Bad Valentine's Poetry--or any bad poetry!

[novella]

Or you could stick up under your armpit, StillI.. .

 

[Occlith]

Heart to Feart

The Heart doth beat
A pounding lump of meat
that lovers and poets
say inside
layers of muscle
Love resides

Where else
does Love rest in
the body unseen
In my liver
or my spleen

When feelings of
affection and romance
are gone to hell
Love is excreted
via the alimentary canal

 

[Ell]

How about a Valentine's limerick?

There once was a girl named Matilda
Who met a fine gent in a villa.
She got herself knotted
Then found her besotted
Was really a burly girl Hilda.

 

[novella]

Heart to Feart

The Heart doth beat
A pounding lump of meat
that lovers and poets
say inside
layers of muscle
Love resides

Where else
does Love rest in
the body unseen
In my liver
or my spleen

When feelings of
affection and romance
are gone to hell
Love is excreted
via the alimentary canal

Uh Huh, that's right baby. You are the V-master, Occlith. This is disgusting. Well done.

 

[novella]

How about a Valentine's limerick?

There once was a girl named Matilda
Who met a fine gent in a villa.
She got herself knotted
Then found her besotted
Was really a burly girl Hilda.

Points for Brokebacking!! Ell is nominated for the Golden Gob.

 

[novella]

My True Love's Arse

Okey dokey, here's my barfly's sonnet from yesterday. It's English-flavoured, for the pub crowd. Are you out there, Freya?? I need your stamp of approval:

My True Love's Arse


My true love's arse with brewer's best pint grows
And belly broadens, filled with hops and malt.
From Barman's tap his amber river flows
Through murky clouds of pubular gestalt.
My lover's aim with darts is ever true,
Though flying wobbles near the gents' room door
And by third pint his prowess may undo
And land both him and pint on barroom floor.
My love is charming like a summer pond
Flyblown, flowing, croaking in the night,
Of his private fermentation I've grown fond,
His bubbling self, his hidden depths delight.
My lover's heart is clear as local's Best
That pulls unclouded from the cellar's depths.

 

[StillILearn]

Or you could stick up under your armpit, StillI.. .

How's this:

There are those
who'd choose a rose,
But I would pose
To put my nose
Within my lover's
Greensleeve.

I could sell it to Burma Shave!

 

[novella]

You can do worse than that, StillI. I'm sure of it.



Voila! Une Poeme Terrible


'Vous êtes lamé'
Vous me parlez
'Je ne t'aime pas.
Nous ons finis.'

Regardez-la
Vous êtes stupide
Donnez-moi
Pas de cupide.

 

[StillILearn]

Et voila! Une Poem Worse!

Si les mots pourraient tuer
Mes orteils se dirigeraient vers le haut au ciel
Mais j'ai le coton en mes oreilles
Et ordures pour prendre l'offense.

 

[novella]

Yowza, this is really testing the limits of my Franglais, but I'm getting a kind of "I'm rubber, you're glue" kind of message here, ,what with all the ears full of cotton. Nice one.

 

[StillILearn]

Yowza, this is really testing the limits of my Franglais, but I'm getting a kind of "I'm rubber, you're glue" kind of message here, ,what with all the ears full of cotton. Nice one.

To do any worse than that, I would have to resort to my dung beetles, and I didn't know how low we were going to stoop.

 

[Occlith]

where oh where
can novella have gone
oh where oh where can she be
with skin so pink
and jaundiced eyes
oh where
oh where
can she be