This actually contains bad poetry

This bad poetry is the combined effort of Casey and I. (coffee poetry)
-The Claw Machine-
It's a wonderland treasure trove
So cross your fingers tight
With a pocket full of change
You could be there all night
The claw decends
Your money ends
You're a stupid fool
The claw machine wins again
And your coffee has gone cool

-Dating-
It's like how things are blurry
When your heads under water.
It's like how tears are good for your skin,
So you're crying all the time
It's like how you think your boyfriends cheating on you,
But you don't have a boyfriend
It's like dancing on your dead cats grave
Or eating your favorite meal at some restaurant
It's like playing hockey with Wolfgang Puck
It's like the coffee swirl clouds,
That rain on your parade
Or when he turns down the heat,
So you'll get cold and leave
Isn't ironic, or somethin'?

Come on! Someone post something. I know I'm not the only one with shitty poetry, lurking in an otherwise good notebook. I have some much much worse than this, and I'm sure I'm not alone. So be brave! Post bad poetry, I need a good laugh!

I have no bad poetry, but I used to wirte lyrics for a ficticious hair metal band. And there isn't enough of "anything" to make me share them with the world... or even with this corner of it. I'd like to think I have some respect here... I don't want to lose it.

I have to explain this one, I was having coffee, late one night.. early one morning with Casey, and we got into a rhyming thing, where we'd rhyme with whatever the other person said. So this poem.. is poem the right word? Crap maybe, came from. And I know, it all doesn't seem to rhyme at first, but it's all in the pronunciation!



The sailors on the beach be surly

Bill skins fifth's music is burly

They rock so hard I screamed CRIMENY

While eating fresh green beans and hominy

Navy blue? Fuck you it's orange

Those little people danced around stone hendge

Nothings more raw than this group

Like the taste of strychnine soup

I'm so white it's criminal

Like the indians they be seminole

The populace I infiltrate

Though I may be illiterate

Never had a hat so dope

As the one worn by the pope

The monies in my pocket be plural

The length of my dorsal is floral (don't ask)

Got more moves than Shaq

I'll waste your entire bloomin' claque