Sunday, August 18, 2013


Today is Bad Poetry Day, people!

AKA just another day on Vogon.
Here's my favorite bad poem of all time:

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Most poems rhyme,
This one doesn't.

Here's my second-favorite bad poem of all time:

If there's a bustle in your hedgerow,
Don't be alarmed, now,
It's just a spring clean for the May queen.

Dude, that's deep.
The good thing about bad poetry is that it belongs to the people. Anyone can create it, anyone can appreciate it. Anyone can be bad at poetry. Besides raising kids, what other activity gives you that opportunity?

There's always politics.
Here's my entry for Bad Poetry Day. Try it, it's fun.

by Chuck Baudelaire
A kernel of wisdom
From your ear to mine
So silky and husky
And often refined
You're a stalker, you wave at me
I watch you grow
You're my bread, you're my meal
And I relish you so
Though you've been through the mill
Still you're ready to pop
But these puns have grown corny
Time they ground to a stop.

That's good bad stuff.


  1. My love, in your wan
    wickedness there are so many things to love

    the way you pop a zit
    the way through a crowd you shove

    the way you yell at people
    waiting in line to pay the electricity bill
    the way you slap around at mosquitoes
    and curse when you cannot kill.

    My love, in your puffy pettiness
    there is so much to adore -

    the way you leave messes for others to clean up
    the way you slam the door.

    The way you throw around your weight to the peons
    and bow and scrape to the bosses above

    the way you snivel and you cavil
    the way you sneer at my love.

    This poem is all I have to give
    my only gift on heaven or earth
    and if you don't clean up your act, my darling
    much worse things will find birth.

  2. A Poem (more or less)

    Always drunk
    like a skunk
    but not as smelly
    with vodka in the belly
    makes me wonder
    how you blunder
    at writing a blog
    but your mind does not clog
    yes you be funny
    funny funny funny
    You see I drink too
    I do I do I do
    but vodka's not my sin
    it's gin gin gin

    Hooray Hooray
    It's bad poetry day


You're thinking it, you may as well type it. The only comments you'll regret are the ones you don't leave. Also, replies to threads make puppies grow big and strong.