Poetry for Dummies

Three is haiku, four a stanza,
Five a limerick, more, bonanza.
For words meter or rhyme,
Damned if I'll give a dime.
I can never edit or rewrite it,
Neither correct, nor recite it.
Every buzzing bee in my bonnet
Becomes blank verse or sonnet.
Crazy, consistent or not,
I'm incontinent of thought.
I regurgitate the whole lot
Ere it turns my brain to rot.
What for is Creative Forum,
If not for morons to bore 'em.

Funny Poets 

Such funny poets try
To make me really cry.
Stomach is churning
And heart is burning
As I choke and hiccup,
So as not to throw up.
I dump the slushy mush
Repeatedly pull the flush,
To avoid clogging the drains
With the fragments of brains,
Pickled in cheap booze,
That they always ooze
From every orifice and pore.
No more, I scream, no more!

Birth and death of a poet

In attempting to kill time,
A fool stumbled on rhyme.
He was an idiot, and yet
Felt like a poet laureate.
He made word salads
And called them ballads,
His verse was the worst.
They put him on a hearst,
Before he was fully dead
Or could be properly read
And buried him on the net,
No search engine can get,
As I wrote his URL link
Illegibly, in invisible ink.