Writing lousy poems
Is really not that hard.
It doesn’t take a lot of work
To be a blogging bard.
The only bit that’s difficult
Is deciding what to write,
Thus my meta-poetry
At 10 o’clock at night.
Tag Archives: True Story
Truth, AKA The Last Resort
Once again I find myself
Besot by evening’s chill,
No longer in possession of
The time I had to kill.
My mind fixates upon the task
I’ve thus far left undone:
I swore I’d write a poem a day
And yet have written none.
Thus I lie upon my bed
Writing where I am now,
Stating the truth about my life
As syllables allow.
Now comes the peril of present-tense:
I write that I’m writing,
Now I reread the previous line
To see if it’s exciting.
I also find, where once I wrote
Six syllables then eight,
My meter has forsaken me
By virtue of it’s late.
Thus endeth my desperate foray
To create relevant verse.
To all reading I bid good night!
(Poetry is a curse).
A Poetical Update/Cry For Help
As I was reading through my blog
Upon this snowy day
I realized there’s lots of posts
That, by default, went away.
There are two-thousand-something poems
That I’ve written on this site
And to have them be forgotten
Just really isn’t right.
I looked into solutions
But to add a button here
To send you to a random post
Costs $600 a year (Seriously WordPress? Seriously?)
So my solution to preserve
Those posts into which I put thought
Is to compile a book that’s bigger
Than the books you’ve already bought. (Hint hint)
So a thing that I am wondering
About my biggest-book-yet dream
Is whether to just compile stuff
Or whether to have a theme.
And here’s the part where you come in:
Please help me make you happy
By commenting or emailing me
Advice to make the book less crappy…
Is an omnibus of random poems
With my thoughts added enough
Or do you want a theme again
With more never-published stuff?
And if, of course, you don’t reply
I’ll just decide myself
But I’ll make the cover aubergine
So it looks weird on your shelf 🙂
Comments welcomed on the site, or emailed to thedailytravesty@yahoo.com
Filed under Poems, To the Reader
Life In Washington State
Two inches of snow
Means schools are closed tomorrow.
Colorado laughs.
Filed under Poems
AI Writes A Country Song
Today I’m bored and kinda tired,
For sure not feeling too inspired,
So a thought emerged within my head:
Let robots do my job instead!
So I was nit at all upset
When a robot said “I can write a rhyming couplet.”
I said “write me a country song,”
And here’s the poem that came along:
——————————————————–
See the hightailing of the cowboy,
I think he’s angry at the ahoy.
He finds it hard to see the horse,
Overshadowed by the rainy field of force.
Who is that yodeling near the saddle?
I think she’d like to eat the cattle.
She is but a rural addition,
Admired as she sits upon a position.
Her leather car is just a beer,
It needs no gas, it runs on steer.
She’s not alone she brings a dog,
a pet dog, and lots of parts catalogue.
The dog likes to chase a truck,
Especially one that’s in the dabbling duck.
The cowboy shudders at the country gun
He want to leave but she wants the bun.
——————————————————–
The poem’s bad, and I think it’s neat
That I am not yet obsolete.
Sure, technology is fun
But robots 0, human 1.
What You Do When You Can’t Mock Kwanzaa Via Poetry And Keep Your Job
‘Twas the day after Christmas
And all through my mind
No ideas were stirring
Of the poetic kind.
I stood by the fire
While amidst the tumult
And I pumped out two stanzas,
This being the result.
Filed under Poems
Just A Century Ago
In the year 1918
Amidst a world we’ve never seen
The fighters of the first world war
Showed what God made our hearts for.
Among the trenches, wet and cold
A German soldier was so bold
As to sing, rather than fight,
A verse or two of “Silent Night.”
As dawn turned from gray to blue
One soldiers voice soon became two
And before the song was done
Two armies voices soon were one
And bayonets with white flags rose
And enemies came nose to nose
To swap greetings and cigarettes:
One Christmas morning, no regrets.
Whether trenches or safe spaces,
Between all people and all races
Lives a love that’s oft denied
That no longer should we hide.
If for a day or for a year
We sing of peace so foes can hear
Then whether brown or beige or black
We may just hear our foes sing back.
Filed under Poems
Proof: WordPress Knows If You’re Blind
I noticed just this morning
My blog was visited six times:
Six people clicked to read how I
Come up with stuff that rhymes.
But it was the next statistic
That gave me a miscue:
Though I’d had six visitors
I’d only had one view.
At first I was astonished,
Then delight bloomed from surprise:
Six people came to see my blog
And five had closed their eyes!
I thought I’d gotten softer
The longer I wrote here
But I repulsed 5/6ths of viewers
And that brings me much good cheer.
Filed under Poems
“The Lousy Microwave” (Because I Spent All My Time On The Poem Instead Of The Title Today)
I have a lousy microwave.
It’s very very slow.
It take about two minutes
To melt a ball of snow.
If you want to boil water
A half an hour should do
And if you ever cook some soup
Go watch a film or two.
Your vegetables will not be steamed.
Your corn will not be popped.
The minute that you start it
It has already stopped.
It’s starting to annoy me
And get under my skin
And now I’ll either throw it out
Or try to plug it in.
Filed under Poems
Monopoly
You all begin by passing “go,”
But who will win we don’t yet know.
You buy land with childish glee
Wherever two dice should decree.
This play continues for a while
And all the players wear a smile
Until the property is bought.
Then the game changes a lot.
Instead of paying endless rent
It pays to be of criminal bent
And spend a couple turns in jail
Before you pay a $50 bail.
But at this point the odds are high
That you know who is the guy
Who’ll win the game when all is done.
At this point it’s no longer fun.
But do you stop when joy is gone?
No! No! No! You carry on!
When bankrupt are the car and shoe,
The thimble’s dead and so are you
So ends the game, and that is when
The winner says “Let’s play again!”
Then you and the losers, at your behest
Punch the winner in his community chest.
Through the pain he says “Tsk, tsk.
“Then how about a game of Risk?”
Filed under Poems
The Daily Travesty 