were you married to Mr. Goose or not?
Did your webbed fingers
ever touch his
in a wedding trot?
were you charming in your feather dress?
When you swam around the pond
or nibbled watercress?
did it hurt to lay all those eggs?
did you ever wish for
Listen to the never-ending whine.
The darkness sleeps. You cannot.
You can hear her dance. It is hot.
When the dance is over she will dine.
You'll be her meal, laid out on bed.
Unless you rise and find her first,
and squash her, and her bloody thirst,
she will turn your pillows red.
And this one is by far the best of the lot! A Truly Good Bad Poem!
Hundred and two in the shade
my eyes stand like hard-boiled eggs
in my crab-coloured face.
This country, she was not made
for people with snowpealike legs.
This country, she's on my case.
Ok. I promise there will be no more bad poetry, except perhaps for the feminist ones I was looking for when I found these.
Share yours in the comments thread.