National Write More Poetry Month

It’s April, and that means it’s National Write More Poetry Month!  Over here at Poetic Hell, we’re taking on the thirty poems in thirty day challenge.  Yes, I realize it’s already the fifth and there is only one new poem on here.  This is why it’s called a challenge.

In other news, a new poet has been added to Poetic Hell.  Welcome Linnea (aka me) – mama, writer, editor, poet, organizer, tutor, hair bow maker, scrapbooker, and quasi-foodie whose poetry is definitely rusty and probably terrible, and that’s okay.  Hopefully I’ll be adding more new (and old) content on here over the coming days.

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)

Site News: We Have a Logo! And Facebook!

It’s exciting news indeed, but if you look up (really, go ahead, I’ll wait) you’ll already see it, flying gloriously in our newly remodeled banner. Thanks to Arteest Extraordinaire Kelley Frisby for drawing and painting this sexy new logo, by hand. Look for it to appear on the cover of our forthcoming eBook as well.

You might also have noticed that Poetic Hell now has its very own Facebook page! Please, if you love us or just love to hate us, please go ahead and Like Poetic Hell on Facebook and feel free to join the discussion and criticism of these god-awful poems that just won’t stop!

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)

From the Ashes springs New Fire!

It’s been a year since last Poetic Hell saw a new poem or update; a year in which much has happened. Perhaps most unfortunate of these things is the passing of my grandmother, Iris Ward, lifelong companion of my grandfather, John Ward, whose passing brought me back together with family and loved ones I hadn’t seen in too long. She lasted just four short months after my grandfather left, and evidently could wait no longer to follow him on his way. I miss her terribly–we all do–but still, she, like my grandfather, gave us a good run, and we were lucky to have had her for as long as we did.

It’s been a year since last Poetic Hell saw a new poem or update; a year in which much has happened. Perhaps most unfortunate of these things is the passing of my grandmother, Iris Ward, lifelong companion of my grandfather, John Ward, whose passing brought me back together with family and loved ones I hadn’t seen in too long.  She lasted just four short months after my grandfather left, and evidently could wait no longer to follow him on his way. I miss her terribly–we all do–but still, she, like my grandfather, gave us a good run, and we were lucky to have had her for as long as we did.

On a happier note, we’ve new additions in the form of new cousins Rory and Sophia, born to my cousins Shawna and Deage respectively, in their lovely families (and pretty close together, too; one in December, the other in January.)

As for me, I’ve returned to school to study literature, philosophy and film as much as possible in the hopes of transferring to a good film school once I’ve finished at the CC level. In two days, a full year will have come and gone, and I’ve got to marvel at what a ride it’s been so far. Lots of fun, mountains of learning, and an ever growing sense of belonging in an academic environment. It’s weird, but I love it.

Now, however, it’s time for some poetry, and to kick things off right (and meet a creative project requirement for a course) I’ll do something unique: Post a brand new poem.

Yeah, umm…be afraid.

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)

A Question of Order

I’ve been considering whether to add poems by order of the date they were written, but it occurs to me I botched that idea by launching the site with a brand new piece. To carry that forward my subsequent posting was from 1998, long after I’d written so many god-awful pieces of teenage angsty crap. I’m going to continue with the 1998 models for now, though in no particular order except as they strike me. In case you’re wondering, yes, it’s simply that these are the poems I have most easily accessible to me right now, but as I dig out the older ones from the forbidden suitcase in which they are locked, I’ll be sure to post them here as well.

My plan for posting is actually rather simple: One old poem per day, and if the opportunity for a newer one strikes then I’ll go ahead and post that too. Luckily I don’t hate my fellow man enough to devote much effort to new poetry, so count yourself lucky. In the morning, we begin!

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)

Pass Judgment!

Well, we’re not afraid of judgment here, and in fact we encourage it, which is why we’ve introduced our brand new Ratings system…plugin…that we downloaded for free.

