Groop, I implore thee!

EDIT — Ack, I posted this the day after.  I suck.

Did you know that today is Bad Poetry Day?

(Neither did I until I saw it on the calendar at work earlier this month.)

Now, while my “bad poetry” tag is fair to bursting, I thought it more appropriate to go to the experts, and post some samples of the worst poets in the universe.  You may (or may not) recognize the title of this post as being a quote from the poetry of Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz, but there are even worse poets out there than the Vogons.

Let’s have a look at a few brief snippets of the work of the two worst poets in existence.

The second worst is Grunthos (the Flatulent), Poet Master of the Azgoths of Kria.

Missing Letter Monday No “L” – “Nothing”

Nothing

Nada.

Zip.

Zero.

The big empty.

Not a thing.

< 1

(Which reminds me, stop using ❤ and pretending it’s a heart!  Because it’s not.)

Nothin’.

Not even a speck.

(That’s how much inspiration I have for today’s post.)

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Missing Letter Monday No “K” Repost – “The Heartless Queen”

“The Heartless Queen”

When the Queen was a little girl
Her mother told her
A little white lie:
“It’s my own fault
That your father doesn’t love me anymore,
But I’m sure he’ll love me again soon.”

But her mother was wrong,
And her husband never loved her again,
And she wasted away loveless and alone,
And soon the future queen was without a mother.
But her father had decided that he didn’t care for wives,
So he didn’t re-marry;
He preferred the single life.

When her father died,
The little girl became the Queen at last,
And she made her first proclamation to her court:
“I shall never wed, and I shall never love,
And I will not have a heart,
Because only through a heart
Can a queen be hurt or die.
This is the command of your Queen.
See to it.”

One of the men of the court objected.
“It is impossible not to have a heart!”
He complained.
“Perhaps it is more possible not to have a head,”
The queen replied.  “Let us find out.
Off with his head!”
The headsman obliged.
It was not possible to live without a head.
The men of the court scrambled to obey their queen.

They found doctors.
They found wizards.
They found witches.
They found shamans.
They found priests, faeries, giants and ogres.
But no one could remove the queen’s heart
Without her dying in the process.

Missing Letter Monday No “X” Repost – “Charybdis”

Charybdis

Trapped in a spiral,
Spinning downwards,
Rushing, gushing,
Drowning.

Boats floating,
Sinking,
Crushing.

Sailors frenzying,
Rowing,
Screaming,
Dying.

Scylla’s laughter,
Scylla’s feast,
Blood everywhere,
Turning the waters red.

It’s very salty,
But salt festooned with copper.
I don’t like it.
Blood doesn’t taste good.

That lying old man,
Quick-tongued,
Like his great-grandfather.
He convinced a lot of people.
Made them think they could get away.

There’s no getting away.
There’s no escape from this doom.
There’s no tree branch above my pool.

Odysseus passed this way but once,
Before his crew marooned him
On that island they thought was deserted.
(If they’d known about Calypso,
They would have stayed,
And forced him to sail on!)

I don’t like that he blames their deaths on me.
If he ever comes this way again,
I’ll eat him.

I don’t like the taste of old man flesh,
But if it’s his,
I’ll enjoy it.

Athene won’t like it,
But I don’t care.

Hermes probably won’t like it, either,
But I still don’t care.

Poseidon will love it.
I’m fine with that.
Maybe he’ll start hanging out here more often.
(Goodness knows, he’s not picky
When it comes to mistresses…
I might not mind
A little light adultery
And giving birth
To the child of a god…)

Scylla thinks she’s all that.
But she’s not as good as me.
She can only kill seven men at a time.
I can kill thousands,
If they sail close enough.

Though I’d rather they didn’t.
I’d rather they just stayed out of our strait.
Wood doesn’t taste too good,
And blood tastes worse.

Drinking half the sea
Is bad enough by itself.
Why do men have to get in the way?

Dying,
Screaming,
Panicking,
Rowing,
Chomped by Scylla,
Amid screams and laughter.

Life should be better than this.

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Missing Letter Monday No “W” – May Day

ARGH!  I hit “publish” on this on Monday morning, and it said it went through!!!  AAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGHHH!  DON’T LIE TO ME LIKE THAT, WORDPRESS!

*pant* *pant* *pant*

All right, I’m done freaking out now.

Below the line, you’ll find the actual post.

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“May Day”

Help me.
Help me, please!
It’s all too much,
My head’s going under,
I’ll never be seen again.

I can’t cope.
It’s all too much.
Someone — anyone — help!

Do other people do it?
Do they really make a go of it?
Can they take themselves along,
Achieving their goals?

Or do they sink,
As I do?
Do they fail and fall and disappear,
As I’m about to?

Can time be reversed?
Can I go back and get it right?

Please?

Missing Letter Monday No “P” Repost – “The Best of the Achaians”

“The Best of the Achaians”

What quality makes a man great?

Strength of arms?
No, not that alone.
Any demi-god has that…
…and look how they turn out!
(Only Mycenae’s founder remained
A good man and true.
The rest died horrible deaths,
And Theseus abducted a child for his new bride!
And he died a horrible death to boot!)

Wisdom beyond measure?
If that was the case,
There would be few great men.
Maybe none at all.

Kindness, and a gentle heart,
Dedication to his friends?
Yes, yes, indeed!
A great man has devotion
And love in his heart,
Ready to lay down his life
To save those he cares for.

In truth, there is but one
Who sailed to Troy
With the strength and heart
To call himself the best.
Though he would never so call himself:
He would award the title
To the one he loves the most,
Friend, comrade, and so much more.

But his kind heart outshines
His selfish, fair-faced friend.
While Achilles sulked,
He shed tears of grief
For the deaths of the Danaan warriors.

