National Poetry Month; My Really Bad Offering

I just found out that it was National Poetry Month and am inspired to offer my own humble composition. Several years ago I set out to write the worst possible poem I could write at that time. I think I can do even worse now, but still like the following for its angst-ridden, brooding quality…

Dead Bird

Evening and golden sunlight,
I was walking down the beach.
(Or was it up?)

It matters not, thought I grandly as I meandered
Loquaciously,
Deep thoughts spiralling up,
(Or was it down?)

From my brain it mattered not the direction,
As they tumbled and mumbled from my mouth,
In a torrent of profundity,
To an unhearing and uncaring world,
Pearls before swine, I thought judiciously,
And age before beauty.

Then a bird,
Dead bird,
Dead bird dead,
Lay upon the tide-tortured sand at my feet.
An Icarus in reverse with wings laden black and oily,
From the dejecta of stored sunlight crude.
Tarred and feathered without the rail.

Dead bird,
Dead dead bird,
Lay upon the sand at my feet,
Ended thoughtflow as I stared in fascinated horror.
Grace and flight ended in disgrace and fright,
Filled me with dismay as waves,
Waves,
Rolled in unheeding, driven by the distant wind
And the moon,
Uncaring yellow orb above the eastern rim.

Dead bird.
Very dead bird.
Once source of beauty and now,
Now,
Miasmic wellspring of dark thoughts
On a bright shoreline.

Bird,
Dead bird,
Bad dead bird,
Damn bad dead bird,
God damn bad dead bird,
Ruined a fine walk on the beach.

© Jon Herman

Coming soon to this blog: Dead Elk; A Really Terrible Poem. For access to some good poetry, go to http://www.poets.org/