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i'm a bad poet and I know it

Yes, another bad poetry contest.

Andrea discovered this piece of drek by Harold Pinter:

Here they go again, The Yanks in their armoured parade Chanting their ballads of joy As they gallop across the big world Praising America's God. The gutters are clogged with the dead The ones who couldn't join in The others refusing to sing The ones who are losing their voice The ones who've forgotten the tune.

The riders have whips which cut.
Your head rolls onto the sand
Your head is a pool in the dirt
Your head is a stain in the dust
Your eyes have gone out and your nose
Sniffs only the pong of the dead
And all the dead air is alive
With the smell of America's God.

Of course, I entered. I didn't go for stellar poetry. I just tried to take Pinter's meter and rhythm (sort of) and turn the words around:

An ode to protesters

Here they go again,
The skanks in their violent protest
Chanting their ballads of peace
As they gallop across the D.C. mall
Praising Amerikkka’s enemies.
The streets are clogged with the youth
The ones who always join in
The others prodding Saddam
The ones who are losing their clothes
The ones who've forgotten to shave
The dissenters have bricks which smash
Your mailbox rolls onto the street
Your litter is a pool of dirt
Your chants are a stain in air
Your fashion has gone out and your nose
Sniffs only the stench of the hippie
And all the deadheads are alive
With the smell of patchouli and pot

In addition to the poems posted at Andrea's, Emily has one posted, as does Tim Blair.

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As both of my readers know, I'm not a huge fan of good poetry, much less what passes for quality [Read More]

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As both of my readers know, I'm not a huge fan of good poetry, much less what passes for quality [Read More]

Comments

Um, I'm stuck on "pong of the dead", is that a video game? Or did he mean bong of the Dead, which would be something completely different.

I think he meant Missile Command of the dead, and just got confused.

I'm stuck on the first line, which has caused Primus' "Here come the bastards" to get stuck in my head. Curse you, Pinter!

What rhyme? What meter? That was a miscarrage of verse.

With the smell of America's God?

Um. . . what?

I knew morbid 15-year-old girls back in high school who wrote better stuff than this.

Hey! There's a lot of right-wing deadheads too, you know.

[RANT] Tired of being painted with the same brush as those commie loser-fucks just because of my musical tastes... frumble, grumble... And I bet y'all watched Woody Harrelson and listened to Sheryl "if tits were brains, I'd be Einstein" Crow, too.

Geez. Like Pete Townsend isn't already enough to cope with... [/RANT]