Celebrating August with Bad Poetry

CEBU, Philippines - The sun is rising, the wind is blowing, birds are chirping, dogs are… howling?

Oh well, what the heck. I am one melancholic lady at this very moment- graveyard time but still my eyes refuse to shut; tummy grumbling, not sure if its due to hunger or just my bratty dysmenorrhea; memos that are yet to be released, dreading the reactions of the employees and the list goes on and on…

 So then you agree that this good ol’ lady does need one fine solace: poetry.

I never prided myself with poetry. Sure I had my fair share of poems- from mushy to forlorn, to grotesque, but I would rather die a thousand deaths than to let someone read it. I do write poems, but it would take me half an hour to figure out what rhymes, and would take me a full day to find concrete imagery that sparks. So unless I am dying of boredom as what I am feeling now, then I would never try my hand at poetry.

I remember the face of my literature teacher as she read the only poetry that I ever published. Her simple statement of “You’re the best in short stories” and her half twisted smile said it all. No chance in the poetry department for me, at least that’s what she wanted to say, but couldn’t bear to. I know that. So I moved on. Really, I did. I devoted my time in writing short stories and essays after that, but never with poetry. You might say it’s no biggie, but the truth is, the difference is huge- gargantuan, even. Well, at least, for my ego.

But today is an exception. Because aside from being bored and lonely, this day gives me a perfect excuse...

August is the month that we celebrate bad poetry. And whoever founded it makes him or her, my new best friend. Today, I can very well write anything that I want to write. Without caring if I got the right rhymes or metaphors. Without checking if it’s a haiku or an acrostic type.  Come to think of it, I don’t even have to bother if I made sense or not, because again, it is bad poetry month, for crying out loud! And this month is the best ally for trying-hard poets such as me; a day to give us a chance to prove to the whole world, or even just to ourselves that we too, can produce a pure, unadulterated piece; a poetry that can relay powerful message to the readers, without being conscious about it.

Shall I say then that this is our time to shine? Surely! For it IS our time to write. And write we shall- Without doubt and without fear. Without the consciousness that embraces us some other months of the year. Without fear of being criticized for the badly written poems that we want to publicized. Some rhyme, huh? See, no sweat! Thanks to this uncensored August month.

But then, I guess poetry is and will always be indescribable. It could mean too explicit for words, or could be too awful to read. You could make a shout out that says “i-don’t-care-what-you-think-as-long-as-this-is-what-I-feel”, or a title that simply says “Untitled”. Whatever it is that you want to write, that is poetry- your poetry. And nobody can question that. Not even Robert Frost or Emily Dickinson.

So here’s to bad poetry, here’s to the month of August!