Bad Poetry Vol. 1: It’s a Small, Weird World

When I talk to people about writing I usually tell them that I can write anything… except poetry.

I just never developed a knack for it. To this day, I don’t understand what an iamb is. And I’ve looked it up at least a half-dozen times. I don’t know what meter is. I don’t understand it, and I get frustrated thinking about it.

Given this ineptitude, I’ve avoided poetry for most of my life.

But no more.

Rather than running, I’ve declared war on the form, with this newest Drunk & Humble Feature: Bad Poetry.

Please enjoy…

Jesus Rides Behind Me

I was riding my motorcycle through the Nevada desert, 
By Area 51.
When I saw Jesus on the side of the road.
I wasn’t looking for him, like so many people are.
He was just there, standing in the dust and the sun.
“Jesus Christ!” I shouted, in disbelief.
Jesus smiled sheepishly and waved.
You’re not supposed to yell out the names of famous people when you meet them.
I felt embarrassed and started to drive on.
Then I turned back.

“Hey, Jesus,” I said. “Do you want to join my motorcycle gang?”
He held his hands up and shook his head.
“C’mon. It’ll be fun,” I said.
Jesus looked down.
I could tell he was uncomfortable.
After a pause I said: “You don’t know how to ride do you?”
I smiled a little so he knew I wasn’t judging him.
He smiled a little too.
He knew he’d been busted.
“Here,” I said, tossing him my helmet.
“Climb on back.”
Jesus looked up at me, still smiling, and put my helmet on.
He got on back of my bike and we rode off.
Jesus had his arms around my waist.
It was a glorious day.

Groundhog’s Day

The Oracle emerges every February 2.
He blesses us with an early spring or curses us with more winter.
Our prayers and offerings weren’t enough this year, and the little bastard cursed us.
He crawled from his hole, stroked his beard thrice and said:
“You will spend another six weeks shivering in winter’s cold, unforgiving shadow.”
Then his eyes glowed white and he went back inside.
One woman screamed and killed herself on the spot.
It’s an ugly affair, Groundhog’s Day.
But without it, there’d be no order.

 Fuckin’ Weird

I was walking through Monument Park.
Sometimes I go there to read.
By one of the benches, there was a mime and a clown.
The mime was playing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” on a saw.
It made me uneasy.
One phrase just kept repeating in my head: “Fuckin’ weird.”
I walked past them and found a separate bench.
A few minutes later, they came by.
They were throwing a ball to people who would throw it back.
I couldn’t concentrate on my reading.
I just kept praying they wouldn’t engage me.
Thankfully they didn’t.
Eventually, I walked away chuckling to myself.
Again thinking “Fucking weird.” over and over again.
Who wants to be a mime? Why are people clowns?
Did they meet as a mime and a clown?
Or did they make that choice together?
Either way.
Fuckin’ weird.

The Pope Goes Nuclear

Jesus and I sat in the fallout shelter eating cans of peaches.
It’d been three years since the pope declared thermo-nuclear war.
I could hear the mutants roaming above.
“Maybe you could talk to him,” I said.
Jesus finished chewing his peaches, swallowed, and said:
“Funny thing is, I don’t really know the guy.”
“Oh,” I said. “Well maybe your dad then?”
“Mmmm,” Jesus said grimacing. “We’re not really on speaking terms.”
“Oh,” I said.
I was out of ideas.
“Yeah, to be honest, He abandoned you guys a few thousand years ago.
Just gave up, and walked away.
He’s got a new planet now. That’s why you guys had, like, Hitler and AIDs and stuff.”
“Oh,” I said. “Well, I’m gonna give it another hour.
Then I’m gonna go womp those mutants with this crowbar.”

The Break Up

I was lying in bed next to a girl I’d been dating.
We’d just had sex.
I farted really loudly.
It shook the bed.
My cat laughed.
I laughed, too.
“Like it or lump it,” I said to the girl.
She laughed.
Then she farted really loudly.
“Ew. Gross.” I said. “That’s not funny.”
We broke up.

 In the Army

Of all the officers in the Army,
Sergeant Jazzhands was the toughest.
“It’s almost like he’s compensating for something,”
one private said to me.
“Yeah,” I said. “I bet he has a small penis.”

 Road Rage

The parking lot was crowded, but I’d found a space.
I was just about to pull into it,
when another man with a truck cut me off.
He took my space.
I got out to confront him and a heated argument ensued.
Then, out of nowhere, aliens landed about 10 feet away.
I felt so small.
Here I was in a country with racism, inequality, and The Bachelor.
In a world full of famine, war, and suffering.
In a universe so vast, aliens with foreign technology travel billions of miles to investigate a distant planet,
Just to find me arguing with some asshole over a parking space.
As I was paralyzed by this moment of clarity, the alien emerged from its ship.
“I come in peace,” it said.
I looked at the man I’d been arguing with.
We both kind of laughed.
And then I shot him.
It was my parking space.
I handed the gun to the alien before the police showed up.
That’s how I started the war with the aliens.

4 thoughts on “Bad Poetry Vol. 1: It’s a Small, Weird World”

  1. Once upon a time, back in the dark ages of ancient TV there was series of cartoons on the Rocky and Bullwinkle show called “Fractured Fairy Tails”. May can now be viewed on YouTube. Bad poetry reminds me fondly of those. keep up the good (or bad) work.

    1. Comparing anything I’ve ever done to Rocky and Bullwinkle is the greatest compliment I’ve ever received. Thank you. And I love you.

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