Tag Archives: Bad poetry

Journal – Grace

 

When I run out of poetry I just start posting my crazed ramblings.

My personal rule is, if I want to post it, it’s probably well written, and worth posting. If I don’t want to post it, it’s probably true, and worth posting. If it leaves no impression in my mind, it’s probably trash.

So. Here we go again!!

 

 


 

 

Grace
Give me grace
I had it briefly
I had it for six months, twelve months, not enough months
I want it for a lifetime
I thirst for it
Grace
Sweet on the lips and the soul
Cool water
Fresh and cleansing.
I don’t want to forget that happiness

I know how to be happy
It’s an art
A difficult practice and an art
It can be done.
We are fools
We can be worse
We can be better.

My art is improving
I’m starting to see things I like here and there
I’ll never be like my idols
But I can be someone I could enjoy reading.
I need a break
From my own neurosis
It can be done
I’ve done it before
I can do it again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

Sparkle trees

 

When the trees are glossed in ice
and the sun glances through them with rising fire
They bat the light back and forth, a plaything
And I think
AAAAAAAAAAA THE TREES ARE SPARKLY!!!
*eyes bulge*

 

Sorry. Poetry is just too grandiose, my brain can’t go there when all that’s running through my tiny mind are oh my fucking god the trees are sparkly, sparkles sparkles sparkles. I’ve regressed. Just in typing this, I’ve keyboard smashed so much that I accidentally opened up a bunch of weird windows for which I didn’t know there were keyboard hotkeys, like an HTML debugger. If it’s not what the sparkles have done to my brain, it’s what the cold has done to my fingers.

 

Here’s something random. My boyfriend writes songs for fun. Every once in a while I’ll sing one of his songs for him. Hopefully these blues will gently bring us all back down from the sparkle high.

 

 

A Quick Breakfast

 

I was really tired when I wrote these!

 


 

I want an egg sandwich.
These things make themselves
If you’ve lost enough sleep
You can watch them
Make themselves
Life is easier when your breakfast is sentient
And ambulatory
As long as its attitude toward being eaten
Is positive.
A positive attitude
Can really make or break
A good breakfast.
Don’t break my breakfast
By giving it existential dread
Don’t let it start enjoying the real world
Or fearing death
Because soon
I must eat it
And I hate having to catch my own breakfast.
Swifter than a deer
So does the yolk in my egg sandwich run.

 

 


A second attempt:


 

Every morning
I must catch my own breakfast
The eggs are runny
The bacon is cooking fast
And these quickbreads won’t get away from me anytime soon.
But they’re going to have to get up earlier than that in the morning!

 

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Bits and Pieces 2

 

Below the blathering is another collection of little poems which didn’t make the cut as standalones, but which I liked too much to delete entirely.

I haven’t been the most reliable at posting this week! Without work as an anchor, my whole routine is thrown. I’m probably going to be sporadic for the rest of the month until all my vacation time is spent. I am doing my best to learn how to be reliable even when not working. So far this week I’m doing better than I did over my last vacation, when I just gave up on posting entirely. I consider this week’s three posts to be progress!

 


 

I wish

I wish

I wish I knew

What it is the good girls do.

 

 


 

I may not be much
But whatever I have
I have a lot of.

 

 


 

To find happiness

To find creativity

To fulfill my purpose

To work towards a goal

To improve

To relax

To be still

To accept

To deny

To take

To give

To have time for everyone

To use time efficiently

To be human

Push and pull

To be two

 

 


 

Hellscape

I’m just not feeling very dark today.

I hear a cricket

I see the pond at night

I feel the cool autumn air

I can breathe.

 

 


 

I want a lit cigarette

To take a drag

In drag

To bat my long false eyelashes

At some poor stud

And confuse the hell out of him

Until he doesn’t know

Which way his dick should be pointing.

 

 


 

I like the look of death

I want to lick death’s cheek.

But I’d miss

Because he has no cheeks.

 

 


 

Marble veined skin

Veins of marble

Skin of veins

Don’t kiss me

You

Are

Disgusting.

 

 

 


 

I am a planet

I drift

I follow the pull of gravity

I watch the worlds dance

I watch myself dance with them

Somehow we always miss each other

We never collide

Neither do we touch

 

 


 

My nose is clogged, my tonsils swole, and then

You tell me I should get back up again

I want to rest, my bed is safe and warm

But no one has the patience for my smarm

Get back to work, get up, get out, go on!

I hear you and I wish you weren’t born.

 

 


 

My only regret is,

If I take care of my health,

I may never have a prosthetic

With which to scare small children.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

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