The worst poem ever written.
Well, what did you expect?
Strikes no chords, hits no buttons,
Just leaves you all perplexed.
Speaks not of Life, Death, Hope or Hate,
Or hearts by Love’s darts smitten.
You surely will not like its shape,
Its form, its structure, rhythm.
Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter
Get only a brief mention.
Where is the focus, centre?
What captures our attention?
No similes, no imagery,
No metaphors, no meat.
No juicy, tasty turns of phrase
In which to sink one’s teeth.
A dud, a flop, complete dead loss,
With nothing to commend it.
Go on, tell me you share this view,
I shall not be offended.
A worser poem was never written,
So I’ll not whinge or whine.
I won’t feel hurt, burnt, stung or bitten,
I’ll hit the mark next time.
And yet, while I’ve been sitting
Here, a thought did cross my mind:
Might there not be some treasure hidden
Among these rough-hewn lines?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem