Very Bad Poetry

This one is all my own and not a critique of another poor cretin:

I enterred the nave, not noticing the potted plants and shrubberies,
Casually placed to evoke a sense of “springness”
By some thoughtful janitor, tending to his duties dutifully,
Retirement in just two years hence with a pension of 3 dollars a day
Latent echoes of Gregorian chants by nuns dressed in periwinkle
Ballerina leotards reverberated through the pews
Disimilar congregants spattered the narthex sporadically
Each engaged in rites of mental self-flagellation, rubbing beads
And turning pages of ancient hymn books with blind fingers
Ruthless in their repetition, hoping to repent their cast-out sorrows and sins
Dark chasms on either side revealed statues of saints long gone
And long-forgotten, while beams of sunlight pierced through
Shrouded stained glass windows, motes of dust captured in time
I felt nauseous, intestinal fear gripping my porticoes with malice
It couldn’t have been more evil, standing there, in the mute dusk
With thoughts of waywardism and poltergiests beating my pulse
I collapsed into a spineless invertebrate, squealing and moaning all about
Crawling across the last vestiges of unknown continents
Cracks in the marble underneath my hands severing my awareness
The ancient charred doors stood open beckoning the wind
As I crawled into the open sunshine with trees whispering
The gothic horror left behind me, the tulips budding in front of me
And the larks laughed at my folly, knowing they were right all along

Steve Turner has published 2 more terrible poems since joining on 30/11/99. Read more of Steve's terrible poetry at the anthology. Here are three of Steve's latest works: