Bad Poetry and Contracts

So yesterday was Bad Poetry Day. I bet you didn't even know there WAS a bad poetry day. I know I hadn't. But my friend Sketchie (the SPAZ, you may recall) pointed it out, so I proceeded to write the following:

I hope that I shall never sit
beside an ocean full of... rotten food.
The smell that wafts upon the air
Is worse than wearing underwear.

Of course that isn't the first time I've written bad poetry. I am relatively adept at the limerick. Here is an early work from my Harry Potter days:

St. Patrick's Day Limerick (blame Tara, she got me started)

James was the Marauder who loved Lily
Sometimes it made him act silly
He gave her the eye
To let her know he's not shy
but she threatened to cut off his [rhymes with silly]


Sirius Black was the hot one
An unusual day when he got none
They've been lining up
Since he was a pup
And the consensus has been that it's awesome


Poor remus just howled at the moon
Not knowing that poor ladies swooned
His honor too much
His love life a bust
But fandom adoration is his boon


And then we have young master Pettigrew
We wrinkle our nose like he's mildew
Did he really go bad
Or was he a bit mad
But in the end at least he get's his due


Full circle, we're now back at James
Or Prongs in Marauding names
He stood up for his friends
To the darkest of ends
but his legacy's certainly no shame


So anyway, I invited my friends to write bad poetry and had this entry by our own buddy B. Miller:

O, Fickle Peep!
Why doest thou flitter hither and thither so?
Art thou mad?
...No!
Thou art simply puffy.


Thine grit is so sweet!
Make love to my tummy, O Peep!


O yes, your eyes shall be plucked,
your body burned.

(pastoral, I think... for Easter)


And Lance, (Sketchie's brother... a fact I find suspicious) wrote a series of

"Haiku For Real Men":

Driving down the street
I see a smokin' hot chick
I whistle at her




Drank too many beers
I bend over the toilet
And puke my guts out


Joris did some translating:

Chirp chirp - chirp chirp chirp
chirp chirp chirp - chirp chirp
chirp chirp chirp chirp chirp chirp
...chirp chirp chirp


Chirp
etc.

(the above is a translation of the poem "De mus", by Jan Hanlo)

and wrote an original:

Yes, no, please

No, yes, yes, no
yes, no
yes, no
Oh sod it.
...Dinner!

And then Kerry contributed this:

work was going slow last night
call for thunderstorms don't give us much fright
suddenly there was a call that was rather dire
as it turns out; the canopy was on fire!

And LeaAnne (not to be confused with Leanne) added:

Potty training is hell
The built up gas has an awful smell
If I just hold my breath
He'll be successful yet
At least that was what the doctor did tell

And then here is my final entry, followed by an EXPLAINER!

Forty-seven pages
mangled gibberish
binds us
eternally


Taking my power
swearing me to subserviance
I jump for joy
It's my contract!


You heard me... contract arrived last night. I read it and sent a set of questions to my agent, though was rather impressed that I understood at least 90% of the words and 20% of their meaning. I will get it mailed later today, after making my copies. Very exciting!


Say... it's my grandpa's birthday!  (or would be--he would be 91)