Appalling Poetry COmpetition

Thread over.

I call it Diary of a 15-year-old

[I call this crappy wannabe e.e. cummings blog poetry.]

"You think that you're cool
Playing for Liverpool
But you're just a fool
Surf the web instead, you tool!"

do I win?

prayerful? yes, we.
there is hope in them
thar hills. to which
i say, avast! ye hearty
smarties. let us roll
out of the way of
the dashes, thru the snow,
the iris always knows.

Are we allowed to enter more than once? the muse is with me.

The well is dry
The sky is grey
And I am all alone

I broke my gatefold
Told my joke
Now I am near to gone

Pass me my shotgun, Horace
Pass me my cane
Pass me my hunting hat
My cape of lion’s mane

I will not be a loser
And never a disgrace
I will hunt down Jesus Christ, my friend
And shoot him in the face

His Grail will flow
His spirit sail
While mine shall shimmer and soar

I’ll drink my health
For infinity
And live for ever more

the barmaid was really nice
i got a little randy
so i got becks and smirnoff ice
and downed the turbo shandy

when time at the bar was called
i still want to do them all
alas i can't do it no more, i fear
and it's all thanks to the beer

Glue

Sniff it baby
Go on I dare you
Not my armpit
I meant the Uhu
If you don’t
You’ll loose my love
If you don’t
You’ll taste my glove
If you do
I bet you’ll like it
If you do
I’ll wash the stains out the carpet
But if you don’t
Let’s just say it’s best if you do
And if you do
Then I’ll marry you
Cos I don’t wanna be stuck
With someone dull
Who doesn’t chance to luck
When it comes to snorting muck
It’s a turbo charge
Trust me
I’m a professional

"Professional what?" she asked before her head hit the floor.

No more.

My love, my love, my love, my love,
So much do my thoughts fly out
At you that they're like an errant dove
Stuck in its coop and bashing about,
Shedding pearly feathers in great clots,
So that my stomach is tied in knots.

Our love is a love 'twas meant to be,
Ordained by God back when Time started
And the Sun itself was only a wee
Thought in God's head, not yet imparted
Up into Earth's blue and shining sky
Destined to shine later on on You and I.

But when we aren't together, like now,
I get all flustered and sad and blue.
I wish I had a Saab Turbo; it'd allow
Me to Zoom! Zoom! Zoom! my way to you
And then we'd be back together again
Lots faster than if I had to take a train.

Results on Monday Australian time. I'm excited.

My heart is as turbo black as midnight,
my tears fall, staining my cheeks like iodine
Why won't you listen to my cries, my turbo pleas for understanding.
I am lost in a maze of their confusion,
bumping into the dead turbos of their prejudice.
Wounded, but not resigned, I will persevere,
My heart is as turbo dark as morning.

I call it Turbo Diary of a 15-year-old

Incidentally, M Matos's entry didn't mention the word, and is therefore disqualified, but still, go up thread and read it. You won't be sorry. While you're there, take a look at Gear!'s as well. Especially the last few lines.

Look at the seagull
Flying like an eagle

Yo! I thought turbot
the fo'
was spelt turbo
it just goes to show
what i know

('yo'! = rap version of 'o!' and also 'fo'' = 'fish')

This bad luck stays right in front of my eyes,
like a jelly bean sitting on a dog's nose,
when the dog has been trained to sit still
and wait with the jelly bean on his nose
until his master says "OK, Bandit!"

And the next thing you know the jelly bean
Has disappeared into the dog's mouth,
almost like the dog's lips are turbo-charged.

And I keep thinking to myself all day,
Maybe this time I'll shake that piece
of bad luck off my nose and not eat it
This time.

My sister said,
"Camels hump
like rabbits
always in a stew."
I bet they do.

Turbo as comets,
keen as mutts,
cool like ice cream
on black silk sheets.
And bustin' like skeets.

This could have been a car wreck.
This could have been us.

