Time for more shitty writing!

I was cleaning my room today and found two poems I wrote as examples for my Creative Writing students this past Fall. We were studying metaphysical poetry, and my cooperating teacher believed that we the teachers should give the students as many examples of our own work as possible as a way to show that yes, these things we teach you are relevant 'cause we use them in our own writing too. The first poem is incomprehensible, but I kinda like the way it sounds. The second is my attempt at a copy-change of sorts using Donne's "Batter my heart, three-person'd God."

In my continuing efforts to try and post something nearly everyday, no badly written piece of tripe goes unblogged!

POEMS!

Unless like small and dreaming children we become,
And fashion paper angels in a fit of mirth,
And hope for second birth,
And string these forms from door to porch,
Knocking, laughing, playing
Paper games that seem like life silhouetted
(And yet in these outlinings the clearer form is seen),
We risk a fall into self-sufficiency and singleness,
And trade our happy curfew for an unending fete,
Becoming creatures, no longer flesh, whose
Only self is reflected in the pixeled images,
Cartoon icons on a screen. The true Icon brings us closer
To that welcomed imprisonment, in old closets
With other lost and battered toys, and we see
The face of One discarded, another childhood indulgence
We rediscover, reloved.

(a copy-change of Donne's "Batter my heart, three-person'd God")
Shock my soul, Spirit of Hope; right now
You only whistle, spittle, flick and tickle;
So I can float, and laugh, electrocute me, and send
A shockwave, to jolt, choke, stand-hair-on-end and revive me, anew.
I, like a can of celluloid, cut and discarded,
Long for your hand on the flatbed,
To resplice me, but the film falls apart;
Unspool your white leader for me, label me;
I am misnumbered, scratched, and out-of-sync.
Now I long for you truly, and want you in me again,
But am stuck doing Jaeger with Despair:
Throw me into the bathroom, hold me
Over the sink, so I, my face on cold tile,
Can know Heaven on the gum-drenched floor,
Say a prayer, and smile.