His might in battle
Was ne’er so lauded
As that of his fickle friend,
But he killed so many Trojans
In his final stand
That they were maddened for revenge.

His death, too, was greater
Than the humiliation of Achilles.
(An arrow in the ankle?  Laughable!)
For the son of the Nereid,
Leto’s son needed but one mortal’s aid,
A tool to unleash the arrow.
But for he who was truly
The best of the Achaians,
The far-darter required the aid of two mortals,
A coward to stab from behind,
And lamentable Hector
To stab from the front.
Dishonorable though the kill was
— what honor could there be
In killing a naked, unarmed man? —
Hector was filled with hubris
To have brought down such a mighty foe.

The son of Menoitios
By his blameless life
Brought honor to his obscure father,
As his name suggests.
By his death he brought down
Hector, and all dreams of Troy’s survival.

In a golden urn
His bones were sheltered
While the son of Thetis cried and groaned
In an anguish more overwrought
Than any widow on the stage,
Though he knew his own bones
Would soon join with his lost comrade’s,
And they would be united in death,
Forever together.

Where is that urn now?
Is it hidden from view in the ground
Near Hisarlik?
Or was it stolen away,
In the ancient days of antiquity?
Which “tomb” covered those bones
When Alexander and his lover
Made their offerings at two tomb-shrines,
And ran their naked race on the sands?

Where now is the best of the Achaians?
The White Island is deserted,
The shrines of antiquity lost to time.
Who now wails for the hero that was lost?

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(I shall ever remain his fan-girl!)

(But I still suck at endings.  *sigh*)

Originally went up 9/14/15

Missing Letter Monday Repost No “N” – “That 1984 Closet”

That 1984 Closet

A bloke of the Big Apple
(Though actually from MI)
Shoves his closet
Full of all the stuff
His feels his date might judge him for.

Two weeks later,
His lover mistakes the hall closet
For the bedroom closet
As bed sheets are sought.
The flood is released.
(The flood of crap.)

Rackets,
Balls of every sort,
Umbrellas
(Both practical & silly, repaired & ripped),
A week’s worth of dirty clothes
(Two weeks old, what a smell!),
Several pairs of ladies’ drawers,
A throw rug,
Old books that were put through a hard life
(Paperbacks all, some thrillers, some philosophy),
The Atari 2600 & about a score of games,
Ugly pillows & crocheted throws
(Gifts from girls he had hardly met;
Though his celebrity faded by the mid-’80s,
He was quite the rock star of the ’70s),
Loose Christmas decor from years past.

All cluttered about the floor
With 1 dazed lover.
Dazed, but amused.

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First posted August 29, 2016.

(This took place in a fic a few days before the first post.  These characters still have rule over my headspace, btw…)

Missing Letter Monday No “I” Repost – “The Party”

“The Party”

The megaron* at Mycenae sets the scene.
Agamemnon offers couches to the guests,
So many couches; no need to share.
But the red-headed son of Peleus objects:
“There’s one place too few!”
Patroclos mutters that he should go,
Of too small note for such great company.
“No way! You can’t leave!”
Patroclos’ dearest comrade demands.
“Normally, the couches are shared,”
Odysseus tells them,
A wry form upon the mouth.
“Then you’ll share my couch,”
Peleus’ son asserts, as he takes Patroclos’ hands.
Reluctant, the young man takes a seat,
Upon the couch of the pretty boy.
The son of Telamon laughs, and takes up a cup.
“Not yet!” Agamemnon remonstrances.
“We must pour for the gods.”
Drops are poured out neat,
And the gods assuaged.
Then the party can truly start.
“Many thanks to you all,”
Menelaos tells them, at a frown,
“For your help to restore my Helen.”
“Thank the oath,” the son of Telamon grumbles.
“But any honest man who fears Zeus,
And would see decency overcome rude cruelty,
Would gladly come to your help,
Even unbound by such an oath,”
Odysseus oozed, smarmy.
“Just as young Ach–”
“Hadda restore my name, after you shamed me,
Back on Scyros,” the boy growls.
“How much have you already had?”
Patroclos asks, and pulls the empty cup away.
“Your father would rebuke me
For such a drunken state!”
“Let the boy have all he wants,”
Laughed the son of Tydeus.
“All too soon we cross the sea for Troy,
And leave all joy at our backs.
For now, let the boy enjoy what we have.”
“Such enjoyment forms the core of the event,”
Agreed old Nestor, and nodded that gray head.
“Let us all enjoy each other’s good company,
As long as lovely Selene travels the sky.”
Toasts were drunk to Nestor’s plan,
And all cheered as the party got underway.

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*Megaron = throne room/great hall.

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Made one small change from 1st post on 1/25/16.  (Whoa, almost exactly a year!)

Missing Letter Monday No “G” Repost – “Mother Earth”

“Mother Earth”

Born at the start of it all,
Mother to so many,
With so many.

Her first husbands,
Ouranos and Pontos.
Also her sons.
(Eeew.)
They had no fathers.

Nereus,
Thaumas,
Phorkys,
Eurybia,
Even monstrous Ceto;
Pontos fathered these few.

Titans,
Cyclopes,
Hundred-handers,
Ouranos fathered so many.

Missing Letter Monday – No “Z”

Sisyphus

Ever wonder how it feels
To share the most lamentable fate
Of that famous Greek,
Sisyphus?

I found out.

Sweeping leaves,
On a blustery November evening,
With a teeny-tiny broom
I needed to bend over to use
But I couldn’t bend over
Because there were too many people.

Every little gustlet
Brought new leaves aplenty,
Returning the old,
And adding more.

But there was a big party that night,
And the entryway needed to look neat.

This is why I don’t have parties.
This is why I don’t like parties.

Because I am
(Apparently)
Sisyphus.

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