An Awapd

Please bear with me, y’all. I’m going through a Mania of Bad Poetry right now. I gotta work it out of my system. 🙂

Since we’re sort of on an Award Kick this week, I’d like to introduce a new one. One that I made up tonight.

This award is a very specific one. It’s not that easy to attain it, so it must rightfully go on to those who excel in their field. I give to you, blogsurfers…

The >:-P! Awapd. Three things:

  • There isn’t a word for >:-P!, you have to either make the face (the…[awkward facial expression]…awapd!), or say the characters one by one (The greater-than-colon-hyphen-capital-P-exclamation-point awapd!)
  • Yes, that says Awapd, a typo of Award…a sort of tribute to bad poetry, which often includes typos and improperly-placed punctuation and symbols.
  • It’s pronounced award. Not awap’dh! Come on people, how linguistically antagonistic do you think I would be! 😀

And, there are some rules that go along with this award.

1. Link back to the person who gave the award.

2. Share a little insight on bad poetry, for those of us who are trying to be the next Homers and T. S. Eliots of the Bad Poetry world.

3. Compose a bad poem, in honor of the award.

4. Give it to a prolifically bad poet among your contacts.

This whole bad poetry thing is new to me, but I foresee it as something that may become big in the blogosphere, and perhaps the internet at large. I see a Wikipedia article on the art of bad poetry. I see Youtube videos with bad poetry set to wonderfully bad piano music. Jump on the car now, folks, while the train’s just starting!

So, I must follow my own rules, I guess.

1. Since I’m the originator of the award, I don’t think I need to link back to myself…?!

2. Make it bad, folks. It doesn’t come naturally. (Well maybe for some people!) What do I do to make bad poetry? I break rules. Sure, throw in a typo. End some sentences with prepositions, even if you’ve never done it before. Go out of tempo (who needs meter and verse?). In a word: Break rules! (See, I just said that “Break Rules” was “A” word! That’s a fine example right there!)

3. My Poem:

THE AWAPD
I can imagine them dancing
When they get this awapd.
Happy tears streaming
When they get this awapd.
I’ve made someone’s day.
I hope.
Dewrder. (This word—Welsh for “Courage,”—is a typical way to end a bad poem. It’s simply a decorate embellishment to the meaning of the poem.)

4. I give this award to: Lisa of Milkfever! May she be the first recipient of many. Congratulations!

Okay, down to business. After all is said and done, I must be a well-rounded writer, because I can write good and bad poetry. Sorry, all of you who think that I’m a great bad poetry writer, but I kept coming up with these poems that I liked too much to delete…

THE AWAPD
A P? the old man said,
Stroking his beard that was as gray as the pearls around his old wife’s neck weren’t
That looks like an R to me
He said
Slowly.
Slowly, that’s how old people
Think.
No grandpa, it’s an P.
You spelld it wrong.

THE AWAPD
I know that’s a P,
I can see, can’t I!
I have glasses don’t I!
I know how to use commas and question marks don’t I!

Yes I can see it’s a P,
It’s as clear as it can be!
Rhymes that end with an E
Are rather cheap,
Cheap as can be!

It’s supposed to be an R?
How bizarre!
How bizarre!
How bizarre!
Throw away your bad poetics diploma,
In the trash,
Where you throw things away,
Away!
Away from me, thou slug of a poet,
YES I KNOW, IT’S A P!

Happy trails y’all.

(I’ll try to get back to real posting next week…ha ha ha)

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18 thoughts on “An Awapd

  1. Haha talk about being original & creative- well done with the award Joseph! 🙂 Now, I think I deserve this since I can’t write ANY poetry- let alone a bad one, so if it’s okay with you, I’d like to display this on my blog! 🙂

    • I’d love to give it to you, Lua, but there’s an art to bad poetry that can’t be undermined…Have you tried your hand at it? Maybe you’re actually a terrible poet, in which case I’d be thrilled to awapd you it. 🙂

  2. Oh, my, another award! I’m overcome with emotions and >:-P!
    Naturally, as newly-appointed, newly red-dyed-locks president of the society, I know a poem of monstrously bad proportions will be expected of me.
    So here goes:

    There is nothing here,
    or here
    is there?
    What about there
    there
    there
    No, sadly, no
    Sadly, oh, badly
    it is not here
    there
    there
    any WHERE then?
    Oh, you’re gone
    gone
    \ and I and this
    @ are alone
    HERE.

    This is the official end of this poem _____ Here!

    X Lisa (true end of poem is actually here. Here. here.

    • Wow, Lisa, a truly magnificent poem sure to frustrate any “Good Poet.” (Blech! shun, shun!)

      You deserve the award.

      Did you really dye your hair? 😀

      • Nope, still blonde, I’m afraid. [That line was actually part of the poem.]

        ps. Thank you for my public shunning. I’m glowing with pride here!

      • your mystery makes one wonder
        this avoidance of yours makes one ponder
        much how this poem runs longer
        where the end is?
        it is here?
        is it now?
        when will this torture end?
        ends it now?
        here it is?
        dewrder.—

      • That’s what Lisa says . If I do earn the award, I’ll have to dream up a poem full of cliches. Oooh…wouldn’t that be great, I mean, awful?

      • Ooh, that sounds difficult Janna…do you think you could do it? I mean a poem like that would simply be teetering on the brink of brilliance. I suppose if you’re good enough you could pull it off though…go for it!

  3. Hmmm….is that a challenge? Well, here’s my poem, aptly titled “Cliche”, since every single line is a cliche (how original, right?) I think it’s closer to the edge of disaster than the brink of brilliance, but I’ll leave that to you.

    Cliche

    She didn’t look before she leaped
    And forgot that love is blind-
    Quickly falling head over heels
    Because a good man is hard to find.
    She hung on every word
    And held a glimmer of hope,
    But left no stone unturned
    When she reached the end of her rope.
    He thought the grass was greener
    On the other side;
    But come hell or high water,
    She couldn’t let sleeping dogs lie.
    Nothing ventured, nothing gained-
    But now he’s gone too far.
    There’ll be hell to pay
    Because all’s fair in love and war.

    • Oh dear, Janna, you’ve done it…you’ve written an absolutely brilliant poem!!! It will take you years to recover from this one…lol

      (Seriously: This is a great poem. A little too great for the >:-P! awapd, or any other sort of bad poem award…)

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