Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Godawful Poetry # 1

Zigzackly informs me that today marks the beginning of the godawful poetry fortnight, so I thought I'd do my bit:

Night Song

Now the moon, like a smallpox victim,
hides his pitted face,
afraid that the sun may evict him
from his nightly dwelling place.

While the sad and unplucked roses
dream in slow perfumes
and rehearse the unconscious poses
of Death in living rooms.

And a little mouse squeaks like a gate
someone has forgotten to oil;
squeaks of Love and Loss and Fate
and Blood and Sweat and Toil.

P.S. Zigzackly also points to a Flash Fiction contest, one that is, alas, only open to those residing in India.

8 comments:

suniti said...

... and the award goes to.....!

Nice one :)

Anonymous said...

yes u are right...its godawful..

Annamari said...

it's bad with no pretense (of being good)
was it hard to write?

D said...

You have to try harder at being Godawful. This was quite bearable actually!

blatherina said...

the first stanza is pretty awful, but this improves as it goes along. if it wasn't abab, it might even be tolerable... :) try harder at being godawful.

Falstaff said...

suniti: Thanks.

anon: Thanks

annamari: Of course it was hard to write. You don't think poetry this bad comes naturally to me, do you?

d: Wow! you do have a low threshold.

blatherina: Really? I thought the third stanza was the worst. Actually, the first stanza was probably my favorite. It was horrible, but it was at least ingeniously horrible.

Annamari said...

But you did not think the question was serious, did you? (Oh, the offense!)
The third stanza sounds just like my last client that was banging on her desk while talking to me and obviously the banging had no rhythm or sense –it just gave me a headache.

Shruti said...

i thought the second stanza was beautiful...and the word 'small pox' makes the first stanza look bad i think.stumbled upon your blog recently and feeling lucky i did!