Corfu was so lovely in the springtime
When we were together, oh so long ago.
The lapping of the plaintive, little wavelets on the shore,
lapping like time against our bare feet,
feet so soon to be shod and plodding again
When the springtime ended in Corfu.

Ah! You plucked white anenomes with a white hand,
As I recall, and stuffed them in your kirtle.
I plucked your kirtle and it fell away
like time fell away from our feet, our toes
That gripped the earth like Antaeus,
Or so I imagined it to be in spring in Corfu.

But as it ever must, the day of recking fell,
And time and white anenomes fell wrecked from our white hands,
Crushed where your kirtle fell upon the sweet earth
Of Corfu. And here I am, my toes inside my shoes
And my shoes parked under my desk, a fallen man,
Far, far from Corfu and from you. Except for email.

"My shoes turbo-parked beneath my desk, a fallen man,"

Bunny rabbit boggles mind
a jumpy out of shiny spine
wiggly nosed nascent nope
whispering pinkly, "turbo"

Bunny rabbit stuggles wine
wrappings round squiggle
and fuzy scrumption feet
in maudlin morse, "Turbo"

Bunny rabbit! Bunny bunny!
Wobble wonderfully free
so you can play with me,
our lungs wheezing "turbo",

but your face
is the mirror
of my soul!

like what?,
I said.

I call it "Hot Action Cop Starts The Fire"

Sterling, yours is good, they're supposed to be bad.

The baby chick peeps
on my sweaty, shaking palm,
the fluffy down quivered
in shaky shimmers of shots.
I want to hug you so close,
hold you gainst my chest,
concaved and shallow for you,
feathers and bones squeezed,
eyes turboed in a squeeze
of accidental, absolute love.

I would even venture to affirm that the word 'turbo' cannot be used anywhere in any poem without lowering the tone. It's a forbidden word. It's, its.... transgressive.

It is an ancient turbor,
And he stoppeth one of three.
"By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?
"The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide,
And I am next of kin;
The guests are met, the feast is set:
May'st hear the merry din."

The Turbo holds him with his skinny hand,
"There was a ship," quoth he.
"Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!"
Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

It holds him with his glittering eye --
The Wedding-Guest stood still,
And listens like a three years child:
The Turbo hath his will.

I think I'm going to throw up. Oh God. Well that's what you get for wanting the word "turbo" in the poem.

eggs;

snatched

not scrambled

it's not over easy

but rigidly timed.

the perfect

two-minute egg

jacques pepin and julia child

would wax culinary over my tiny turbo triumph.

eggs;

cold metal cutlery

home and hearth intertwined

in a gloved, clinical moment.

I am the Sleeper,

internal,

with my egg.

I trip on you. Turbo awhile.
The softness here is sound.
I would like to burn the sage
of every night just like this,
hear everything from your ears
hearing out.

Turbo what there is to touch
with your nine toes, turbo against
the evening as part of your
thighs chafing.

My pants glancing yours is like
turbo, the finality of minutes.

Your tongue is larget and moist
lazy in my mouth
the way I turbo inside of you..

The only turbo
on the earth is the night's blight,
ruby bracelet turboing
across the parquet floor.

The engin is turbo charged
And sounds like a dog growling
It scares me

All of a suden
A unicorn comes

She saves me from fear
And takes me to
Her cloud up in the sky

Over the rainbow and across the seas
We went for miles

I rest on the cloud and fall
Straight down

Then I turn into a cat and fall
Flat on my feet

I then relize I don't need
The sweet unicorn anymore

Now I sleep on the car
With the turbo charged engin
It's warm and
It comforts me

Sweet young one,
Why won't you sleep?
You're turb charged with caffiene.

Little angel,
Why must you cry?
You've wet your bed with tears.

Precious sweatheart,
Your turbo charged.
You've only just now learned how to walk.
Please stop!
You've fallen too much already.

Everyone tries to help you.
We finally get you to sleep.

We vow, never again
Will we
Give you
Coffe before bed.

