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BAD POETRY DAY SPECIAL
A Note from the Judges:
Reading your bad poems was so much fun,
Though some of them made us want to run
We often had to hide our giggles,
Or else we'd look like a bunch of Quiggles!
I am writing this letter
It could have been better
To inform you that I
Resent you imply
that Neopian bards
(With collectable cards)
Could ever begin
On some judge's whim
To write like a fool
Because you think it's cool
I'm rather distressed
What would possess
You to put up that note
That some wise guy wrote
It will embarrass us all
As Neopians bawl
At the fate of our poor gallery.
I just had to tell you
Please think this thing through
You made a mistake
And hearts will ache
If tomorrow's bad poems
End up being shown
It took lots of time
To write this in rhyme
I thought if I didn't
It might be forbidden
To send through the poetry form.
Thank you for reading
I hope you're conceding
To call off this deplorable event.
P.S. I can do better
The Emotional Pteri Egg
"Woe is me!" that round egg cried,
Alas, aloft did he lift his arms.
Waving them to an angry, angry sky,
Which could never read the tumultuous emotions
That swirled within him in the same way
Water swirls when you stir it really fast,
But not so fast that it spills.
I'll rhyme this last line. Just for thrills.
"Will I ever be a Pteri?" the devastated egg yelled,
Wobbling dramatically upon some random hilltop.
How he got there is beyond me.
But hey. Good on him.
"I wish to soar!"
He cried to the whistling breeze, which skipped
Around the towering mountain
Like a bad, generic metaphor.
"I wish to have faerie wings!"
Because they're expensive.
And everyone knows if you have a faerie Pteri,
You're all kinds of rich and classy.
(But not like Draik owners. Some are just snooty, like Anjie.)
With a sob of desperation,
That one small Pteri Egg ran to his desk.
Sitting down, he immersed himself
In emotional, deep verse.
Full of cliches and long words like calamitous,
Which is a fancy way of saying sad.
Free verse, emotional poetry can be beautiful.
But not when written by an egg.
Or by me.
My Poetry Is Terrible
I simply can't write poetry
And my poems never, ever get picked
I have no grasp at all of rhyming
And my meter makes the poetry judge sick.
I once tried to write a haiku
But the syllables simply would not fit
So instead I turned my hand to limerick
The rejection letter begged me to please quit.
No, I simply cannot write poetry
Neither simple rhyming nor free verse,
And every time I even think of trying
The poems just keep getting worse and worse.
But then one day, they said
"Send in your bad poems!
We'll pick out the worst of all, so send them in!"
So I went and wrote yet another poem
Here it is! (But I'm still not going to win.)
A Bad Attempt at Rhyming
This is a bad attempt at rhyming
This poet needs to improve her... timing.
She has neglected most of her punctuation
She cannot think of anything that rhymes with punctuation.
This poem lacks interest and structure
It will probably give poetry judges... brain fractures.
This is a bad attempt at rhyming,
This poet needs to improve her timing.
These poems must include something about Neopets,
I honestly cannot stop playing Neopets.
My favourite Neopet is the Cybunny
This poem is so bad, it's not even... funny.
You requested our very worst bad poems
You asked for it.
That last line did not rhyme!
And neither does this one.
This is a bad attempt at rhyming
This poem has absolutely no... meaning
Lupes enjoy eating Lupe treats
They are in the shape of Chias,
And are... good to eat.
This is far more fun that I thought it would be,
People say bad poems never win, you wait and see!
It's lovely to write as worst as you can
This poem is as useless as... a rusty old can.
This poet has failed dismally
But, very thankfully
How terrible this poem is does not matter
After all, it is Bad Poetry Day.
Oh wow, that Chia's Orange,
It's round and circular like an Orange,
And it has a distinct smell of an Orange,
I wonder what it tastes of, perhaps an Orange,
But wow, that Chia is just so Orange,
In fact it's more Orange than an Orange,
Why, what a magnificent Orange,
In fact, now my favourite colour is indeed Orange,
Oh Chia, how did you become so Orange?
Were you zapped into such fantastic Orange?
Or did you drink a Chia Pop of Orange?
Or did a bully simply smother you in Orange?
Tell me, how does it feel to be an Orange?
In fact, your story of becoming an Orange,
Is so amazing I'll write a poem of your Orange,
Filled with words that rhyme with "Orange,"
And perhaps I will then title it "Orange,"
Oh, and then I could make all of the ink Orange,
Let's get to work!
Sonnets of the Heart
(With No Input from the Brain)
My heart is like most delicate, fragile glass
That shatters in the darkness
Because it was breezy
And someone left the windows open.
My heart has been trampled upon
By the hoof of a metaphorical Skeith...
Do Skeiths have hooves?
I tossed my soul into the world
Like a fishing line, but prettier,
And to my eternal sorrow
My words were rated a mere 2/10
For fairly correct spelling if not grammar.
I weep in the darkness of my room
Shame clutching my heart like a spiky oven mitt
My dreams torn to bits, and cremated
And the ashes buried where no one will see them.
But I know I shall get into the Gallery this time
For my pacing, choppier than a storm at sea
And my rhyme scheme, nonexistent
Makes me the perfect candidate
For Bad Poetry Day.
Bad Poetry Poem
One day as I was trawling Neopia, I did find
Something called the Poetry Gallery!
