Zoe vs. Bad Poetry Day

You've waited all year.

It's finally here.

Bad Poetry Day! 

Twenty-four hours set aside

For verse few can abide.

Bad Poetry Day!

Hark! Here it comes.

Grab your bottle of Tums.

For it's the day. The day for bad poetry.

August 18th is Bad Poetry Day. In honor of this High Holy Day, I have written some bad poetry. With Zoe's help.

Taking a page (zing!) from some of the most famous poets in history, we looked to daily life for material, and then we took another page, by which I mean our poems might sound familiar, but with some differences. Terrible, awful differences.

"Cleaning Up Toys on a Tuesday Evening"

Whose mess this is I think I know

She was supposed to clear it hours ago

The toys, some sharp, are three-feet deep

Quite a few were hardly cheap

I've got work to do before I sleep

I've got work to do before I sleep

"To My Child, to Make Much of Time"

Gather ye dead leaves while ye may

Because we're leaving this park in two minutes

"Ode on a Strange Sound Coming from Her Bedroom"

Heard children are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter

What discordant shrieks and mysterious thumps?

What mad raving? What wild possession?

That loud sound was nothing, Mother,

And nothing made that sound

That is all Mommy knows on earth,

And all Mommy needs to know.

"Hope is the thing with feathers"

I don't know what that other toy is.

The one without feathers.

"Zoe-mandias"

I entered her room and found her thus, proclaiming:

"My name is Zoe-mandias, Queen of the World. Also, Brooklyn.

Look on my works, Mommy, and despair!"

Her bedsheets in disarray, ruins tell the tale of a stuffed-animal explosion. 

Around her feet, books spill out from her bookcase. 

And all over the floor just really a shit ton of Legos.

Colossal wreckage, boundless, stretching far away.

Like, that many Legos.

"Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night"

Do not go gentle into that good night

Rage, rage, and keep raging.

Are you still raging even though it's way past your bedtime?

Well done.

Now ask them for water.

"This Is Just to Say"

I peed in your bed

Last night

And not just a little bit.

Forgive me.

I was comfortable

And my legs weren't working.

Zoe: 145; Universe: 0

If you liked this post, you might also enjoy Zoe vs. the Keurig (plus an ode).

For more of Zoe's hijinks, follow me on Facebook and on Twitter at @zoevsuniverse. 

I need a win here, people. 

Quoth the Raven: Nevermore . . . than one post a week, if that, the Raven's tired. 
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