Category: bad Poetry

Honestly, I didn’t think this through completely when I started posting the old “Bad Poetry” entries. Whatever readership that I had previously has now been driven away — if not completely incapacitated by vile verse and dreadful doggerel.

This is, of course, the fifth part of my oh-my-god-why-are-they-so-many-parts series exploring real examples of poetry written by Second Lifers. In late 2003 and early 2004, I held a series of Bad Poetry Contests, in which avatars were given only fifteen minutes and 8 sort-of-random words in which to create the most painful poetry imaginable. All of these poems were improvised. All of these poems were better off never having been written in the first place.

Today’s entries originate from the evening of November 18, 2003. The words: dinosaur, extinguish, hiccup, mime, poultry, uvula, vaccinate, and wobble. I’ll start with my own contribution to this festival of nausea. Continue reading “Bad Poetry of Second Life, Part 5”

The date today is, of course, 10/10/10  (alternatively, it’s 10/10/10 if you use European format). To nerds all over the planet, it’s obvious that 101010 is binary for the number 42, which is the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe and everything. As far as significant dates go, this is a big one.

Honestly, it’s unlikely that today’s selection of bad poetry will answer any ultimate questions, but they would most likely please a Vogon.

To those who don’t read this site regularly: In 2003 and 2004, I held a series of “Bad Poetry Contests” in which contestants were given 15 minutes and a selection of perhaps-not-so-random words to write a poem so distressingly awful, it could be considered a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands. Today’s selection is from November 11, 2003. The random words: gourd, hemp, indigestion, kangaroo, pelvis, salad, skimp, and zither.

First up is the esteemed architect, Lordfly Digeridoo. Continue reading “Bad Poetry of Second Life, Part 4”

Welcome to PAIN. Muahahaha! This, of course, is part three of a too-many-part series of actual stinky poetry written by Second Lifers (see part 1 and part 2).

Back in late 2003 and early 2004, I hosted several poetry contests. The challenge: in only 15 minutes, and given eight random words to include, write a poem that’s so awful, your eyes bleed from the reading of it.

In today’s installment, we turn the wayback machine to November 4, 2003. The random words: deposit, dolly, erogenous, flipper, giggle, sublime, slimy, and tapestry. Continue reading “Bad Poetry of Second Life, Part 3”

As I mentioned in my previous post, in late 2003 and early 2004, I hosted a series of poetry contests in Second Life. The challenge: to write the absolute worst poem possible in fifteen minutes, while incorporating eight randomly-chosen words. The virtual poets rose to the challenge, and the results would nauseate even a Vogon.

Seven years later, I am revisiting selections of vile verse and posting them here for your reading discomfort. You may recognize some names.

This selection of stinky stanza are dredged up from the evening of October 28, 2003. The random words of the day: boat, strangulate, hearse, pasty, hat, carp, and recline. Continue reading “Bad Poetry of Second Life, Part 2”

In late 2003 and early 2004, I hosted a series of poetry contests in Second Life. The challenge: to write the absolute worst poem possible in fifteen minutes, while incorporating eight randomly-chosen words. The virtual poets rose to the challenge, and the results would nauseate even a Vogon.

Seven years later, I plan to revisit selections of vile verse and post them here for your reading discomfort. You may recognize some names.

The first selection comes from October 21, 2003, where a handful of avatars gathered at Theatre Terra in Natoma. Random words: balaclava, dainty, eulogy, glimpse, herculean (or Hercules), kayak, massage, and yodel. Time: 15 minutes.

Kenzington Fairlight:

i don’t know what balaclava is/just that it’s said in aladin
the genie says it in a song/as you glimpse at his powers flashin!
after the scene, i massage my brain/he made dainty chics dance around!
this movie was so much better than hercules/my brain yodels, it does astound!
it makes me want to take my kayak/and paddle it through some sand
but i figured out that this can’t work/lola, isn’t this eulogy grand?

Lordfly Digeridoo:

Sitting on the steps wearing my balaclava,
Chewing this piece of gum that just lost its flava.

I yodel for a massage, but it just ain’t comin,
The old lady’s yelling at me, and my ears are numbin.

I stretch my arms, bored as a bat,
I decide to see if I can find this or that.

I go inside the crib, to catch me the paper,
And I glimpse a eulogy next to the latest caper.

It was a tribute to Hercules, our fallen hero,
The courageous peasant who worked his way from zero.

He was taking a daintly cruise down the Mighty Mississippi,
In a kayak of all things, and the weather was getting iffy.

Things as always took a turn for the worse,
He got nailed by lightning, and was taken away by a hearse.

His family was distraught, and so was the town,
The widow was dressed in an all-black gown.

I guess it happened yesterday according to the news,
I wondered why my neighbors were crying the blues.

So now I sit here, still bored outta my mind,
with my old lady, who’s robbing me blind.

I guess that’s how it goes, deep in the hood,
And with any luck, this poem won’t be any good.

Julian Fate:

O, dainty muse I do beseech
And sing thy vapid eulogy,
Massage mine brain to fervid heights
Of herculean poetry.
Inspire me that my words might glimpse
The heights and ever mixed verb tense.
Guide my kayak of sweet verse
Across the literary univere.
O, Muse whose creative balaclava
Covers o’er like molten lava
Let not Death’s rudeness crack my voice
But yodel sweetly, that’s my choice.

Neferon ________:

A man named Turger.

I feel as if a dainty… fainty slip of the spoon urged my kayak to capsize with unknow stuff.
That is also why my balaclava is so huff and puff.
The yodel i do is different then the need for eulogy.
And it is not a glimpse of phsycotherapy.
No no no none of these herculean words is mine, yet you need to heed thyself from the sheep, for it massages quickly.
And of course the fox is cunning and trickly.
Repeat is handy when doing things.
and repeat is handy when it comes to springs.
Repeat is handy when doing things.
and repeat is handy when it comes to springs.
The fly eat a hamburger because it does not eat a cheeseburger.
Music stops and ends when … o no the beat is hard and like a rhino very fast.
I once knew a man named Turger.
And he didn’t last…..very long

Stay tuned for more bad poetry from the oldbies of Second Life.