Sorry Jon, but the humour behind it turns its badness back on itself. It's
got too much energy to be properly bad.
P
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Poetryetc: poetry and poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On
> Behalf Of Jon Corelis
> Sent: 25 October 2007 16:08
> To: [log in to unmask]
> Subject: Kitsch poem: The Four Seasons
>
> The Four Seasons
>
> 'Tis the last rose of summer! I shrieked in dismay,
> and soon its bright petals must wither away!
> O whence now the peach, the pear, and the orange?
> For answer the door of time creaked on its door-hinge.
>
> 'Tis the first frost of autumn! I sobbed in despair,
> and winter's sharp teeth soon will bite the day's air!
> The leaves fall in shock at the season's cruel crime,
> like a dandruff of years on the shoulders of time.
>
> 'Tis the winter's fifth blizzard! I howled in a rage,
> and my soul gnaws its tail like a beast in a cage.
> Though winter is wan, yet my passion is purple,
> for griefs have my heart by the hair, and they sure pull.
>
> 'Tis the spring-time's first peony! I squealed in delight,
> and its delicate bloom is for sore eyes a sight!
> Now the season's warm joy holds the forests in thrall,
> and I believe that I don't feel so bad after all.
>
>
> -------------------------------------
>
> [I some time back set myself as an experiment the task of writing the
> absolutely worst in every way poem possible (and no you guys back
> there I am not talking about the ones I've been sending all along.
> Weisenheimers ...) The above is the result.]
>
> --
> ===================================
>
> Jon Corelis www.geocities.com/jgcorelis/
>
> ===================================
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