Along with some poetical chums, I'm currently working my way through these exercises as poem-a-day prompts. Yesterday's was "Write the worst poem you possibly can. Now edit it and make it even worse."
So I did. As did others.
What was interesting was (a) how difficult this was - the urge to avoid 'bad' poetry is strong, and (b) once achieved, the results are still good (in their own way) because they are funny, and that is positive. A lot of humour is about the unexpected, the disjointed, the out-of-place-or-time and so on, so maybe this isn't too surprising - and creating some mirth has to be a good thing, so maybe no need to analyse further. Here's my attempt:
Bad sex poem
[My submission to the ‘erotica’ section of this year’s Vogon Eisteddfod]
Jagged buttocks warts clash
Clash; clash clash; clash
Clash CLASH clash.
Oh, compartments! Look!
Oh, oh dumpling’s! Lovelier blancmange
From a packet. NO!
And some plastic sponge.
It wobbles.
I can see a cauliflower.
Woe! WOE!
My vegetable won’t grow –
WITHOUT some gravy.
Greeeen.
Cleverly I say ‘noirmange’
Now you see!
Yes, they are French but opposite.
That is clever so you like it. Vert!
Oui! Non! Like that.
But better.
Desire akin to that penned a few years ago by Alan Titchmarsh winning an award that’s somehow appropriate here but not the one he would have wanted I think it is over.
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