, at least if you're bright
That with it, poet's minds remain untaxed
A painless scheme, with rhythm uncomplex
A basic fourteen lines, split into four
A B A B, etcetra does not vex
And then the couplet sounds, and then no more
So tell me why, whilst penning this here verse
I find myself completely strapped for time
It's likely some old kind of Sonnet curse
That leaves me running out of things to rhyme
Who cast this ancient curse? I do not know
But now my Sonnet's done and I can go
Yay! Poetry! More to come!
A Sonnet to Unproductive Criticism
"What were you thinking? This is so inane
I can't believe you ever wrote this down
It is so pointless that it causes pain
It's crap like this that makes me want to drown"
"What a load of trash this is, I see
What an utter waste of precious time
Why even bother rhyming in line three?
It simply is inferior to mine!"
"Okay, that's great, but what about some tips?
A good critique always includes suggestions
What useful notes, what editing, what snips?
"Um..." "So that answered my question."
"I'd do it so much better, don't you know!"
"Okay, that's it, it's time for you to go."
Ahh, there is truly nothing finer than passive-aggressive vengeance enacted in Sonnet form.
Sonnets are Hard
O, tell me, why are Sonnets hard to write?
When read, they seem so easy, so relaxed
the flow so simple, at least if you're bright
That with it, poet's minds remain untaxed
A painless scheme, with rhythm uncomplex
A basic fourteen lines, split into four
A B A B, etcetra does not vex
And then the couplet sounds, and then no more
So tell me why, whilst penning this here verse
I find myself completely strapped for time
It's likely some old kind of Sonnet curse
That leaves me running out of things to rhyme
Who cast this ancient curse? I do not know
But now my Sonnet's done and I can go
Yay! Poetry! More to come!
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