(to a country-western twang)

I want to write a story, I want to write a tale
I want to see it published and get checks in the mail
I wanna be the hottest thing that you have ever seen
but all that I am doing, is staring at the screen!

I’ve got a case of writer’s block, as you can plainly see
I had it something awful now, since 2000-and-3!
I’ve got character and setting, but I haven’t got a shot
’cause all these things are useless if I haven’t got a plot

Nothing happens!
Nothing happens!
Nothing happens in my tale

Nothing happens!
Nothing happens!
My story is a fail

Perhaps I try a bit too hard, perhaps I should relax
perhaps I oughta just write down a tale based on the facts
Just give your guy a problem, the writing coaches say
then figure out how his quirks will help him save the day

But nothing happens!
Nothing happens!
Nothing happens in my tale

Nothing happens!
Nothing happens!
My story is a fail

It’s causing me some anguish, my lame attempts at art
you can’t ever finish, what you never start
But your muse will never flourish, when threatened by a gun
so I’m gonna write a filk about it, and then call it done

’cause nothing happens!
Nothing happens!
Nothing happens in my tale

Nothing happens!
Nothing happens!
My story is a fail!

-The Gneech

The leg bone’s connected to the arm bone
The arm bone’s connected to the head bone
The head bone’s connected to the telephone
Now cheer the nerds on the job

The left bone’s connected to the right bone
The Fred bone’s connected to the Ethel bone
The football’s connected to the end zone
The lyrics are coming undone

Dem bones dem bones live underground
dem bones dem bones gonna go to town
dem bones dem bones never hear a sound
da dee da dum de da dum

No bone’s connected to the nose bone
my tongue is connected to the Toblerone
Greg Peck was in The Guns of Navarone
da dee da dum de da dum
da dee da dum de da dum
da dee da dum de da dum

-The Gneech

According to Borders, yesterday was “Bad Poetry Day.” On their Twitter feed, they asked for people to send in their bad haiku. And as I have an occasional knack [1] for writing bad poetry, I tossed some submissions their way. (I’ve also included a few responses, indicated by username.)

…

Five syllables and
seven syllables and then
HAIKU! … gesundheit

…

Who writes a haiku
only to pimp their website
go to gneech.com

…

(And since traditional haiku usually is about or at least references nature…)

Rain rain rain rain rain
Rain rain rain rain rain rain rain
Rain rain rain rain rain

…

Twittering haikus
there are so many now, that
Oh no! The Fail Whale!

…

(Starhound joins in…)

Look there at @the_gneech
Tweeting haikus on the net
He is a bit odd

…

(Rebelsheart calls me out on Twitterfail…)

just had to tempt fate
posted prose excessively
@the_gneech broke twitter

…

(JadedFox @ed this one my way…)

Start the day with rock
loud drums and guitars wailing
better than coffee!

…

(Heatherzundel finishes me off…)

Oh wow – so in love
it’s hard to write bad haikus
rock on tweet fail whale.

…

A fun time was had by all.

-The Gneech

[1] Not to be confused with an occasional table.

I’ve created a new “Risk a Verse” section for the website, for those masochistic souls who’d like to read my various poems, filks, and such strangeness. A poem about jackalopes? It’s in there. Filk about D&D? It’s in there. Sword and sorcery microfiction in rhyming couplets? It’s in there! As of this morning it’s all reposts, but some are pretty old and thus probably new to most of my readers.

Enjoy.

-The Gneech

There’s a hole in your soul
where the good thoughts never go
and the hole is made of bones
that are gnawed by a mole
who lives in the hole
at the bottom of your soul
And the mole has a phone
and he calls when you’re alone
But the tone of his phone
is a lonely hollow groan
And when you answer the phone
when you’re called by the mole
who lives in the hole
at the bottom of your soul
where the good thoughts never go
you just moan ’cause you know
that he’s down there all alone
in a hole made of bones

-The Gneech

(Originally posted to my LiveJournal.)

To the tune of “Eleanor Rigby”

Argh, look at all these bonehead people
Argh, look at all these bonehead people

What’s with this traffic?
I’m cruising along
and some idiot’s tailgating me
Look over and see

The left lane is empty
if you want to go faster
get over and out of this rut
get off of my butt

   All the bonehead people
   where do they all come from?
   All the bonehead people
   why won’t they leave me ‘lone?

Get off that cellphone
there’s no conversation
worth having so much you could die
Just say goodbye

Both hands on the wheel, dude
Try paying attention
to all of the traffic that’s up in your face
come back down from space

   All the bonehead people
   where do they all come from?
   All the bonehead people
   why won’t they leave me ‘lone?

Argh, look at all these bonehead people
Argh, look at all these bonehead people

What’s with this traffic?
There’s nothing the matter
but people keep on slowing down
Keep moving, clowns!

Look at them sitting
when the light’s green they
just sit and won’t move their buns
But red lights they run!

   All the bonehead people
   where do they all come from?
   All the bonehead people
   why won’t they leave me ‘lone?

-The Gneech

(Originally posted to my LiveJournal.)