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Monday, August 18, 2008
Godawful Poetry Fortnight - 19th - 31st August 

Bad Poetry Day (18th August), according to Holiday Insights, is an idea that originated with Wellcat.com who "have created a number of special days and have actually copyrighted them so they can profit by it." Wellcat's page is here.

Well okay, sure, we won't infringe anyone's copyright. We can't afford the legal fees. But we hereby patent, copyright, and release into the public domain Godawful Poetry Fortnight (on the rather shaky grounds that "fortnight" sounds more poetic than "week," but mostly because it gives us more time and scope for idiocy).

Godawful Poetry Fortnight (GPF for short), we solemnly proclaim, starts on the 19th August and ends on the 31st August.

"Aha!" You say, "That's thirteen days, not fourteen!" To which we say, like all bad poets, "Nyaah nyah nyah nyaaah nyah! Poetic license! Sucks to be you!"

Godawful Poetry Fortnight has a patron saint: William Wordsworth. And he gets this signal honour for saying that poetry "is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings." Way too many aspiring poets have rallied behind that banner, too few going so far as recollecting those emotions in tranquillity, let alone reading the rest of the preface to Lyrical Ballads (which can be found on Bartleby, for those interested).

To participate, simply post a godawful poem on your blog* along with a brief note about GPF, and, if you like, a bit about what godawful poetry means to you. You don't have to link to this post, but we would love it if you did. Naah. Who are we kidding? Link here or your fillings will fall out!

You can post as often as you like during the Fortnight. Get it all out of your system. And you must pester your friends to post too. And once GPF is done, you will go and write good poetry for the rest of the year, yes? (: Until GPF rolls around again next year. :)

Please use this Technorati tag on your post: . Here's the HTML for the tag: <a href="http://technorati.com/tag/Godawful+Poetry+Fortnight" rel="tag">Godawful Poetry Fortnight</a>

* If you're one of the last seven people on earth who don't have blogs, you're welcome to use the comment space here.

Clarification: The godawful poem you post must be your own work. No picking on earnest innocents you might know.

Update 2: Here's a challenge for the really talented among you. Post thirteen godawful poems, one on each day of the Fortnight.


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Blogged for thee by @ 10:49 am | 11 Comments | Post a Comment | Link Love? |

11 Noble Readers have commented.

  On Monday, 18 August 2008 at 12:58:00 GMT+5:30, the Hon'ble Blogger rupagulab said...

Ha ha! I lurve it! But tell me, do we merely pick the most god awful poems we've ever read, or are we expected to write it ourselves?

  On Tuesday, 19 August 2008 at 00:00:00 GMT+5:30, the Hon'ble Blogger suniti said...

Wrote one already. Will post on my blog on the 19th.
Wring a bad poem is scarily easy.
I need encouragement to write Good poetry you know!

  On Sunday, 24 August 2008 at 11:37:00 GMT+5:30, the Hon'ble Anonymous OrangeJammies said...

The bestest idea ever! In fact, I'm inclined to grow a beard and look up to you saying, "What an idea, Sirji!"

  On Monday, 25 August 2008 at 20:47:00 GMT+5:30, the Hon'ble Blogger rupagulab said...

Right, my contribution to godawful poetry week is below. Not my own composition, alas- it's by Ern Goon of Five Find-Outers & Dog).
it goes:'How sad to see thee, pore dead pig...'
For more of Ern Goon's godawful pomes go to http://www.enidblyton.net/mystery-series/erns-portry.html
Have posted it on my blog too- enjoy!

  On Tuesday, 26 August 2008 at 10:49:00 GMT+5:30, the Hon'ble Anonymous Albert Barton said...

i seem to have lost my blog somewhere so:

The Quivering Anomaly

Yesterday, my feelings for you stood exposed,
As exposed as
A young Chinese singer’s Olympic debut,
As exposed as the genitalia of a defeated sumo wrestler
Undergoing severe wardrobe malfunction
As exposed as a furry tongue thrust out at a paediatrician
Or the marital intentions of a one-legged Mills,
The ending of a pop blockbuster
Paris Hilton’s life
This full stop .
Yes, I exposed my feelings for you
In one drunken moment
And you laughed
And now we have naught in common
but our gender

  On Wednesday, 27 August 2008 at 15:48:00 GMT+5:30, the Hon'ble Blogger rupagulab said...

Right, here goes: It's called Waiting for Dogot. And I've done my best to make it as godawful as poss:
Waiting for Dogot
It was a crisp, cool December,
The sun was asleep,
My tears turned to icicles,
My nose churned out sleet.
I was weeping for Dogot,
Hoping he’d phone,
While he was wining and dining
An intellectual gnome*.
Was it my fault, I wondered,
That I’d read Moby Dick,
That I knew Shakespeare’s Dark Lady,
And that Naipaul was a prick?
So I did what I had to,
And dialled a book:
The Secret by Rhonda Byrne,
I guiltily thought I’d just take a look.
I’d speed-read a chapter,
When my brain screamed in pain
‘I’ll go awol,’ it snarled,
If you read this drivel again.
Seconds crawled past,
And when I glanced at the time,
It was past bloody midnight,
Perfect for a few Stolis with lime.
‘Doggamit Dogot,’ I bitterly cursed
When the bell rang at two
‘You’ve got the wrong door
Excuse me, do I know you?’
* Sorry, couldn’t find a word that rhymes with dwarf. But gnome is pretty close, huh?

  On Sunday, 31 August 2008 at 22:39:00 GMT+5:30, the Hon'ble Blogger Dancing with Felicity said...

So I couldn't figure out the tagging thing. And Lord knows I tired. Tried. But there it is on my blog. (www.dancingwithfelicity.blogspot.com

  On Monday, 1 September 2008 at 16:47:00 GMT+5:30, the Hon'ble Anonymous Anonymous said...


I rest my case...

  On Tuesday, 2 September 2008 at 00:26:00 GMT+5:30, the Hon'ble Blogger zigzackly said...

@ anonymous

That's a brief case. But what power!

  On Wednesday, 10 September 2008 at 18:29:00 GMT+5:30, the Hon'ble Blogger Suchi said...

His love for her was deep, he said
Deeper than the Marianas Trench,
What was about it then?
That left such a stench?
She smelt a rat,
Or was it a mouse?
He was in such a hurry
To bag him a spouse
Was it her plum job?
Was it her beauteous eyes,
He praised her cooking,
And her laughter, to the skies.
His love for her was deep, he said
He's convinced her that he cares,
He’s a hunter, he is, that man
He lays careful snares.
All the while he dissembles,
‘I don’t want a 'phuti cowrie’
And all the time, he was
Eyeing her fat dowry.

  On Sunday, 26 June 2011 at 22:42:00 GMT+5:30, the Hon'ble Blogger irodov707 said...

Something I wrote at different points in time. Godawful poetry is truly a brilliant concept! It brings out the best in some of us. :P

A Physicist's Rant

Never say die.
till you find sqrt of Pi,
Move on unhindered,
till the damn thing is Taylored.

Why are certain functions special
When others are not?
Legendre, Tchebyshev, Laguerre and Bessel,
Countless is their lot.

Some numbers are Stirling,
that too of the first kind.
Can't think of anything rhyming,
of all the swear words that come to my mind.

Uncle Albert conjured up Relativity,
and rolled space into time,
a spark of insanity,
so abstruse and yet so sublime.

The Universe is quantum,
more than you can comprehend,
Drive this truth into your cerebrum,
and figure out the Cosmos from end to end.

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