Friday, 22 August 2008

Godawful Poetry Fortnight - 4

They gave my my poetic license -
Then they took it back
For rhyming under the influence.

They called me a dirty hack -
A nuisance
But, like Ahnuld, I'll be Bach.

Footnote: That should have been "They gave me my poetic license" but then one of the basic principles of bad poetry is to have typos which one then justifies. So, er, ah, um, "my my" was poetic repetition. So there.


Anonymous said...

I'm lovin' it :D

Anonymous 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.