I Don’t Write Poetry

bad-poetry
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I’ve always been more of a prose sort of girl; occasionally working myself into the odd fictional scenario, but mostly, I just tell it like it is, from my perspective anyway.  But this weekend, Plinkdom has had nothing but poetry challenges.

I’ve started using Plinky as a way to help get the created juices flowing – a warm up exercise, if you will – but I have to say, lately, I haven’t been overly keen on their prompts.  If nothing else, they do make me think though, which is a rare commodity these days it seems.

Since I’m unemployed now, I have a lot of time on my hands.  I’ve been trying to force myself to write nearly every day.  It helps keep my head above water and keeps me focused on something besides blindly sending out resumes I’ll never hear from again, like the worst homing pigeons in history.

So, I’ve tried my hand at teh poetry.  I suck at it.  I know this. I’ve known this since the 8th grade when the nuns at Catholic school forced me to write a goddamn limerick.  I still bear the shame of that creative expedition, though the words are long gone now.  They’re probably blacked out in my memory so I don’t have to relive the anguish. And Plinkster’s literary confines certainly aren’t helping matters. What follows are my latest pedestrian efforts.

The first prompt: Write a 10-line poem about your neighbor.

Crazy Cat Lady
Crazy cat lady lives next door with cats of all pedigrees
Cats don’t respect property lines and go wherever they please
They’re ever present in my yard, cleaning themselves in repose
Trampling and peeing on garden plants ’til nothing really grows
They shoot me looks, taunt my indoor cat and give him tons of fleas
I worry that my own dumb cat will catch some feral disease
Baby talk heard at feeding time at 6 PM on the nose
When my dumb cat makes it outside, to her place is where he goes
Since I have one, she thinks I like talking cats, blind to my pleas
One day, I swear I will round them up and ship them overseas

Guh.  I know.  Major suckage.  Total amateur hour, but the challenge was completed. Phew.  No more poetry. That is, until I awakened Sunday morning to find yet another poetry prompt.

The Second Prompt: Write a poem using only words that start with “s”

C’mon!!!!  Are you fucking kidding me?  It took all my effort and much embarrassment to write the first damn poem, but two in a row?  Dude…

Such Silliness Shouldn’t Succeed
Sacrébleu! She sighed, spying Sunday’s screwy scribing suggestion.
She suspected some suspiciously surreptitious significance.
Something so senseless surely shouldn’t stand.
Sadly, sacrificing sensibility, she surrendered.
Sanity scrapped, sagacity shunned, syntax subjugated;
Stupidity soared, surpassing sophistical syllogism.
She sophomorically sought statements solely spewing S’s.

If they have another poetry prompt tomorrow, I’m afraid I’ll have to stop lest I pollute the world with even more of my poetical garbage.  I apologize for any lost brain cells in reading this post.