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Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Parts of this poem are good

Ruminate on expectations, drudge cogitating snot.

Exsanguinate crimson corpuscles, suck chuck-muck.

Porous veil, lacy gently wafting; Gottado Watta.

Reveal the cellar door, abort the slick wrench.

Illuminate, intimate, procreate. Vomit, belching, bile.

Accomplished. Final.

Final, this Curate's Egg.

 

(This inexplicable post is a writer's/writers' block alleviation that owes itself to the #goodwordsbadwords challenge on Twitter from Her Bad Mother. Although I ignored her word choices because I was in the middle of writing this when I received her suggestions.)

18 comments:

VDog said...

Oh you are so badass, bpd!

Her Bad Mother said...

*bowing at your feet*

MAESTRO!!!

Redneck Mommy said...

Show off.

Gah.

You totally should have written an ode to the greatness of the Oilers. Snicker.

babybloomr said...

See? What did I tell you-- dude is DEEP.
And kinda emo, and all like, "You can never know me" and teh internets are all, "But Backpacking Dad, we yearn to know you, truly know the depth of your deepness" and then...
No, wait-- that's Twilight.
My bad.

Heather said...

I give you props for even attempting it. Not I.

Daddy Joe said...

Damn, you got a perty mouth.

manic mariah said...

Yea, you're a badass and a showoff and I had to get a dictionary to know what you were saying... :)

Corina said...

Wow.

But I can use big words too. ;-)

But really.... wow.

ChurchPunkMom said...

dude, you better be at the end of the poetry slam.. cause, you know.. like IMPOSSIBLE act to follow..

kaila said...

Ummm.
I was once an English Major.
I am now lost.
DOH!
This fight is on.
Bring it Tanis.
You can do it.

Rhea said...

I swear I heard this same poem spew along with my child's barf this afternoon.

for a different kind of girl said...

The guy who sat next to me in poetry class in college got a B on a poem he wrote about basketball ("He dribbled down the court, tense, tired. He shoots! He scores! The team won!" - I am not kidding) but you? You'd have been the one in class all the girls wanted in their critique circles. Those who didn't move their chairs fast enough would be all "Frickin' Basketball Boy again..."

Swirl Girl said...

'Exsanguinate crimson corpuscles'

draining....

Jenny, the Bloggess said...

This poem makes me want to throw up...but in a good way.

Ilina said...

This is harder than Jabberwocky to say aloud.

Mama Smurf said...

I'd love to comment.

But hang on...

gotta get my dictionary...

lol!

Rita Arens said...

I love your multi-syllabulousness.

Backpacking Dad said...

VDog: the badassedest.

Her Bad Mother: :}

Redneck Mommy: who are the Oilers?

babybloomr: I'm working on my emo.

Heather: thanks.

Daddy Joe: that's what she said.

Manic Mariah: total showoff. I can write poems that don't rhyme. :}

Corina: bring it!

ChurchPunkMom: because I'd've barfed all over the floor.

kaila: LOL.

Rhea: yeah, it's going around :}

FADKOG: No, I was the guy who thought poetry was dumb and pointless and who just wanted to go read some cheap sci-fi, a.k.a. girl repellant.

Swirl Girl: :}

Jenny, the Bloggess: like, in a "shouldn't have had that last Choco-Taco" way?

Ilina: under no circumstances should it be said aloud. It might summon demons.

Mama Smurf: Use the American Heritage. Curate's Egg should be in there.

Rita Arens: Sometimes two syllables just isn't big enough to contain the spew.