My Worst Poem Ever in memory of William McGonagall, known as the Worst Poet in History!

https://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/books/features/the-story-of-william-mcgonagall-the-worst-poet-in-the-history-of-the-english-language-829993.html

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Tay_Bridge_Disaster
known as the worst poem ever written! Well, mine is pretty bad!

Why is William McGonagall the worst poet?

McGonagall has been lampooned as the worst poet in history. The chief criticisms are that he was deaf to poetic metaphor and unable to scan correctly. His only apparent understanding of poetry was his belief that it needed to rhyme.

https://mypoeticside.com/poets/william-topaz-mcgonagall-poems

Please read some of his poetic MONSTROSITIES before you
read my poem below so you will understand what I was going for.
His work is very bad. Very funny and at the same time you feel so
sorry for the man and his sincerity that you want to give him a hug.
Bless his heart.....💝

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CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN

Forsooth! I said and sadly smiled
The day had ended on our lovely while
The sun was settng, the night had come
And you ran to your ship and I, to my home.

All night in my bed I clutched the lock
Of your curly red hair and that pair of your socks

Remembering the light in your eyes when you yawned
And the fair way you shivered
In the midst of the dawn.

Oh, Captain, my Captain, the love of my life
How I long to be first mate of your ship (and your wife)
How long must I wait to hear you say the words?
And to feel your heart beating
Like a wild flock of birds?

Was it only last week that we met
 There in port?
And we shared that wee whiskey
That made us tipsy and snort?

When you sailed away
 And swore to return
How my poet's heart ached
Aand my tummy did burn.

Then you sailed back to my arms
For the space of a day
Now your ship calls you to her

And my life is not gay.



THE END

(Lord, I hope so)
©by Voo
though I hate to claim it
Some time in the past
Probably tipsy on
Boone's Farm  Strawberry wine
But we won't discuss that.....

CRESCENT MOON ON THE HIGHWAY

     (start song  before reading)

Crescent Moon On The Highway

Lying here on this cold and misty Sunday afternoon

Cat at my feet on his blanket

The threat of rain outside my shuttered windows

I listen to Villanelle For Our Time by the master

Of the rough and tender voice

His verse running down my spine like a lover's fingers

Crooning bittersweet lyric into my ears with his distant tongue

The melody caresses me and makes me senseless

As he repeats "bitter searching of the heart" over and over and over

Until images conjure up from memory and lay themselves down

Upon my mind.

You, in that convertible under the stars on that long ago highway

We were laughing like mad people, kissing, more than paying attention

Music soaring on the tape deck 
And ebbing off behind us with the desert wind

My hair whipping around us like long black scarves

And thinking that if I could die of joy, then I would surely die

We were racing under clear cold skies looking for rain and storm

Loving lightning and angry clouds

But finding none, we drove on into the night

Listening to Leonard and holding each other hard enough to bruise.

Look, baby, you said and pointed to a crescent moon
Hanging low in the sky on the side of the highway 
A hundred miles from nowhere

And we pulled over 
And danced underneath that moon

Toasted it with champagne and kisses no one had ever kissed before

While the music trailed off into silence and clicked to a stop
As we stood in the glow of the headlights,
Our eyes locked onto one another

And our hearts as close as hearts can be.

That long ago highway 
And that crescent moon and you

With your crooked smile and wind blown hair

How it all comes back to me now

Damn you, Leonard, with your bitter searching of the heart
and your rough and tender poet's voice

Bringing the past alive and spotlighting the present
with it's loneliness

And loss.........................

Damn you, Leonard.

©by Voo

December 5, 2005

5 p.m.

  BLESS YOU, LEONARD

The Garbage Man

THE GARBAGE MAN

HERE COMES THE GARBAGE MAN

GET OUT YOUR GARBAGE CANS

THROW OUT THAT TRASH THAT YOU'VE BEEN GLEANING

ROLL UP YOUR SLEEVES AND GET SPRING CLEANING.

PITCH OUT THE HATE YOU'VE HELD SO LONG

THOSE LONESOME OLD BEER DRINKING SONGS

VACUUM UP THAT LITTERED STRIFE

AND GET THE GARBAGE OUT OF YOUR LIFE.

TEMPER YOUR TEMPER AND MEEKNESS RELEARN

IMPATIENCE THROW ON THE FIRE TO BURN

GATHER UP YOUR PARTY HATS

AND EMULATIONS ADD TO THAT.

THROW OUT THE POSTERS OF YOUR IDOLS

AND ON YOUR TONGUE PUT ON A BRIDLE

STOP YOUR EYES FROM ROVING OVER

TO THE BACK YARD OF YOUR BROTHER.

STOP YELLING AT YOUR LITTLE KIDS

FOR DOING SILLY THINGS YOU DID

` TURN OFF THE T.V. AND HIT YOUR KNEES

AND INSTEAD OF YOURSELF, TRY GOD TO PLEASE.

AND WHEN YOU'VE GATHERED UP YOUR TRASH

AND BURNED YOUR RUBBISH TO THE LAST

RUN YOU A BABTISM AND JUMP RIGHT IN

AND WASH AWAY ALL TRACE OF SIN.

THE GARBAGE TRUCK ROLLS BY EVERY HOME

AND KEEPS COMING BY TILL THE GARBAGE IS GONE

BUT THE TRUTH OF THE MATTER I'M TALKING ABOUT:

HE CAN'T PICK IT UP IF YOU DON'T PUT IT OUT.

©by Voo