A Selection of Really Bad Poetry
by Eggar Allen Poo
poet laureate of Irvania
Skitzy is My Co-Pilot
An ode to playing computer flight simulator games with a 16-year-old cat on my lap
God rest ye, merry Skitzy cat, who's snoozing on my lap
We're shooting down some Stukas while you take another nap
I love to fire the cannon and to hear their wingtips snap
Uh oh look, there's a fighter on my tail
We should now bail
There's a Messerschmidt who's just shot off my tail.
Und now we're from der Fatherland and shooting at der Yanks
We shot down all der bombers and we strafed at all der tanks
We save der world for Nazidom and still we get no thanks
Uh oh look, there's a Mustang in pursuit
Where is my chute?
We are toast 'cause there's a Mustang in pursuit.
So now we're hanging from my chute and looking up at planes
Written in the summer of 2000. Skitzy passed away six months later.
My fighter's falling rapidly, no tail, engulfed in flames
We started out by kicking butt and taking lots of names
But now we've been shot down, oh boy
There is no joy
Wake up Skitzy, we're shot down again, oh boy.
EQUAL TIME - What it was like to buy a home computer in 1985
I won the local lottery
A million bucks all went to me.
Bought all the computers I could find
In order to help make up my mind.
First I went to Technoland
To look into the Apple brand.
I got a Mac
I got an "E"
And just for fun
I got a "C".
As the Vulcan said, the Mac was slow
It drew nice dots in monochro'.
It's good for something
I know it's so
When I find out
I'll let you know.
I went to work on my new "E"
And got frustrated immediately.
Can't use the ELSE
Can't access the printer
If I were to wait
While it contemplates
I'd be here through next winter.
I knew that something was amiss
"I paid two thousand bucks for THIS?"
So on I went to IBM
and got attacked by salesmen.
"Just three grand will get for you
A keyboard and a CPU.
"You also gotta get the
High-resolution graphics interface
Color high-resolution graphics interface
Realtime clock interface
and of course the
"You mean they all come separately?" said I in my revile.
"You pay for flexibility," they came back with a smile.
Next to the Atari stand
Where I bought everything at hand.
400, 600, 800, more
XL, XE, don't know what for.
They played great games, the best I think
But programming them began to stink.
Of all the stupid, useless things!
They won't concatenate my strings.
I very nearly went berserk
Trying to do some useful work
Typed in my taxes, filed the key
Oooops... used up the memory.
I walked into the K-Mart store
To pick up on some Commodore.
I got the VIC, the 64,
128 , and new Plus Four.
(I had to get them all, you see,
There's no compatibility.)
The disk is anything but fast
Told it to load, five hours have past
I think it's almost done, at last
Never mind... the system crashed.
Next I ran to Radio shack
To try and get some sanity back.
I worked upon the Model IV
Phrase comes to mind: a dinosaur.
The Portable is really mellow
An amiable and gentle fellow
It does just what I tell it to
It'll finish in a week or two.
The Color Computer is powerful
Despite its common fame
Too bad in thirty-two columns
I can hardly print my name!
It's not got many colors
Or pixels on the screen
The Basic is the best you'll find
'Til it overheats, I mean.
The screen does funny stuff
When those chips get hot enough
My Tiger tank appears to be
A hamster with an injured knee.
I bought a TI99
Thought that I was doing fine
It worked okay, tho' others topped it
Would be better, 'cept TI dropped it.
I still had twenty bucks somewhere
I got a new Timex-Sinclair.
That touch-tone keyboard
I can't stand it
My cat jumped on it
And wrote the script for Hamlet.
Had some trouble with the RF piece
Opened the sound channel and got Radio Greece.
I've had enough! I wanna be free!
I bought the Amiga and new ST
Thought that'd be a good, safe bet
Except they have no software yet.
I stashed the others that I'd bought
Can't tell if that was wise or not.
I'm bugged by just one little thing:
I still can't do word processing.
The Richard Marx Hit Song Template
You broke my heart
Our love has all gone wrong
Not that I mind
It's great material for a song
You kicked me in the ribs
Then spit in my eye
Whatever you do, promise me
You won't give Michael Boulton a try
Gold-plated records are lined up on my wall
(Written in 1989?)
You are the reason that I won them all
Girl you've got to give my heart a tweak
I need another hit record this week
The Sticks Johnson Song (by Sticks & the New Bohemians)
I'm overequipped with too many things
I slay what I slay, if you know what I mean
Intelligence is just a mark on my character sheet
Charisma doesn' mean anything
I'm not afraid of too many things
Except if they've got more hit dice than me
Hope I reach a higher level
Before this gets too deep
Elven fighter is what I am, are you an NPC or what?
Elven fighter is what I am, are you an NPC or what?
Dexterity reduces your armour class
Endurance is not in this game
Elven fighter is what I am, are you a dwarven prince, or what?
Elven fighter is what I am, are you a cleric/thief, or what?
Hope I get to fifteenth level
Before we meet the lich
My long sword does 1d8 versus medium/small
My dagger is double damage versus trolls
Elven fighter is what I am, are you a giant frog or what?
Elven fighter is what I am, are you an ogre mage, or
(Written February 27, 1989)
Turkeys roasting on an open fire
We're all in a Thanksgiving bliss
The fire is hot and I'm finding out
I should have used a fork for this
I tried to hold it like a spit
The holder from my old hibachi wouldn't fit
I should have known without looking it up
You can't cook mashed potatoes in a paper cup
So if you're cooking on this holiday
I hope you'll hear this friendly word
Go watch the parade
Buy the stuffing pre-made
And simply microwave the bird!
I Shall Wimp No More Forever, a pome by Eggar Allen Poo
I wimped upon a summer's day
Tried not to roll my score away
The game was big, the stakes were high
I felt the hour of reck'ning nigh
The roofs were white with fallen snow
As were the streets and cars below
We'd just wrapped up a game of TOON
Which explains the sight of snow in June.
I wimped out, lonely as a cloud
My lack of score declared the pen
On my next turn I cried aloud
I rolled the dice, and wimped again.
The next man's roll was also par
I thought that I should never see
Him roll a triple shooting star
Then he, too, whimpered quietly.
Next came Bob to roll the dice
As good a man as was alive
He took the bones, as calm as ice
And bravely kept his twenty-five.
The next two wimped but Tony scored
A fifteen on the tally board
A stranger asked to try his hat
A chap named Casey and his pet bat.
He got no score towards his goal
And wimped on each succeeding roll.
He stomped away, because you see
His pet bat scored more points than he.
The dice returned again to me
I scored with but a triple three
A hundred points were mine to win
But just one die, to my chagrin
Two hundred points, and shortly three
It was more lovely than a tree.
And four, then five, six hundred, eight
A massive score did I create
A thousand points did I accrue
And all the dice were rolled, but two.
I rolled a five, but could not resist
I took that last dice in my fist
A dozen people gathered round
With baited breath and not a sound
To watch me roll this final die
A look of fear on every eye
I wimped upon that summer's eve
(Probably written in the summer of 1989)
A ghastly roll you'd not believe
I raised my head for all to see
At least I wimped out cosmically.
Irvania.com webmaster: Dave Ferris
The content on this page was written between 1985 and 2000
Last updated: June 11, 2016