So go ahead and judge away: That guy’s too fat; that girl’s too ugly; Aunt Hilda’s nose hair reminds me of an overgrown fern; Sony sucks donkey nards; Jason’s poems are like crap smeared on a wall. Feel free to go to town and have fun with it! We know that life is full of judgments of all sorts, some of them unfair, others deserved, but all in all–part and parcel of being the kind of animal with a Reason-equipped Brain.

You may have heard that one of the features of the much maligned mythical Hell (don’t try to say that three times fast, you may hurt your tongue) entails the dreaded Passing of Judgment. This most fearsome of terms can bring shivers to the spine of a properly indoctrinated child, and downright chills to someone a little older who’s managed to bury him or herself knee deep in the fun, err, pain of a life of sin. Any good (insert Fear Organization of Choice [FOC hereafter] here) can tell you, being judged is a terrible and awful thing to be avoided at all costs. In fact, it’s so fearsome and terrible a thing that you’re not even meant to do it yourself, lest ye be judged. This leads to all sorts of excuses for not bothering to think, and can in fact lead to a sort of intellectual paralysis among those for whom the words truly do grip their innermost gonads.

Well, we’re not afraid of judgment here, and in fact we encourage it, which is why we’ve introduced our brand new Ratings system…plugin…that we downloaded for free.

So go ahead and judge away: That guy’s too fat; that girl’s too ugly; Aunt Hilda’s nose hair reminds me of an overgrown fern; Sony sucks donkey nards; Jason’s poems are like crap smeared on a wall. Feel free to go to town and have fun with it! We know that life is full of judgments of all sorts, some of them unfair, others deserved, but all in all–part and parcel of being the kind of animal with a Reason-equipped Brain.

And next time somebody tells you “Judge not, lest ye be judged“, smile kindly and say in your best faux-Russian accent in honor of the late, great Ayn Rand: “Judge, and be prepared to be judged“.

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)

Some Visual flavor

So, you may have noticed (I have) that the site so far is fairly generic. Yeah, it was put together in a hurry, so sue me. Anyway, there are some changes coming, not the least of which is a sexy banner envisioned by myself and artified (err, that might not actually be a word) by Professional Illustrator Kelley Frisby. I’m thinking of some category or tag icons to use as well, but those might be a ways off.

So, you may have noticed (I have) that the site so far is fairly generic. Yeah, it was put together in a hurry, so sue me. Anyway, there are some changes coming, not the least of which is a sexy banner envisioned by myself and artified (err, that might not actually be a word) by Professional Illustrator Kelley Frisby. I’m thinking of some category or tag icons to use as well, but those might be a ways off.

Anyway, it’s clear the site needs a little personal attention to really make it feel like a home (even if it is a home for really awful poetry), so I can’t help but ask, do you have any ideas? If we use your idea, I’ll make sure you get a Poetic Hell T Shirt…as soon as we figure out our logo 🙂

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)

Sally Forth (Not the comic)

The foundations of Poetic Hell have been established and its first original piece posted. We’ve cobbled together the basics of “About” and we’ve said our first words of Dedication, and the sad business of saying goodbye to a great man has been concluded, though neither it nor he will never be forgotten. It’s now time to march forward, and this means, of course, that now we actually have to start posting the terrible poetry from our youth. If nothing else, it’ll be an entertaining lesson in what not to do, right?

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)

Welcome to Hell

Poetic Hell, to be specific. The point of this site, as you’ll soon discover, is to showcase poetry that is hellishly bad. Well, pretty much, at least insofar as my poetry goes.

Nevertheless, the poetry that will appear on this site, no matter how bad, was written with heartfelt sincerity and passion at the time. I can’t promise to always remember why it was written or for whom, but I’ll do what I can.

For the most part we’ll present older poetry from the angsty teenage years (hence the poor quality), but periodically something new may appear. Here’s to that thought.

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)