I am an awful poet

This is a confession of sorts. The truth is, I can do prose. I excel at prose. But poetry is a whole nother story. These are snippets from awful poems that I have written (all of them assigned by some class along the way) that prove that I am an awful poet.

This is "Ode to December." Yeah. It's that bad.

In morning, the world dusted freshly white

Early in this, the last month of the year

Fluffy snow reflects the winter sunlight

The Christmas season is fast growing near

The chilly air is filled with joyous song

Blizzarding nights and bright days of cold sun

Hot chocolate, days short and nights so long

Skiing and sledding—always having fun

Early in winter, no one minds the cold

Not yet, anyway, we’ve got months for that

For many, of course, this season gets old

‘Tis bearable, though, if you’ve a warm hat

By the twenty-fourth the year’s waning fast

Wake up in the morning, Christmas at last!

When I wrote that "'tis bearable, though" part, I was pretty much ready to hurl my pencil across the room. But I might have actually been typing it, and I usually don't write anything bad enough to necessitate throwing a computer anywhere. I've noticed that if you read just my rhymes from that poem, it's enough to make someone cry: year, near; song, long; sun, fun; cold, old; that, hat; fast, last... So much sophistication. It's crazy.

This last one was, however, a shining moment compared to the next - my self-entitled Poem of Shame.

This one had vocabulary requirements so I will underline these words, so you understand why I used "amalgam" and "despondent." Oh, it's so bad. I decided to not correct typos that I neglected to correct when I turned this in (my poor teacher...), rather I just marked them with [sic], which is the most useful thing I have learned all year last year, in any of my classes.

One cool summer day

We set out, my dad and I

To hike upon a meadow

High up in the sky

All around us mountains

Wildflowers and bussing [sic] bees

Patches of melting snow

And lots of pine trees

We paused intermittently

To take pictures of the scene

Then kept on hiking

Still lots to be seen

We encountered a marmot

He sniffed at our feet

He startled the tourists

Because he wanted something to eat

We saw a pair of mountain goats

Resting far up on the hillside

They were hard to see because

Their white fur let them hide

Streams of melting snow

Rushed down the trail

We stepped on rocks to keep dry

And to keep my balance my arms had to flail

Just when the hike seemed despondent

We had reached the crest

We admired the amalgam of nature

And took a moment to rest

We began the hike back down

As the sun was getting low

I was very thirsty

But there was not too further to go

Some people were gathered at the end of the trail

They were looking down towards the parking lot

I started [sic] incredulously at what they saw

Two mountain goats were crossing, believe it or not.

The baby chased after her mother

As they crossed through

I stood and watched in wonder –

Apparently, this happens a lot, too!

You know when a poem ends with an exclamation point, you have just witnessed something truly spectacular. And by spectacular, I mean horrible.

Once in tenth grade we had to write poems in biology. Honor's biology. That was the moment when I seriously considering dropping out of school. Instead, I wrote a haiku, the only type of poem I actually know how to write, and a cinquan, whatever that is. This is what happened. Brace yourself.

Active Interphase

Replicating DNA

Making ATP

Two steps

Meiosis one

Also meiosis two

No interphase between them

Four cells

I think my favorite part is "Also meiosis two."