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