Bad poetry

Oh freddled gruntbuggly,
Thy micturations are to me,(with big yawning)
As plurdled gabbleblotchits,
On a lurgid bee,
That mordiously hath blurted out,
Its earted jurtles, grumbling
Into a rancid festering confectious organ squealer. [drowned out by moaning and screaming]
Now the jurpling slayjid agrocrustles,
Are slurping hagrilly up the axlegrurts,
And living glupules frart and stipulate,
Like jowling meated liverslime,
Groop, I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes,
And hooptiously drangle me,
With crinkly bindlewurdles,mashurbitries.
Or else I shall rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon,
See if I don’t!
(I probably won’t!)

(Douglas Adams)

The Maven (Amy Oseroff and Miriam Wildeman)

Once inside a Succah dreary,
While I pondered Jewish theory,
Seeking answers to my query,
Responsa tomes strewn ’round the flooring,
While I studied, deeply poring,
Oy gevalt! in came my mother,
Seeking this and nothing more,
“Darling, I need halvah from the store.”
Sighed my mother from the door,
“Only this, and nothing more.”

Nothing more? “Oh mother never,
Never was your list so brief.
Are you well? Have you a fever?
You don’t need schmaltz? Or corned beef either?”
Sighed my mother from the door,
”Only this, and nothing more.”

So I schlepped off to the store, buying halvah, nothing more,
But when I came back through the gate, see,
My mother stood there, to await me.
“Nu, darling, I forgot. I also need some mandelbrot.”
“Mother, please think this fully through,
since I have other things to do.
One more thing you need, or four?”
Sighed my mother from the door,
”Only this, and nothing more.”

Mutely moaning, “It’s a mitzvah,”
Aloud I asked her, “Need some kishke?”
How about some lukshen kugel
Or apples for your famous strudel?”
But, “No,” said she, “mandelbrot is all I wish for.”
Sighed my mother from the door,
“Only this, and nothing more.”

So off I went straight to the deli,
Marching past the herring smelly,
Ignoring matzos, and the soup stock,
Passing by the liver chop block,
Home I came, with one thing only,
Only mandelbrot, lost and lonely.
Sighed my mother from the door,
“Only this, and nothing more.”

“We have the food now for the party,
But we need to clean up, smarty.
I don’t mind stacks of books around the Succah,
But should my friends know you use a hookah?
We have the food we need, but wait! That recipe from the rebbetzin – ”
I gasped, “Which cabinet’s the Manischewitz in?
Mom, I won’t go back to the store. I have had it –
Nevermore!”

If you want an example of a really bad poem
Which, in truth, doesn’t even rhyme
Look no Further than this post right here
You can tweet it to your friends.

I hadn’t noticed the acrostic. : ) Nice!

If somebody could write a parody of Robert Frost’s cryptic poem, ” The Road Not Taken”, I’d be interested to see it. There’s no agreement on its interpretation , and I always found it fascinating.

Here it is:

The Road Not Taken
Robert Frost, 1874 – 1963

…..Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference…..