godawful poetry fortnight
has a patron saint: William Wordsworth, in whose opinion, poetry "is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings." After reading too many such outpourings, instead of fighting them, for one fortnight every year, we join them!

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GPF # 3

Some women are capricious
They love to play games.
Some women are ambitious
They love to drop names

Some women are garrulous
They love to tell long tales
Some women are malicious
And also hard as nails

Some women are delicious
And hide many a flaw
Some women are Judicious
And know all about the law.

Such a continuum-
From Mani ben to Madelain
But where ever you go
Men are just-
MEN !

GPF # 2

godawful poetry fortnight
has a patron saint: William Wordsworth, in whose opinion, poetry "is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings." After reading too many such outpourings, instead of fighting them, for one fortnight every year, we join them!

-------------------

GPF # 2

O your eyes! O your Eyes!
Like twin stars in the skies.
They make a storm
in my bosom arise

Lo! Behold ! they are
Peeping at me,
from a cloud of curls,
they slowly unfurl,
Pushing me towards
an early demise
Your eyes!!

One sparkles white
and the other shines blue!
Every time I behold a cross eyed star
I will think of you -
And your eyes !!

One sparkles blue
and the other shines white
As I lie awake on a lonely night
thinking of your eyes-
tell me dear heart-
Must we ever say good byes?

GPF # 1

godawful poetry fortnight
has a patron saint: William Wordsworth, in whose opinion, poetry "is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings." After reading too many such outpourings, instead of fighting them, for one fortnight every year, we join them!

------------------

GPF # 1

After perusing the classics
After researching the old masters
Meters and stuff Jurassics (1)
My poems are still disasters

To rhyme better than a vogon (2)
was my modest aspiration.
Many a fiery slogan
Was coined in this exertion.

Now I fix my hope to master
The poems and verses basic,
on a flask or a canister
Of Gargleblasters trans galactic.(3)

Notes :-
1. Jurassic- Google it or ask Spielberg.
2. Vogon- Google it. Read H2G2 again...you haven't read it yet ???
3. Trans galactic Gargleblaster - A quaff for the strong hearted.
Guaranteed to blow you to the next galaxy.

Long time!

Long time no show,
Silent the music has gone
My puppets wait in a row
the children prefer Pokemon.

Silent the music has gone
As I wait by the road
The children prefer Pokemon.
And I think of my empty abode.

As I wait by the road
my fingers itch to dance
And I think of my empty abode.
this could be my last chance

My fingers itch to dance
My puppets wait in a row.
This could be my last chance
Sigh! Long time no show.

I give up!

It has been declared by zigzackly that 19th Aug till 31st Aug shall be a Godawful Poetry Fortnight. The party ain't over yet!

GPF- Poyem # 4

I give up!

I am hurting.
From the top of my tired hair
to the tips of my exhausted toes
I am hurting.

Oh how I ache!
Standing up is an ordeal
Sitting down is a woe
Climbing the stairs is something
I wont wish on my foe.
Oh how I ache!


Every muscle aches and hurts
Even the one above the thigh and below the tush,
which groans piteously Every time
I try to stand, sit, rise, walk, climb, bend or push.

I am one big giant bruise,
victim of style abuse.
No more gym shoes
From now on only Jimmy Choos.

Orange sings the blues.

[I declare this is NOT a GPF]

Orange was sad,
for it never had no rhyme.
He wished he had a dime
for every time he wished a rhyme.

Fellowship of Red
Was really widespread
How many rhymes of blue,
he never had no clue.
Yellow was so mellow
And loved to eat jell-o.
Green was keen,
A lean mean machine.

Poor Orange only had
Borange and Dorange.
He went around muttering
Gorange, morange, Porange?

It was a fruitless quest,
And he had already guessed
That he had not been blessed
With a rhyme for Orange!

Till he met with Purple,
As lonely as can be
Orange asked him "don’t you ever
Get lonesome like me?"

Purple sighed and said,
"No Durple, Turple for me.
Is there a Zurple by any chance?"
He asked wistfully.

Over this rhyme-less state
They sat in deep contemplation
Till some one said, “Hey look!
What a fabulous Combination!”

Isn’t there really
A rhyme for Orange?
Strange!

My Favorite Suburb

It has been declared by zigzackly that 19th Aug till 31st Aug shall be a Godawful Poetry Fortnight.

******

Before Navi Mumbai on the Bombay Poona road
Sits a little suburb called Chembur.
It’s only claim to fame, apart from Chhota Rajan, was
It was also known as the Gas Chamber.

But the scenario has definitely changed of late,
And Chembur is one of the few suburbs with any greenery left
To enjoy. It has parks where every morn laughing denizens meet.
Their laughter in the morning is an excellent way to greet
a new day. The breeze wafts in the parks very gently,
The numerous clinics make sure that their smiles look dazzling dentally.

RK Studios, Geeta Bhavan, and the Central Avenue.
If you wish for a cuppa there is a CCD or Barista for you.
The temples, churches, mosques, in Chembur are galore
But the pubs staying open late seems surely the main allure.

Chembur is truly God’s own suburb as many will aver.
If you happen to visit it some day I will happily give you a tour.

******

And do I think this poem is bad ? Isn't it obvious ?

The Dawn..

It has been declared by zigzackly that 19th Aug till 31st Aug shall be a Godawful Poetry Fortnight.


GPF Poyem # 2

At the crack of dawn one bright morn
I found a bird at that early hour
with its little chest heaving and wing a torn
It looked like a trembling wilted flower

“ don’t worry little bird “tenderly I said.
“I mean you No harm” I softly assured
It smiled a little ( or so I imagined)
And wearily it’s trusting eyes were closed

Such is life, I muttered to myself,
It’s the case of survival of the fittest,
But I am not the one to take it sitting down
I will help this poor bird back to its nest.

I stooped and picked up the little body
I could feel it’s heart beat wildly
Was it an angel from my garden
In need of a little help from me?

It stayed with me from dawn to dusk
It trilled its angel songs again
I watched it fly away, with a smile,
Happy to see it free of pain

The gifts of God are showered upon us
The birds, and beasts they heart beguile
As every creation delights the soul
I mourned that only Man is vile.

*****

This poem overflows with cliches. Starting from Crack of Dawn, wilted flower to the final Only Man is vile.
Cliches, forced rhyme, and an attempt to state a universal truth make it a bad poem.