Instructions (A Poem)

At the start of each day,
Greet the sun.
Give it salutation
And the renewed promise you’ll blow it up
Just as soon as that fusion bomb is ready.

Take time every day,
Even if it’s just a brief moment,
To breathe.
Simply breathe,
and enjoy the sensation.
You never know when the nerve gas canisters
You installed in the vents
Will kick in and rob you of the opportunity
To breathe.

Ignore the passage of time.
What will be,
Will be,
In the fulsomeness of time.
You are on no one else’s schedule.
Your doomsday device
Will be ready when it’s ready.

At the end of each day,
Be thankful.
Give thanks to those
Who toil in your name
For your glory,
The ones who will die
As cannon fodder
When the hero bursts in, guns blazing,
Determined to end your reign of terror.

Bad Poetry (A Poem)

I spent (or misspent) a good chunk of my youth writing really bad poetry.

Now, I can admit that it was bad, ’cause most of it certainly wasn’t good.  But, in keeping with internet memes I see on a near-daily basis, you gotta get the bad words out so you can get to the good ones.  If that’s true, I’ve got a lot of really excellent words coming up.

In celebration of remembering that I still somehow have an active livejournal, I present to you a new poem about writing bad poems.  I hope you enjoy it.

“Bad Poetry”

Everyone should write bad poetry in their youth

Something to look back on in your dotage

And cringe at

Share it with your children and loved ones

Only once

Then put it back in the shoebox

You took from under the bed

And burn it as an offering

To who you once were.

 

Experiment with form

Play with iambs and meter

Couplets and triplets

Haikus and free verse monstrosities

Toy with structure

and design

capitalization (and unnecessary punctuation)

 

Follow all the rules

Break all the rules

It’s poetry

That’s what it’s designed for

 

Above all, be passionate

Be fiery

Write words wringed from your soul

Vomit them up on the page

As if you had no choice in the matter

As if keeping them inside

Would light a bonfire in your belly

Revel in the joy or the angst of it

Because the worse it is, the more you felt

The more you felt, the more you lived.