Day20: Bad Poetry

An old poem from Him

Bad Poetry

Is it deliberate,
or
can I just not write
good poetry?

Is it deliberate
or
is this the only way
for me to purge
the poison-pink away?

Does it need to rhyme?
(Does she need to harm?)
Is pain, hurt, anger and hate
the only way to create?

No!

I'm smiling, as I write
Pink is not poison,
I know
This is just a lesson
to my ego. Listen!

So thank you,
"you're so vain",
for raising my value
and
for letting me
write
bad poetry

Thank you

--

And a new (rough draft, but I can't be arsed to make it better) poem from me

In The Corner

I was in the corner
of that Bristol hotel
when he first unwrapped you

I was in the corner
as you kissed
(and then hissed!)

I was in the corner

I was in the corner
Oxford's Travelodge too
Twenty-one grams trouble

I was in the corner
for your sweet-
meat revenge

I was in the corner

I was in the corner
that Thursday in Fulham -
reception-desk pink-slip

I was in the corner
you tricked your
April Fool

I was in the corner

I...

 was in...

          the corner

--

I'll leave it up to the viewers to decide which poem be best.

Day 3: Dear Reader

Dear Reader,

I know I said I was going to stop talking about the reader-writer relationship, and talk about 'real' stuff and such, but I just can't seem to help it - it's in my blood right now.

I know that, once upon a time the blog use to be about important stuff like The Simpsons (and feeling smug about them). And then, when I took over the show, the blog'd be about how easy it is to be a man and such (bloody stupid Rudyard Kipling and his impossible rhymes!), but now it's all about me and you, the dear reader.

How post-modern!

How la la la!

(Tch!)

Trouble is, right now, this blog has just the one dear reader - a blonde who has seen better days (just like the rest of us, eh!).

So let me reprise a little something that was written for our precious dear reader aka the Terence Stamp One, a while ago. I call it Mango.

(Ahem! Le me clear me throat!...)

Mango
by Boring John

Mango "Me?"
Nah, it couldn't be!
I'm just a character, see!
She must mean He
- that Mishka P -
She must mean He!

--

And good look to 'er, is all I'll say!

He still can't help Himself when it comes to antagonising and such, and now He's come over all happy and dippy too. This is NOT how to show a girl a good time! Hee hee.

"And that's how two characters should dance together in life"

And that's how two characters should dance together in life?

Yes, and it's all explained here in this (almost finished*) version of The World According to Boring John (PDF version) - you'll need a password!**

Enjoy! I know I didn't.

* This book may never get finished - He may not be up to it!
** And the password is... - contact me (or Him) for it!

If What?

Rudyard Kipling once wrote a poem called If

Go on, read it! It won't take long...

Done? Okay, now it's a nice poem and all - Mr Kipling does write exceedingly good words (sorry, couldn't resist!) - but still, bugger me! ya gotta be kidding, ain't ya Rudders? So that's all you've got to do to be a man? Well, sign me up for being a woman right now, then - cos no way can it be as hard as being a man (if Rudyard Kipling's right, that is!). Yeah, I'll put up with the periods and doin' doggie if that's what it takes to be a woman, anything but having to endure that litany of impossible qualities to simply being a man.

Or is Rudyard talking about "A Man", that close cousin of another mythical creature called Real Man?

Let me ask you something: Do we have terms like real woman? No, we don't. So why is there such a notion of a real man? There are good and bad men, but there are not real men, just like there's no such thing as "being black" - "You're not very black are you!" states the brain-dead bimbo! It's a load of bollocks summed up, beautifully and eloquently, by Rudyard Kipling's poem.

If indeed!

Who Said This?

"I cannot be happy whilst you, someone I care about, are not. I am not responsible for your happiness but it does not seem fair for me to find peace when your life is still shadowed in pain?"

Whoever said it, and I have a strong idea which Idiot it was, they are destined to live a life of struggle, for sure.

"It wasn't your fault," said the adult to the little boy in the photo. "It wasn't your fault."

