“Under water grottos, caverns/ Filled with apes/ That eat figs./ Stepping on the figs/ That the apes/ Eat, they crunch./ The apes howl, bare/ Their fangs, dance,/ Tumble in the/ Rushing water,/ Musty, wet pelts/ Glistening in the blue.” [SF Gate]
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Youthful poetry nearly universally sucks. The exception is usually that of actual poets, and they’re not always immune from immature suckage, either.
“My ear is open like a greedy shark,
To catch the tunings of a voice divine.”
-A very young John Keats, from “Woman! when I behold thee flippant, vain”
“Dark and lonely on a summer’s night.
Kill my landlord. Kill my landlord.
Watchdog barking. Do he bite?
Kill my landlord. Kill my landlord.
Slip in his window. Break his neck.
Then his house I start to wreck.
Got no reason. What the heck?
Kill my landlord. Kill my landlord.
C-I-L my land lord!”
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