Amazingly Bad Poetry Journal Review - Old
Old
by Andrew
I know that it has been passed on, and I have been told
Life is golden when you get old
The Golden Years is a misnomer phrase
Whoever coined it should receive no praise
The cheeks and the disappearing chin,
My beautiful hair is getting thin
My nice chest is now part of my belly
And what muscles there were now wiggle like jelly
Climbing the stairs is now a chore
Im glad there is just one flight, and no more
My new diet of prescription pills
Really dont cure me, they just make me ill
Those who proceed me in Two Thousand Seven
Will know it is golden when they get to Heaven
There will be no sickness, pain or strife
He promised you eternal life
And you will get your fifteen minutes of fame
When Jesus calls you by your first name
So fear not about what you have heard
When up in Heaven you just dont get old
Cry me a river, old man! Joan of Arc died in agony at 19, with her lungs futilely trying to process thick smoke. John Keats, one of the finest poets who ever lived, died of tuberculosis at 25, right after attempting to swallow a Grecian urn, according to his Wikipedia page. Shakespeare lived to the grand old age of 52. How many sonnets have you written, Andrew? I ask because Shakespeare wrote 154...in his spare time, when he wasn't writing the greatest plays in the history of literature. Do you know what Joan, Johnny and Bill didn't have, Andy, besides old age? Plumbing! No plumbing! Their eras scored zero in terms of sanitation in the bathroom department. Next time you feel like complaining about the stairs in your house, think about how foul the toilets were at the Globe in 1592.
Here's something else: do you know what the average life expectancy is in Haiti, according to a 2011 study by the World Health Organization? 32 freaking years! That means most Haitian men are middle-aged by 16! Those men dying in their 30's would probably appreciate you donating some of those years that are causing you so much strife. Andrew, I'd geniunely love to hook you up to Count Rugen's machine from The Princess Bride, but instead of it sucking years of your life from you, it would transfer/transplant years of your life to various well-meaning teenagers of Haiti, or the Congo, or Malawi. Sound good? Good.
Andrew claims that we will each get our fifteen minutes of fame when Jesus calls each of us by our first name. Fuck that. I want Jesus to call me "Professor Roy Frost, sir." I've been maintaining this blog/public service since 1972, I think I've earned that respect. What if a person goes by their middle name? And when Jesus called on Judy Garland, did he call her Frances Gumm because that was her birth name? What if you've already had your 15 minutes of fame? Do the extra 15 minutes with Jesus mean that you're extra special? When Bristol Palin or Dane Cook or the "Dude, you're getting a Dell!" guy get to heaven, will Jesus say "hey, move along, I'm not saying your names. You've had your 15 minutes, dudes."
Is it literally 15 minutes? Is it like a meet-n'-greet, like at a Star Trek convention? If I pay extra, can I get a photo with Mr. Christ? He doesn't have to hug me, but can I hug him? Can we get a wacky one too? He can hold up one of His hands and I can be looking through the hole! No?
I hope it's not literally 15 minutes because I think I'd run out of conversation topics after 5 minutes. I think if I had a chance to study up first, I probably could come up with some good questions. I suppose there's probably a long line, but will someone be able to loan me a copy of the King James so I can cram pre-meeting. "Can we sing a song from Jesus Christ Superstar together?" is one I just thought up. But if I died in a bus accident or by a zombie horde rushing into my office building, I just know I'd freeze up. It's a moot point, since, knowing my luck, Jesus will probably forget my name. "Welcome to an eternity of happiness in this, my kingdom of heaven... ... buddy! Good to see you, pal! How's the ...how's everything with you? Aside from being dead, of course, heh ... Oh Dad-dammit. This is sooo embarassing. I'm usually really good with names! Who are you again?"
Bad Poetry Grade [F = your standard bad poem; A+ = worst poem imaginable]: C+
by Andrew
I know that it has been passed on, and I have been told
Life is golden when you get old
The Golden Years is a misnomer phrase
Whoever coined it should receive no praise
The cheeks and the disappearing chin,
My beautiful hair is getting thin
My nice chest is now part of my belly
And what muscles there were now wiggle like jelly
Climbing the stairs is now a chore
Im glad there is just one flight, and no more
My new diet of prescription pills
Really dont cure me, they just make me ill
Those who proceed me in Two Thousand Seven
Will know it is golden when they get to Heaven
There will be no sickness, pain or strife
He promised you eternal life
And you will get your fifteen minutes of fame
When Jesus calls you by your first name
So fear not about what you have heard
When up in Heaven you just dont get old
Cry me a river, old man! Joan of Arc died in agony at 19, with her lungs futilely trying to process thick smoke. John Keats, one of the finest poets who ever lived, died of tuberculosis at 25, right after attempting to swallow a Grecian urn, according to his Wikipedia page. Shakespeare lived to the grand old age of 52. How many sonnets have you written, Andrew? I ask because Shakespeare wrote 154...in his spare time, when he wasn't writing the greatest plays in the history of literature. Do you know what Joan, Johnny and Bill didn't have, Andy, besides old age? Plumbing! No plumbing! Their eras scored zero in terms of sanitation in the bathroom department. Next time you feel like complaining about the stairs in your house, think about how foul the toilets were at the Globe in 1592.
Here's something else: do you know what the average life expectancy is in Haiti, according to a 2011 study by the World Health Organization? 32 freaking years! That means most Haitian men are middle-aged by 16! Those men dying in their 30's would probably appreciate you donating some of those years that are causing you so much strife. Andrew, I'd geniunely love to hook you up to Count Rugen's machine from The Princess Bride, but instead of it sucking years of your life from you, it would transfer/transplant years of your life to various well-meaning teenagers of Haiti, or the Congo, or Malawi. Sound good? Good.
Andrew claims that we will each get our fifteen minutes of fame when Jesus calls each of us by our first name. Fuck that. I want Jesus to call me "Professor Roy Frost, sir." I've been maintaining this blog/public service since 1972, I think I've earned that respect. What if a person goes by their middle name? And when Jesus called on Judy Garland, did he call her Frances Gumm because that was her birth name? What if you've already had your 15 minutes of fame? Do the extra 15 minutes with Jesus mean that you're extra special? When Bristol Palin or Dane Cook or the "Dude, you're getting a Dell!" guy get to heaven, will Jesus say "hey, move along, I'm not saying your names. You've had your 15 minutes, dudes."
Is it literally 15 minutes? Is it like a meet-n'-greet, like at a Star Trek convention? If I pay extra, can I get a photo with Mr. Christ? He doesn't have to hug me, but can I hug him? Can we get a wacky one too? He can hold up one of His hands and I can be looking through the hole! No?
I hope it's not literally 15 minutes because I think I'd run out of conversation topics after 5 minutes. I think if I had a chance to study up first, I probably could come up with some good questions. I suppose there's probably a long line, but will someone be able to loan me a copy of the King James so I can cram pre-meeting. "Can we sing a song from Jesus Christ Superstar together?" is one I just thought up. But if I died in a bus accident or by a zombie horde rushing into my office building, I just know I'd freeze up. It's a moot point, since, knowing my luck, Jesus will probably forget my name. "Welcome to an eternity of happiness in this, my kingdom of heaven... ... buddy! Good to see you, pal! How's the ...how's everything with you? Aside from being dead, of course, heh ... Oh Dad-dammit. This is sooo embarassing. I'm usually really good with names! Who are you again?"
Bad Poetry Grade [F = your standard bad poem; A+ = worst poem imaginable]: C+