Wipe the tear from your eye, Mr Idiot. It was not Your fault.

Things

I was looking over the Words Of Another, as is my wont in 2007, and I came across a poem written in 1996. All about change. (Ya don't say.) I think Our Main Man might have just split up from a long-term lover but he's keeping his lips shut at the moment - thinks I'm bullying him a bit too much, right now.

Ah, whatever. This is my world and I'll write what I know and make up anything I don't. As for bullying Mister - you aint seen nuthin yet!

And Suzie? Well, He and she were just friends. It seems that even in 1996 our Main Character wanted to do the right thing rather than simply get some. "When will we ever learn, eh!".

Read on (MacDuff)...

THINGS
(Ode to Suzie,...)

Things Change.
Things grow,
things decay
“Things usually work out!”

Things change.
Things become special,
things just f-a-d-e away
And “some things just never change!”

Things change.
The things you do,
and the things you don’t do
“Things will never be the same again!”

Things, eh!

Da Other Guy?

Could this be Da Other Guy I refer to...

(Or is this just yet another lame poem by yet another lame nobody soul!)


Poem 666
========

Queen Bitch
You aint seen
nothin Sis
For I'm the King,
the QB of this dome main

Where are you
first thing?

I... wake with Him;
taunt Him morning,
noon and night.
Make up stories, I do,
'bout You
Who you with, and
why - you're - not - thinking - of - Him

Your twisted and bitter
refrain?
Disdain!
I got fifty better
in my locker,
locked away

I delve deep
into HisStory
Play out his doomed
scenes once more,
(Just in case he forgets)

You help, oh yes
But you're just part of
an extensive life-long
cast-list.
...Just a player
But *I* star,
in the mind of
my Master

I know my Man
I haunt and
I taunt,
like no-one else
can
*I'm* the Queen Bitch

I undermine
I talk back
I demean (LIKE A DAEMON!)

I reduce
I traduce

I keep him alive!
Just so I can do it
all over again

I'm the man,
the Pain Body man

At your service...

If you please...
(IF YOU DON'T PLEASE!)

I'm the devil,
if you will
His precious
3 letters
e.g. (?) Oh!

Or try this 4-letter word:
Fear

I know You too...

I know your curse...

(Charmed... I'll
be round Yours soon!)

More Regurgitated Words

The World According To Boring John is taking shape; somewhere else, not here though.

The process has begun; the book has begun.

And here are some words, some regurgitated words, that did not make it (so far, anyway)

• Girl eats Boy
  Boy leaves girl
  Girl eats Boy again
  Girl is sick
  
• Miss Smilla's feeling for stuff that is white as
  
• Ronnie Corbett Ate My Hamster

"I'm not cool!"

I'm not cool

I'm not cool

I'm not cool

I wanna be cool but I'm not

(Repeat)

I APOLOGISE!

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!

I apologise.

For every time I pissed you off, stood you up, made you feel second best, didn't get your joke, didn't flatter you or 'had a cow, man', I apologise.

For those times I dumped on you, rejected you, didn't listen to you or overreacted to what you'd said, I apologise.

For the odd time I ignored you, hurt your feelings, laughed when I should have cried, hugged you when I shouldna touched you, I apologise

For those things I did wrong that I didn't realise I'd done wrong, or those things I don't remember no more, I apologise.

I apologise for apologising too much.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!

Right?

Can we start again. Can we? C-a-n w-e s-t-a-r-t a-g-a-i-n ?

Can we draw a line under this?

It's not going to be perfect from here on in, but I will stop saying sorry.

Agreed?

Okay?

I'm sorry.

Let's move on...

(Cos soon we'll all be dead.)

And then we'll both be sorry.

What's Wrong With The Wife?

What's wrong with The Wife?

The Wife

My wife

The difference?

Discuss.

--

(Note: this is now, officially, the first poem I have written for years. Hurrah! (I think it's poetic, anyway.) Perhaps I shall add it to my collection.)