Grainger (1721-67) did not have the courage of his convictions and deleted these words on discovering that his listeners dissolved into spontaneous laughter the instant they were read out.

All that doth flow we cannot liquid name
Or else would fire and water be the same;
But that is liquid which is moist and wet
Fire that property can never get
Then 'tis not cold that doth the fire put out.
But 'tis the wet that makes it die, no doubt.

Scottish poet widely hailed as the author of the worst poetry ever in the English language

My heart was turbo
For you.

You broke my heart
With your actions
And words.

I know not
What to do.
I will never
Be turbo for
Anyone else.

My heart is now slow
Like a snail.

Oh, my dearest love,
Why must you slow my turbo heart?

William Topaz McGonagall was so giftedly bad that he backed unwittingly into genius. Combining a minimal feel for the English language with a total lack of self-awareness and nil powers of observation, he became a poet, and penned this great masterpeice from his back room in Paton's Lane, Dundee:

An Address to the Rev. George Gilfillan

All hail to the Rev George Gilfillan of Dundee,
He is the greatest preacher I did ever hear or see.
He is a man of genius bright,
And in him his congregation does delight,
Because they find him to be honest and plain.
Affable in temper, and seldom known to complain.
He preaches in a plain straightfoard way
The people flock to hear him night and day,
And hundreds from the doors are often turn'd away,
Because he is the greatest preacher of the present day.
He has written the life or Sir Walter Scott,
And while he lives he will never be forgot,
Nor when he is dead,
Because by his admirers it will often be read;
And fill there minds with wonder and delight,
And wile away the tedious hours on a cold winter's night
He has also written about the Bards of the Bible,
Which occupied nearly three years in which he was not idle,
Because when he sits down to write he does it with might and main
And to get an interview with him it would be almost vain,
And in that he is always right,
For the bible tells us whatever your hands findeth to do,
Do it with all your might.
Rev George Gilfillan of Dundee, I must conclude my muse,
And to write in praise of thee my pen does not refuse,
Nor does it give me pain to tell the world fearlessly, that when
You are dead they shall not look upon your like again.

From 'The book of Heroic Failiures -
The official Handbook of the Not Terribly Good Club of Great Britain'
Routledge & Kegan Paul Ltd, 1979,  ISBN 0 7088 1908 7

Clock upon the wall
Ticking turbo
Ticking too fast for me
I can't tell what time it is
Oh, help me
Is it 4:00
No, it's 7:27

Clock upon the wall stop
You are making my head spin
Today turns into tomorrow
In the blink of an eye
Birthdays come and go
And come back again

Clock please stop
So I can live my life
Stop, stop now

Clock upon the wall finally stopped
And all of time has stopped
And we are all frozen
In what we thought we wanted

He plays guitar
With turbo hands
Thowing the guitar out of tune
So many times

He eats
With turbo jaws of steel
Getting fat and
Thowing up

He walks
With turbo feet and legs
Passing us all by
And falling along the way

And when your race is runneth,
And at Those Gates you stand,
And good St. Peter rises
To offer you his hand--

When on those clouds you standeth
And look down on the earth
To see the world you lefteth
Thereby causing your dearth--

When back you look upon it all,
Your triumphs and your crimes,
The times you sold your brother out
For but handfuls of dimes--

What will be His last verdict,
While on that fence you wait?
Will heaven-bound you be, my friend,
Or turned back from The Gate?

Did you accept the Lord thy God
For your true Savior bright?
Or did you slink and cheat and swear,
Do opposite of right?

Well on this huge conundrum
Applieth thee thy thoughts,
Or all my noble versiflage
Will be proven as naught!

Because that last great Turbo
That spins the planets 'round
Will wait for no one, man nor maid
Nor dog confin'd in pound--

Please, friend, change thy loathsome ways
Before your hour is up
Or with Satan you'll dineth...
AND ON YOUR SOUL HE'LL SUP!

