Puppy Dog Eyes

Dog, 
Puppy,
Looking at me,
With those big puppy dog eyes.
I enter the room,
There you are.
Not long,
Off you go,
With those big puppy dog eyes.



It's Bad Poetry Day, August 18.  Above is my attempt at bad poetry.  I know.  I know.  It could be a lot worse.  I just didn't put that much effort into it.  Oh well.

I told the kids that it was bad poetry day and I wanted us to make some bad poems.  They were immediately concerned, thinking that bad poems use bad words in them.  No, no, no.  That's not what I meant.  I wouldn't put bad words into any poem.  So I tried to show them an example of a good poem versus a bad poem.
Good poem: (insert "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" here.  I didn't want to type it all out and you all know it)
Bad poem:
Twinkle twinkle, little star,
Don't fall.

Oh, okay.  So the kids were okay with that.  But they still thought bad poetry must mean talking about bad/mean things (like evil crystals or not liking people) or that bad poetry had to start with "Twinkle twinkle..."

Yeah, my kids are awesome.

I got the camera out and recorded the kids in action making bad poetry.  Here is one of Jr.'s:
Twinkle twinkle, little moon.
Don't shine.
Ever.  Ever.
Never ever.  Shine.
After night.  Before night.
And don't even be in space.
And go away from space.
And go away from Earth.

And Nichole was convinced poems have to rhyme (I remember thinking that as a kid).  Here's one of hers:
Twinkle twinkle, as the moon.
Do not fall at the doom.
You are evil.  So am I.
I do not like how much you are in the sky.
So, watch out for candy as you go by.
It's the evil thing as Earth is nigh.
United Earth.  United States.
All from the world, have an evil space.
To follow the evil crystal that curse you,
And that you may seek the special below you.
So your Earth or curse as it goes by
Watch out for purple, the evil crystal.  My.  By.
I lived on if you see an evil crystal in the sky.
Shoot it when it shoots you,
So as it falls you may capture it.
But don't touch it.  It will make you evil.
So as they tell this tale,
I'll tell you the weevil.

When Jeremy got home from work, he joined in the fun.  Here are a couple of his poems:
The words flowed around and through my head
like a buzzing fly attracted to my sweaty face
never settling, tickling the raw nerves of my creativity.
No matter how I wrestle with them, the participles dangle,
the adverbs are adverse, my objects have no direction,
and I find my adjectives are indescribable.
Until finally I yell at the confused forms swirling in my subconscious
saying: Bad poems! Bad! And I send them all to bed. (Of course they
come back out two minutes later asking for a drink of water).

Frog.
Sticky tongue frog.
If I stop licking you,
maybe my tongue won't be sticky.

Happy Bad Poetry Day from the Telfords!