Well, Ann and I finally got our computer and internet running. I would like to inaugurate our time with these services by creating this thread.
When I was a young man living at the dogg pound in Provo, I was walking to school with Betsy and we passed by a piece of music paper on the ground. I picked it up to see what was on it and discovered there was a poem by what seemed to be a student. There were only a couple fragments written. It read:
The President called me up today
Heavy word were what he had to say
I am a soldier! I am a soldier!
I just want to hold her
But now I can't hold her
Because I have to go and fight
The good fight
The first thing I thought was "I am reading the rough draft of a bad poem." I thought it would be interesting to see what the finished product would be like. I like how he made "soldier" rhyme with "hold her" and how he made "hold her" rhyme with "hold her". If someone can find something better, than by all means....
Bad poems
William Topaz McGonagall is often considered one of the worst poets of all time. here is his infamous poem, "The Tay Bridge Disaster" (1879):
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
’Twas about seven o’clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clods seem’d to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem’d to say --
“I’ll blow down the Bridge of Tay.”
When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers’ hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say --
“I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay.”
But when the train came near to Wormit Bay,
Boreas he did loud and angry bray,
And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight,
And the passengers’ hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they lov’d most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.
So the train mov’d slowly along the Bridge of Tay,
Until it was about midway,
Then the central girders with a crash gave way,
And down went the train and passengers into the Tay!
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,
And the cry rang out all o’er the town,
Good Heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down,
And a passenger train from Edinburgh,
Which fill’d all the people’s hearts with sorrow,
And made them for to turn pale,
Because none of the passengers were sav’d to tell the tale
How the disaster happen’d on the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the dusky moonlight,
While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
’Twas about seven o’clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clods seem’d to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem’d to say --
“I’ll blow down the Bridge of Tay.”
When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers’ hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say --
“I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay.”
But when the train came near to Wormit Bay,
Boreas he did loud and angry bray,
And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight,
And the passengers’ hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they lov’d most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.
So the train mov’d slowly along the Bridge of Tay,
Until it was about midway,
Then the central girders with a crash gave way,
And down went the train and passengers into the Tay!
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,
And the cry rang out all o’er the town,
Good Heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down,
And a passenger train from Edinburgh,
Which fill’d all the people’s hearts with sorrow,
And made them for to turn pale,
Because none of the passengers were sav’d to tell the tale
How the disaster happen’d on the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the dusky moonlight,
While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.
so let it be written... so let it be done.
by the way, there is a website devoted to the works of mcgonagall:
http://www.mcgonagall-online.org.uk/
http://www.mcgonagall-online.org.uk/
so let it be written... so let it be done.
From Thomas Holley Chivers (1807-1858)
from Raliroad Song -
Clatta, clatta, clatta, clatter,
Like the devil beating batter
Down below in iron platter-
Which subsides into a clanky,
And a clinky, and a clanky,
And a clinky, clanky, clanky,
And a clanky, clinky, clanky;
And the song that now I offer
For Apollo's Golden Coffer-
With the friendship that I proffer-
Is for Riding on a Rail.
from Raliroad Song -
Clatta, clatta, clatta, clatter,
Like the devil beating batter
Down below in iron platter-
Which subsides into a clanky,
And a clinky, and a clanky,
And a clinky, clanky, clanky,
And a clanky, clinky, clanky;
And the song that now I offer
For Apollo's Golden Coffer-
With the friendship that I proffer-
Is for Riding on a Rail.
"Condemn me not because of mine imperfection,... but rather give thanks unto God that he hath made manifest unto you our imperfections, that ye may learn to be more wise than we have been." Mormon 9:31
From Steven Mott (1979-?)
Sonnet #1031
What should I be for Halloween this year?
A grotesque zombie stabbed by bloody knife,
or chainsaw-wielding maniac o’ fear?
Those wouldn’t win approval with my wife!
How ‘bout a superhero with a cape
and bulging muscles molded out of foam?
Those tights are tight enough to squish a grape,
I’d better leave that bright idea alone…
A clown, a priest, a wizard with a staff?
I’m scared of clowns…and priests…and wizards too,
A ballerina?! Please, don’t make me laugh!
There’re some things even guys like me won’t do!
Ah well, unless I find one that is dandy,
I guess I’ll just stay home and pass out candy…
Sonnet #1031
What should I be for Halloween this year?
A grotesque zombie stabbed by bloody knife,
or chainsaw-wielding maniac o’ fear?
Those wouldn’t win approval with my wife!
How ‘bout a superhero with a cape
and bulging muscles molded out of foam?
Those tights are tight enough to squish a grape,
I’d better leave that bright idea alone…
A clown, a priest, a wizard with a staff?
I’m scared of clowns…and priests…and wizards too,
A ballerina?! Please, don’t make me laugh!
There’re some things even guys like me won’t do!
Ah well, unless I find one that is dandy,
I guess I’ll just stay home and pass out candy…
When God can do what he will with a man, the man may do what he will with the world. ~George MacDonald
I know this isn't bad poetry, but there are some classic stuff here.
[youtube]http://youtube.com/watch?v=cvv56Tv1Yw8[/youtube]
[youtube]http://youtube.com/watch?v=cvv56Tv1Yw8[/youtube]
I'm afraid, Steve, that your offering, with its steady and admirable scansion, its classic rhyme scheme (okay, well, there's that foam/alone problem, I grant you) and its clever turns of phrase doesn't quite rise to the level of badness that would put it in league with the McGonigall masterpieces, but it certainly is entertaining. Perhaps, its thematic bankruptcy would qualify it, though I'm loathe to discredit the relevance of Halloween to modern American culture.
Actually, I offer my congratulations on your talent. When is the first collection to appear in print? Where are those other thousand and thirty sonnets? And who says that degrees in English aren't worth the paper they're printed on? (Mind you, my degree is in ACTING !)
