I write really bad poetry, I’ve never got the hang of it. I can write passable limericks but they’re easy, they have fixed rules and must scan. The gift of writing truly deep and meaningful poetry completely evades me, doesn’t stop me doing it though.
I once enlisted the participation of work colleagues when the job was getting us down. Nothing inspires like a distinctly loathsome employer. That little project spawned a whole slew of ’I hate work’ poetry, mainly limericks and haiku (obviously written in English), with a few Weird-Al inspired song re-writes.
I’ve always believed that heightened emotional states inspire the writing of poems however it doesn’t guarantee quality. If anything, I think I can guarantee a good laugh at my poetic ineptitude. The example below was written about an exceptionally attractive and flirtatious friend.
I knew a young lady, Pinky.
Her clothing incredibly slinky.
At her long, slender legs
Many a gentlemen begs.
Smiling, she slips them a winky.
Even though my attempts at poetry are shockingly terrible, I see no reason why I shouldn’t keep trying. Writing diabolical poetry is a stress relief and pleasure, if for no other reason than it makes me smile at how atrocious my poetry is.