passive-aggressive poetry

I would like to direct my fellow Terrible Poets to a recent post on the Passive-Aggressive Notes blog.

One, it takes place in our fair city (well, in Minneapolis, anyway). Two, it involves a flair for the terrible poetry that makes this site what it is. I also think it involves a few terrible people.

Let us all imagine the following poem being read by William Shattner:

Remember how easy JH was to bag?
Give her five years she'll be an old hag.
And remember how easy she was to nail?
I wonder who will hammer her while you sit in jail.

While I, as you all well know, favor the blank verse form of poetry, I commend the former Wife of Keith (as she will surely be known to scholars in the future) on her rhyming couplets. I also must recognize her clever use of "hammer" after "nail," thus transforming her promiscuous rival into an object -- the final nail shutting the coffin of her own dead marriage.

It gives one pause. Much pause.

Also, not like I'm speaking from experience, but Sharpie graffiti on wood washes out in like one rainstorm.

(I am totally speaking from experience)

FRIDAY

Enduring minutes

Saturday’s promise beckons

Patient as a cloud


(Mom felt a little left out, so she composed a haiku of her own, claiming it had been 40 years since she's written any poetry at all. Pretty good for someone who claims to be that rusty, no?)

Time for a little group effort poetry

The future is in the eye of the beholder
But do the blind understand a different, secret truth?
Making a mockery of the concept of disability...
Piss me off and see me blow
I would rather be taken
Away on that eastern wind
I hear we're a lot of
Coughing and running
Moses what could it
Be? The wine, garlic
And beer has some feeling
Glow and slow but others
Full of glee with a hint
Of mystique. When
Water rains down
From the sky
Some spirits fly
Higher than
Kites.

Wishful Wednesday (on a Sunday)

Active hands
Mean
Active minds
Active minds
Mean
Thoughtful souls
Which
In turn
Mean
The future
Is looking
brighter and brighter
by the
Minute.

(You have to see the picture I have this captioned by to have it make sense, but it's a group of my six-year-olds at the Children's Museum in South Carolina looking out of the window on a sunny South Carolina summer day while drawing on it with erasable window markers. Very cool. At least I felt inspired enough to jot down some notes when looking at the photo again.)

Maybe at some point we can have a photo theme on the blog too...just sayin'.

you made my best friend cry, ass.

You
have all
the emotional intelligence
of a profoundly concussed
root vegetable.

Did that not make sense?
Neither does
your choice
in women.