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Sometimes, when I am teaching, I have to write poetry.

I'm really not a big fan of writing poetry, because I write shit poetry, and blind, bed ridden emo children in third world countries can write better poetry than me. I'm not joking. I write shit poetry. I just don't have the mindset for it--I can't get the beats or rhythm right and, truthfully, I can't get all that excited about actually writing it. I don't have anything against reading poetry, mind. I quite like Charles Bukowski's free verse spat out things, and Raymond Carver's more measured poems (one which references Bukowski, in fact). I can still go me a bit of Emily Dickenson, and a bit of Dylan Thomas, and some of Michael Ondaatje's poems are real nice... but it doesn't matter how much of it I enjoy, how I can see a nice fall of lines, or even a nice turn of phrase, I just can't get excited to write it myself. I've tried. Honest. I've tried and I've even sold poems. In fact, one of the first pieces I sold to an overseas market was a poem that ripped off Neil Gaiman, quite tragically. I even sold a couple more, though none, thankfully, ever saw print, and my realisation that I was a shit poet stopped me from doing more. In fact, my poetry aspirations now are for nothing but educational purposes, as most bad poetry is.

Indeed, last weekend, I found myself writing poetry for such a reason and, for your amusement, here it is:

Please Insert Girl's Name


There is this girl
I know.

I see her twice
a day.

In the morning:
She stands in a blue jacket and blue skirt,
beautiful blues
(the emotion)
and white shirt, crumpled
failed in its pristine perfection
(also the emotion).

In the evening:
I see her sitting outside in slippery silk,
Red, ready, reading,
(she waits for)
shiny silvered cars to arrive
like sharks.


Awful, isn't it?

I had some help writing it, but still, I have to take blame for the stupidity of it, and that odd usage of brackets in the fourth stanza. What was I thinking there? Really, I have no idea. I even considered taking them out when I posted it here, but lets face facts: the poem will still be shit, even if I completely rewrite it, and the truth is, I simply don't have the inclination or time to do that.

Of course, none of this really explains why the poem is about a teenage prostitute. Really, I have no way to explain it, either. It's probably best if you just don't ask, I imagine.

Comments

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exp_err
Aug. 29th, 2007 01:22 am (UTC)
Here's some shit poetry from me. Mine's worse.

I will name my baby something searchable

I will name my baby something searchable
so when she grows up and you
see her across the room at a party
and fall instantly in lust
but are too darn scared, too slow
to ask her out,
you can ask the boy beside you, “who was that girl?”
and he’ll tell you
and it’ll be something searchable
so you can pull out your phone
or go home
or walk into the kitchen and over to the kitsch, anachronistic fridge
and enter her name into the search-box
and find a thousand reasons to fall in love.
benpeek
Aug. 29th, 2007 01:37 am (UTC)
heheh.

yours is oddly sweet, tho.
(Deleted comment)
exp_err
Aug. 29th, 2007 02:20 am (UTC)
:)
(no subject) - brendanconnell.wordpress.com - Aug. 29th, 2007 05:33 am (UTC) - Expand
benpeek
Aug. 31st, 2007 02:07 am (UTC)
maybe it's time to break out my poetry collections again, then. i could call it 'emo all day long'.
(Anonymous)
Aug. 31st, 2007 01:43 am (UTC)
sounds alright to me (but i'm totally poetically illiterate)

but trust me. you cant be worse than me.
(Deleted comment)
benpeek
Aug. 31st, 2007 02:08 am (UTC)
you just like the emo :P

anyhow, come on, share your poetry. lets see it.
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