At once (for I thought myself a poet, true),
I rushed off to write a poem I felt was very new.
I submitted it, as neat as you please,
I felt sure getting in would be a breeze!
It was splendiferous, fantabulous, amazing, kewl!
There was nothing ever done, written, drewl,
That was better than my Poetry Contest poem!
This I knew from the bottom of my poet's home.
Yet days went by, and still I did not hear back,
And off I finally went to cry my tears of lack.
How graceless, how awful, can it be,
To reject something written by me?
I am the one who should shower these Gallery walls
With plenty of things for which
You'd wander the halls.
Yet they wouldn't answer me,
So I kicked and I did scream,
And threw a temper tantrum;
It was unexpectedly clean
(That was just to rhyme, you fool,
Now listen up, you hear?!)
I could see in the air the grinning
Face of Alstaf with a leer.
So this, my dears, is my revenge!
This is Bad Poetry Day!
From the ends of Neopia and
Far back to Kreludor's may,
I'll scribble and scrawl and toil to force all rhymes,
To make as bad as possible each
And every one of these lines!
Once Upon an Avatar Chat
I was on the boards one day
Just loafing around
But then I saw a certain something
That nigh knocked me to the ground.
It was someone's avatar
And shiny as can be
Evil, yellow, it was named
Quite simply, M.S.P.P.
I was like, "OMGZ!!!
Shift one one one!
LYK DOOD, WHAR DID U GET THAT?!"
But they just chose to run.
But I was undeterred by this
That avvie was the one for me!
So I went and created a new board
Titled :P :O :D LEND ME MSPP :K :) 0:-)
And the eloquence! My opening post was such:
hey doodz i want 2 be lent teh avvie
'cuz its shiny and stuff nd i like shiny stuff
i wont steel so lend me, savvy?
So I'm like, 'Bump.'
And then like, 'Bump.'
And then like, 'Bump.'
And then like, 'Bump.'
I added a smiley to my post.
To be precise, a frown.
'Cuz nobody was lending me
But someone came around.
They're like, 'dood, nobody's gunna lend u free'
And I'm like, 'go away, u nub'
And they're like, 'im a nub? no your a nub'
And I'm like, 'no, UR a nub'
And they're like, 'no, your the nub'
And I'm like, 'no, lulz, ur a nub'
And they're like, 'no, you is nub'
And I'm like, 'haha, ur such a nub'
And then another person came
And they're like, 'BUY FROM MY SHOP - LOW PRICE'
And I'm like, 'lol y shud i do that?'
But they didn't re-post twice.
Nigh thirty minutes had passed by now
In my throat rested a lump.
Where were the lenders? I wanted my avvie.
So once more, I posted 'Bump.'
'GL', another person posted
And I was like, 'whats that?'
But they too were gone in half a second
As no one stayed to chat.
A minute passed. Two. Five. Fifteen.
And I wasn't getting lent!
Alone, I posted, 'this is stupid.'
And quite simply, off I went.
Said that a poem about
The Lost Desert submitted in a
Pyramid shape would have a good
Chance to get in. So I wrote one. The LD...
Is lost and deserted. But it's found and inhabited now.
Rowzez are Red
Rowzez are red,
Starry Sea Ferns are blue.
Well, that sounds cliched,
So maybe I should start something new.
Dire Lupes are red,
Feepits are blue.
Hey, this is a verse I already used!
I just changed the words, but it's true.
Cheery Plants are green,
Happiness Neggs are yellow.
That doesn't sound right, I mean
This poem is really shallow!
Orange Chias are orange,
(Most) Usukis are pink.
Why am I experimenting with the colour range?
Having no ideas really does stink.
Kayla is red,
Jeran is blue.
Wait, I'm back where I started!
Why? I have no clue!
My poetry is bad,
My poetry is lame,
I think I'll forget these ideas I've had
And go back to my NeoQuest game.
A Deep Thoughtful Poem
I'm writing a deep thoughtful poem
With fancy words long and flowin'
'Bout faerie pets and rainy days
And mysteries of potato-counting ways.
It'll contain undecipherable metaphors
About socks, custard, and closed locked doors.
"Oh, beautiful toilet with your ivory white seat"
Is the first line of my poem that you will greet.
It'll become famous and on display
At the top of the page on
"Deep Thoughtful Poem Day."
And Neopians around will all applaud
And this last line won't rhyme
No matter how hard I try.
Aye, I'm writing a Deep Thoughtful Poem,
But I just can't seem to get my thoughts goin'
My rhymes are scrambled, I'm really stuck
It seems I'm pretty much out of luck....
Even though it's neither thoughtful or deep
Oh please, TNT, or I'll never sleep.
Let it at least be material for Bad Poetry Day
And I'll stop bothering you and go my way.
Bad Poetry Day
I stare at my paper, unable to write,
My eyes are blinded by the light,
I am rather sad, I lost my rhyme,
My mind is blank, there is nothing this time.
I am quite tempted to tear the paper up,
Taking a sip out of my old plastic cup,
Turmaculus, Fyora, who are they again?
Since when did this happen? I don't know when.
Florg enters my mind and leaves once more,
I'm so tempted to go run out of the door,
The Games Room, what happened to that place?
Who owns this extremely mysterious face?
It's rather clear what's happening now,
I cannot write a poem, I do not know how,
I think it is time for me to say,
That today must be a Bad Poetry Day.
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