Oh, turbo car that I love
Faster than no other
And also better looking
You are what I use to take me away
From everything else in this world
Engin made of turbo and body o steel
You are my love and saviour
Never ever breakdown on me
I love you too much, but I don't have the money to repair you
Always stay true and never breakdown

Like rouged harlots,
a line of pretty prance
in beween bleachers
waiting for the Speech,
turbo words for
a turbo tomorrow,
the players of 87
now boxing up shoes.

"Why can't I have
an advanced class
for weight training?
My boys need it.
Why do I have to
work with the gimps
and the stupid tards?
This just isn't fair."

Touchdown!

Turbo-rrific
in Cougar Town!

"It's as if I was
like turbo-charged."

A dream of front teeth,
missing and fondly recalled.

in light of our loss
tragic and undeserved to
North Medford Friday

Very PKD, that line. Nice.

What would the Crue do?
A cigarette on the corner,
greasy hair and sharp stares
but never from a friend
like Eddie the Puppet.

The trouble always starts
crossing the parking lot,
swimming through the snot.
Who said Chivalry was dead?
A challenge cannot be ignored
with feeling swollen and sore.

West Side Story redux:
Turbo "Fuck You" and "You Suck!"

Deep down in the basement
breathing in the strands
of sweet asbestos,
voices fire retardant
beneath the lockers
hung heavy with
Jon Bon Jovi's pose.

I should have died in Turbo's maniacal whimsy
scattering small sandwiches,
delusional
to the winds in odd-numbered latitudes, broken into slut-dust
and cast screaming into the abyss.

when the National
Slam was in the PDX.
I deserved to win.

One more glass of wine
and I'll post "White Rapper Blues"
or "Political"

swing, swing, swing
turbo thump yr ass
you no good
mumble mumble.

Attention defecit disordered,
puddles in pants and parents --
magic marker high at the table
scrawling across uplifting tales
made out to whomever swiftly.

turbo boosted signatures
in exhausted delirium
in between shy crying
and machine gun questions
pilfered from PBS.

everyone is missing
at least one tooth.

I shall not take glee
without a civilized
way to take my seat
inside this quick car.

Daisy shalt not crawl
through an opening.

he moves turbo,
oblique

a shadow cast in cheap flourescent

they line up,
sharp.

he takes his seat,
lifts the pen
and begins an eternal scrawl

half-remembered,
in a chemical moment
they will pause

and remember his teeth.

and consider his teeth.

A fist in the face
fills up the space,
the hand burned brightly
by the stubbled abrasion
of poisoned words stinging
through a dental earthquake,
molars made not to shake,
enamel unturboed for impact,
stunned by seismic smack.

no one questions that, gym
teacher yellow teeth cig
aroma wiry muscle wily leer,

"are you kiddin me dog breath"
pushing it up inexorable as
fate as cancer as math boners

try to steal it, he'll swipe at
you with his clawed left, draw
blood who cares hack don't care,

he loves it, "earn yr scars boys"
but he takes it ill when tall
Lance tips his 18-footer, blocked,

blocked, it's all over.
we look to see time pass God sneer
the curtain of age descend.

Hackworth swears once loud
grabs the ball fires it at Lance
hits him in the eye blood spurts he jumps

when we pulled him off he screeched
wings appeared out of his back
he was gone before we could breathe

oh and insert "turbo" in first line please before "gym teacher"

opiate-eyed
and pondering,
rolling,
insistent,
turbo light and greed

she is terrified
hidden beneath your last breath,

the death-molar,
architechtural you stand against
the silver
of the dental chair

fists out,
a new procedure,
seismic
and all the rage.

