Amazingly Bad Poetry Journal Review - A Fairy Glen
A Fairy Glen
by Lily
Sleepy fairies nod their clever caps
as each group wakens from sweet slumber's naps
and stretch their fragile wings to gather strength...
and wait for sun's grand shadows to give length.
Creeping forward, fairies dance to tunes,
aye, ancient ones from yon enchanted moons.
All the fairy world is like love's kiss,
with sighs of wonder, rainbow's gentle bliss.
Hell. I've got to lie down while writing this review. Luckily, I've taught my cat how to purchase Saltine crackers and 7UP for just this sort of eventuality. I don't think the sailors on Magellan's vessels got this sick on the roughest seas. I'd rather sit through Dane Cook's bit on vomiting than sit through this poem. I honestly believe that if Lily put a kitten or a baby dolphin in this poem, it would have destroyed the entire Internet. The cloying sweetness would have infected the poetry.com servers, destroying them in a matter of milliseconds. Then "A Fairy Glen" would spread across the rest of the internet servers hubs, like 1918 influenza. In a matter of days, we'd all have to back to using VCRs, butter churns, dowsing rods, and paper.
So what do we have here? We have various gangs of fairies waking up from some sort of hibernation (were they blacked out? In opium hazes?). Then they wait for an hour until it is time to dance. I know that Lily was going for a tone of 'mystically charming' but does her scenario strike anyone else as being mystically unnerving? If I showed you scientific proof that fairies were creeping (Lily's word, not mine) from hiding spots to have a rave in your apartment every night, would you be delighted or would you put out glue traps. Glue traps is the correct response.
I've failed to keep myself from attempting to decipher the last lines of this poem. I am convinced Lily is deliberately fucking with us. How, in the name of everything I hold dear, is the fairy world like love's kiss? Is the fairy world also like sighs of wonder and rainbow's bliss? Are the sighs of wonder a part of love's kiss? That is, there are happy sighs of wonder during love's kiss? Or are the sighs of wonder related to the fairy world? And what about rainbow's gentle bliss? She uses the possessive, which means the gentle bliss is something felt by the rainbow. The rainbow is feeling blissful. If you'll pardon me, I have to take this novelty-size cast-iron frying pan and slam it into my head for an hour.
I sort of love it when bad poems go so far as to address the audience. "Creeping forward, fairies dance to tunes," Lily writes. And then some voice in Lily's head says "Wait ... let me get this straight. They dance to tunes, you say? What sort of tunes?" "Aye," Lily explains, "Ancient ones from yon enchanted moons." I didn't ask! No one asked! How ancient are we talking about here? Buddy Holly? Songs sung by primitive man before the hunt? I think the poem would have benefited enormously from Lily saying that the fairies were dancing to something identifiable like Chopin or Ace of Base.
Bad Poetry Grade [F = your standard bad poem; A = worst poem imaginable]: B
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by Lily
Sleepy fairies nod their clever caps
as each group wakens from sweet slumber's naps
and stretch their fragile wings to gather strength...
and wait for sun's grand shadows to give length.
Creeping forward, fairies dance to tunes,
aye, ancient ones from yon enchanted moons.
All the fairy world is like love's kiss,
with sighs of wonder, rainbow's gentle bliss.
Hell. I've got to lie down while writing this review. Luckily, I've taught my cat how to purchase Saltine crackers and 7UP for just this sort of eventuality. I don't think the sailors on Magellan's vessels got this sick on the roughest seas. I'd rather sit through Dane Cook's bit on vomiting than sit through this poem. I honestly believe that if Lily put a kitten or a baby dolphin in this poem, it would have destroyed the entire Internet. The cloying sweetness would have infected the poetry.com servers, destroying them in a matter of milliseconds. Then "A Fairy Glen" would spread across the rest of the internet servers hubs, like 1918 influenza. In a matter of days, we'd all have to back to using VCRs, butter churns, dowsing rods, and paper.
So what do we have here? We have various gangs of fairies waking up from some sort of hibernation (were they blacked out? In opium hazes?). Then they wait for an hour until it is time to dance. I know that Lily was going for a tone of 'mystically charming' but does her scenario strike anyone else as being mystically unnerving? If I showed you scientific proof that fairies were creeping (Lily's word, not mine) from hiding spots to have a rave in your apartment every night, would you be delighted or would you put out glue traps. Glue traps is the correct response.
I've failed to keep myself from attempting to decipher the last lines of this poem. I am convinced Lily is deliberately fucking with us. How, in the name of everything I hold dear, is the fairy world like love's kiss? Is the fairy world also like sighs of wonder and rainbow's bliss? Are the sighs of wonder a part of love's kiss? That is, there are happy sighs of wonder during love's kiss? Or are the sighs of wonder related to the fairy world? And what about rainbow's gentle bliss? She uses the possessive, which means the gentle bliss is something felt by the rainbow. The rainbow is feeling blissful. If you'll pardon me, I have to take this novelty-size cast-iron frying pan and slam it into my head for an hour.
I sort of love it when bad poems go so far as to address the audience. "Creeping forward, fairies dance to tunes," Lily writes. And then some voice in Lily's head says "Wait ... let me get this straight. They dance to tunes, you say? What sort of tunes?" "Aye," Lily explains, "Ancient ones from yon enchanted moons." I didn't ask! No one asked! How ancient are we talking about here? Buddy Holly? Songs sung by primitive man before the hunt? I think the poem would have benefited enormously from Lily saying that the fairies were dancing to something identifiable like Chopin or Ace of Base.
Bad Poetry Grade [F = your standard bad poem; A = worst poem imaginable]: B
Become a fan of the most despicable blog of them all (this one) on the Facebook...