Bad Poetry Hour

It's not all bad but it's all bad poetry, if you get my meaning. I have lots of fun with it. Not sure if any of that comes across.

Here's a political poem:

You slammed the door against the light
Because it hurt your eyes
You named it blindness
You left it out

You wrote down all that should be right
And how to weed out lies
You left out kindness
You do without

Because you closed out light
You cannot see your day is night.

And here's the Woman Professor's Morning Song:

In the hallowed halls
the chalk dust sleeps
Old bones dance in bounds and leaps
The light has died
But the power keeps.

Ach Mein Vater, hold me tight
Brand my forehead with thy sign
Symbols whisper Latin stories
algorithms and allegories
Computers and rats in cages
Pages upon untouched pages.
Let them think that I am right
Let my circles meet thy line.

Knowledge is a cruel fetus
sucking, sucking air
Fed on academic blood. It soaks
through the academic cloaks
which hang suspended
Yet logic rules though mended

No Alma Mater dare
To enter there.

Heh.