Thankyou so much. I do want to become a writer. That is why I even considered looking at this tread. I like writng poetry.

when Roger Krueger found Mr. S
's address
and went to visit him one night
toilet paper in flight
the teacher charged out of the door, another
guy living with his mother
who just wanted to be left to his own devices
with no surprises,
yelling "Get away motherfucker!"
Roger was like a turbo trucker
out of there lickety-split
but hit
our funnybones next week
telling this story; what cheek!
(this poem was much worse than it needed to be, due to thread requirements)

TURBO CARS ARE EVERY WHERE

DRIVING TO KFC AND FAST

BECOS THERE ARE PEEPOL

IN THE CARS WANTING

TO EAT MASHPED POTATOS

AND NOT JUSD AT HOME

TURBO CAR IS BETTER THAN

NORMIL CAR BECOS ITS

A FASTER CAR AND IN THE

CAR GOT BULDED A CUP SEAT

TO PUT A CUP IN SO NOT TO

SPILL DRINKS AND HAVE TO

SAY OOPS WHEN GOING

TURBO FAST

JUSD DRIVING THE TURBO

CAR AND FEELING IMPORTONT

IN A TURBO CAR GOING FAST

TO PLACES IN THE WORLD

ALSO IF THERE IS A COP

IN A TURBO CAR AND HAS

TO CHASE ROBBERS ON THE

SIDEWALK HE CAN DOOD THAT

BECOS BEING THE JOB

OF A COP MAKES IT

IMPORTONT AND LEGAL TO

DRIVE ON THE SIDEWALK

I CANT THINK WHAT ELSE

TO WRIT ABOUT THE TURBO

CAR HERE PLEASE SANTA

GIVE ME THE TURBO CAR

AND SO I CAN WRIT

LONGER AND MORE

ABOUT IT THANK YOU

it will start subtle

you won't know

black
and
blue

on the heart

from the lies

Turbo kitty
Sitting pretty
Pretty sitting kitty

Turbo car
Covered in tar
Tar covered car

Turbo ocean
Moving in a commotion
Commotion moving ocean

Everthing turbo
Not ordinary

Everything turbo
Is extrodinary

My feet--
Turbo--
My mouth--
Turbo--
My hands--
Turbo--
My eyes--
Turbo--
My mind--
Turbo--
My heart--
Turbo--

You all must bow
Down before me
For I am
Trulely turbo
And you are just
Plainly regular

Turbo city with turbo people
I'm living the turbo life
Money comes and goes like it is turbo
Turbo lights and buildings
Turbo pets and friends
Turbo trains and busses
Turbo, Turbo, Turbo, Turbo!
I'm living the turbo life
And it's turbo

Take my human heart
Tear me apart
Take all my hope
I'll still cope
Ejection, ejection
From the mechanism
Rejection, rejection
Start the cataclysm
Dissect my soul
Just a hole
Display me flaws
Attack the core
Control the system
Destroy the system

A turbo frisbee comes
Flying at my head.
It hits me,
And I say,
"ow!"

Klaus Barbie's daughter
was not an otter
turboing shellfish
against a rock
balanced on its chest.

An otter does not know
the German language glows,
a translucent jellyfish
drifting through the water
sublime as if
Klaus Barbie's daughter.

He adores the people of
The turbo nature
His only wish is to be like them

He fell in love with
The turbo princess
He wishes to marry her
But he is not of
The turbo nature
So he is not allowed to marry
The one he loves

He ended up marrying
A person just like him
And he is miserable

I wish I were
Turbo
I wish I were
Tall
I wish I were
Tolerant
I wish I were
Talented
I wish I were
Translucent
I wish I were
You

Tell me about
Umbellas because there's a
Red one above the
Big tree
Over there

Free and tranquil
The turbo are envied
They can do what they want
While we can't

All powerful and virtuous
The turbo are looked up to
And we are just looked at

The turbo are great and special
And that is why
I hate them

I was wondering when Haikunym was going to get involved. I was not disappointed.

I said at the start of the thread I would nominate a winner on Monday, but now it's here I feel that, really, poetry is the winner. I award the prize to everyone. And what is that prize? It's a full transcription of the lyric to Judas Priest's 'Turbo Lover' of course! 'Run for cover' they advise, and we would be fools not to heed the warning. 'Wrapped in horsepower' indeed!

Lose yourself in the original masters of appalling poetry - and let the celebrations continue! God bless your turbo-fueled hearts.

