In the vein of my blogging heroes, Pioneer Woman and Evie, I thought I would share some bad poetry with you. In the olden days of high school and college, I fancied myself a poet. Now I’ve moved onto the greener pastures of fiction, creative nonfiction, and its close cousin, blogging.

So without further adieu, here you go.
P.S. I also studied Chinese and French in high school, and Chinese in college, so forgive my pretentious foreign phrase-additions.
P.P.S. Wow, I didn’t realize just HOW bad this was until I read it again!!

2-13-02
don’t sing me the blue night song
where fingers snaps in 3/4 time
where the violin romances its strings
where the navy aura surrounds
gei wo hui da
give me an answer as i climb this tree
forget the yes-no-do nots
of your aproned mother
stop her voice with a porcelain rag
and give me truth
yes, i’m a foreign phrase whore
but i’ll stop selling myself
to the land of Chinese caresses
if you will change the song
and save me from the
pine pricks of this tree.