To Angela:
Thank you
Actually, I offer my congratulations on your talent. When is the first collection to appear in print? Where are those other thousand and thirty sonnets? And who says that degrees in English aren't worth the paper they're printed on? (Mind you, my degree is in ACTING !)
To Angela:
Thank you
"Music's golden tongue flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor."
James McIntyre (1827-1906) has been called Canada's Worst Poet. he is particularly well-known for his poems about cheese.
here are two of his works:
Ode on the Mammoth Cheese
Weight over seven thousand pounds.
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 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.
Prophecy of a Ten Ton Cheese
In presenting this delicate, dainty morsel to the imagination of the people, I believed that it could be realized. I viewed the machine that turned and raised the mamoth cheese, and saw the powerful machine invented by James Ireland at the West Oxford companies factory to turn the great and fine cheese he was making there. This company with but little assistance could produce a ten ton cheese.
Who hath prophetic vision sees
In future times a ten ton cheese,
Several companies could join
To furnish curd for great combine
More honor far than making gun
Of mighty size and many a ton.
Machine it could be made with ease
That could turn this monster cheese,
The greatest honour to our land
Would be this orb of finest brand,
Three hundred curd they would need squeeze
For to make this mammoth cheese.
So British lands could confederate
Three hundred provinces in one state,
When all in harmony agrees
To be pressed in one like this cheese,
Then one skillful hand could acquire
Power to move British empire.
But various curds must be combined
And each factory their curd must grind,
To blend harmonious in one
This great cheese of mighty span,
And uniform in quality
A glorious reality.
But it will need a powerful press
This cheese queen to caress,
And a large extent of charms
Hoop will encircle in its arms,
And we do not now despair,
But we shall see it at world's fair.
And view the people all agog, so
Excited o'er it in Chicago,
To seek fresh conquests queen of cheese
She may sail across the seas,
Where she would meet reception grand
From the warm hearts in old England.
here are two of his works:
Ode on the Mammoth Cheese
Weight over seven thousand pounds.
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 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.
Prophecy of a Ten Ton Cheese
In presenting this delicate, dainty morsel to the imagination of the people, I believed that it could be realized. I viewed the machine that turned and raised the mamoth cheese, and saw the powerful machine invented by James Ireland at the West Oxford companies factory to turn the great and fine cheese he was making there. This company with but little assistance could produce a ten ton cheese.
Who hath prophetic vision sees
In future times a ten ton cheese,
Several companies could join
To furnish curd for great combine
More honor far than making gun
Of mighty size and many a ton.
Machine it could be made with ease
That could turn this monster cheese,
The greatest honour to our land
Would be this orb of finest brand,
Three hundred curd they would need squeeze
For to make this mammoth cheese.
So British lands could confederate
Three hundred provinces in one state,
When all in harmony agrees
To be pressed in one like this cheese,
Then one skillful hand could acquire
Power to move British empire.
But various curds must be combined
And each factory their curd must grind,
To blend harmonious in one
This great cheese of mighty span,
And uniform in quality
A glorious reality.
But it will need a powerful press
This cheese queen to caress,
And a large extent of charms
Hoop will encircle in its arms,
And we do not now despair,
But we shall see it at world's fair.
And view the people all agog, so
Excited o'er it in Chicago,
To seek fresh conquests queen of cheese
She may sail across the seas,
Where she would meet reception grand
From the warm hearts in old England.
so let it be written... so let it be done.
By J. Gordon Coogler (1865-1901)
From - How Strange Are Dreams!
How Strange are dreams! I dreamed the other night
A dream that made me tremble,
Not with fear, but with a kind of strange reality,
My supper, though late, consisted of no cheese.
From - How Strange Are Dreams!
How Strange are dreams! I dreamed the other night
A dream that made me tremble,
Not with fear, but with a kind of strange reality,
My supper, though late, consisted of no cheese.
"Condemn me not because of mine imperfection,... but rather give thanks unto God that he hath made manifest unto you our imperfections, that ye may learn to be more wise than we have been." Mormon 9:31
Re: Bad poems
Lyrics to a song i wrote, once upon an angsty time:
CHORUS:
Waiting, waiting, till the break of dawn
Packing our bags, we're moving on
Laughing and dancing as we're singing our last song
Won't forget you
Cause you're coming along...
*single tear
CHORUS:
Waiting, waiting, till the break of dawn
Packing our bags, we're moving on
Laughing and dancing as we're singing our last song
Won't forget you
Cause you're coming along...
*single tear
How long shall i wait before it's too soon? What a vibrant violet...oh no no no no, do not be so shocked- i will be the first to believe in you. Who is that again? Ah, yes...tea time at midnight; you sweet thing! I will always say hello. Farewell!
Re: Bad poems
When God can do what he will with a man, the man may do what he will with the world. ~George MacDonald
Re: Bad poems
today, barbara boxer announced that she will not run for the senate in 2016. she wrote a poem for this special occasion:
The Senate is the place where I've always made my case
For families for the planet and the human race
More than twenty years in a job I love
Thanks to California and the Lord above
So although I won't be working for my Senate space
And I won't be running in that next tough race
As long as there are issues and challenges and strife
I will never retire 'cause that's the meaning of my life.
The Senate is the place where I've always made my case
For families for the planet and the human race
More than twenty years in a job I love
Thanks to California and the Lord above
So although I won't be working for my Senate space
And I won't be running in that next tough race
As long as there are issues and challenges and strife
I will never retire 'cause that's the meaning of my life.
so let it be written... so let it be done.
Re: Bad poems
Still, I must award her 10 points for resisting the urge to try to rhyme "senate."
When God can do what he will with a man, the man may do what he will with the world. ~George MacDonald
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