JUDAS PRIEST - TURBO LOVER

You won't hear me, But you'll feel me
Without warning, something’ss dawning, listen.
Then within your senses,
You'll know you’re defenseless
How your heart beats, when you run for cover
You can’t retreat I spy like no other.

Then we race together. We can ride forever
Wrapped in horsepower, driving into fury
Changing gear I pull you tighter to me

I'm your turbo lover. Tell me there's no other.
I'm your turbo lover. Better run for cover

We hold each other closer, as we shift to overdrive
And everything goes rushing by, with every nerve alive
We move so fast it seems as though we've taken to the sky
Love machines in harmony, we hear the engines cry.

On and on we're charging to the place so many seek
In perfect synchronicity of which so many speak
We feel so close to heaven in this roaring heavy load
and then in sheer abandonment, we shatter and explode.

Eating fish like turbo
And throwing it up faster
My worste nightmare

Go man go!

I'm a girl!

Nothing was turbo charged
She knew something was wrong
The lights went out and
All the cars stopped
She tried to start the car
Nothing happened
All the turbo was gone from
The world
And everything died
Except for the creatures in
The sea

Did you see it?
The turbojet.
Oh well.
You missed it.
No, I will not tell you about it.

-- Aja (AsiaKitty200...), November 30th, 2003. (aja)

I'm a girl too.
I won't hold it against you.

Go away!
I can't take it anymore.
My turbo car was in a crash.
My loved one was driving my car.
I really hope the car is ok.

What does that mean.

rrrrrrrrrraaaahhhhhRUSHgoes the OVUM down
the Tube

at midnight,

turbo through the tunnel, seeking

heat, seeking light, seeking white;

washed over cilia like sea creatures,

desperate, yet

anchored forever to the floor where above,

an ear, caressed for the last time

is spent.

Down the road it went
My turbojet
In the air it started to go
Away into the clouds
To be with other turbojets

My turbojet never came back
She is still in the sky
With the other turbojets

How I miss her
I miss her so
Now all I have are my fiends down here
They can never compare to my turbojet

Grains of pain,

transcended synapse,

a fire lit and forgotten,

racked, turbo-arced connections

settle into hard pellets

while waves gently lap the shore.

twee vestiges;

sparks of manatee, flecked otter turbo-prop

and bits of Monsieur Costeau,

compete in the

cluttered water.

O Captain, My Captain
Bearing down your turbo bow
upon the noble Manatee

Flee, noble creature,
truly,
gather pearls in your wake
and do not forget Aja,
watery, turbo

reflected in blubbler eyes.

Turbo manatee
Everyone loveth thee
Except for me

Didnt anyone like my Mark E Pastiche then? :( OH well.

an ermine of perfected
elision displays
turbo vacuum emission

on worm censored red glutton
for birthing the ploy
of turbo inchoate sex

weed thus the turbo brickshard
pubic and olid
from our turbo'd neighborhood

grandma summer, uncle fall
the love of christmas is their undertaker
so free
and twighlight sees
turbo girl, turbo fox
let me release your engine's FIRE
fuck you, molasses, up your skinny asses

I call it Backward Masking

I am very very sorry in advance *runs away*.

I can see the glitter in you eyes
As you look to the skies
Looking for your turbojet
I know we've only just met

Can I get one too
One that is new
I feel it's what I need
And it would be a good deed

If you gave me one
That weighs a ton
I'll have one that is greater
And I'll see you later

and yet so right

This is in my bookmarks.

I miss old jack cole
and those sweet poetic nights
uh oh TURBO DOUCHE

There is no fire.
No flame.
No idiom.
No marketplace.
No obscuring distance
that makes us love the shadow of the other.
I am but a part of my sums
and the blood on my gums.

(That one came to my head just now, while I was eating lunch.)

I like the bit in brackets.

A drowning man keeps sinking
But the dead men always float
I pondered on this irony
As I pushed you off the boat