Fucking Poetry

I hate 99% (possibly more) of poetry that isn’t set to music, and plenty that is.  So when I finished the last article (that shit I wrote about raw food freaks) and haplessly stumbled upon a poem, I was less than pleased. 

 

There is a special place in my fireplace for bad poetry that isn’t bad enough to be laughable, and an even better place for pretentious poetry (50 centimeters up the authors’ arse is about right).  The particular poem that set me off annoyed me mostly because of the amount of praise it was recieving in the comments despite the fact it’s trash.  At least it wasn’t the pretentious kind.  Every line started with “I’ll never tell…” and ended on variants of “This girl is brilliant” or “She broke up with me and I’m hurt”.  It’s as deep as a Guttermouth song (Think “Footlong”).  It’s quite annoyingly stupid as well, since he’s saying “I’ll never tell…” right before telling you something.  Putting that phrase there serves no purpose but to make you a bell-end.  “I’ll never tell that it hurts to see her and the new guy”.  Fuck off.

I’ll never tell how much your poem annoyed me

I’ll never write about the fire I wish it was burning in

I’ll never tell about the lack of rhyme

I’ll never describe the boring and predictable nature of the subject matter

I’ll never write about how incapable I am of giving a shit about it

I’ll never read it again, that’s for sure.

 

I happened upon a pretentious piece of shit, too.  With the nature of my employment leaving me home alone waiting for a call (possibly for weeks on end), I have all this free time to annoy myself with pretentious poetry and vegan documentaries.  And I am very good at it.  I should have linked the pretentious one, because it was also about eating meat.  There was a reference to “Fucking human-wrapped shrimp” and a possum that tastes like bacon, and no rhythm or rhyme in a 50 mile radius.  The poem raised so many questions.  Such as:  Why does the possum taste like bacon?  Why are we wrapping shrimp in things that are not bacon?  Why is this poem accusing me of being crazy?  Also I want to know what the fucking hell the author was on when it was written.  Drugs?  Alcohol?  Some twatty soy latté?  Maybe it’s one of those ironic-as-fuck poems and they just blended a big king and a Mcrib and absorbed it intraveinously.  Think about that before you go to sleep if you’re a vegan.  Quite gutted I can’t find it again, as it made for a weird read.  It reminds me of my mother.

 

My old dear (that would be my mother, you imbecile) took to writing poetry as a pisstake.  Our local paper used to feature the laughably bad poetry of a local churchie, and I read it with glee.  He’d randomly Capitalise

words

          And put lines

In stupid Places, with

Different lengths and No Rhyme whatsoever.

And the subject was always vaguely spiritual, seasonal and overwhelmingly christian.  The entire village found it fucking hilarious.  When he mysteriously disappeared, I was pretty upset.  It’s like your favourite band breaking up.  Then my mother and her mad friend took over, deliberately writing poetry so bad it made captain churchie look like Oscar Wilde, and everyone lived happily ever after.

The point is, if you’re going to write shit poetry; at least make it shit enough to be funny, you turd.

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About harrypeat

I'm a happy-go-lucky chap with a zest for life and the resting heart rate of a yellowfin tuna. I love long walks on the beach at dusk, paintings of elderly couples, and vegan dinners by candlelight. As well as being a talented rhythmic jazz guitarist, I am a part-time vblogger and all-round gymnast.
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3 Responses to Fucking Poetry

  1. Cubby says:

    You sure know how to grab someone’s attention with your writing. Very entertaining…I would love to read a rant about how you hate people who use cats as their gravatar icon 😀

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