oldviolin wrote:
 

Lovely.

In pain, there is poetry
in parallels and paradigms it's there
in cubes and quantums it projects like a throne
and with a groan, beckoning-
'to sit and sift your kingdom come'
in the will and one in not undone
to satisfy color and tone and crumbling spire
only to build it higher
a poem of fire
razed in darkness
risen in light...

This does not qualify as Bad Poetry. 

Calloused faith encumbered
His magic gone awry
He dreamed his cycles numbered
And mansions in the sky
But for all the weathered clamor
And withered weary prose
He wore a lightening stammer
And thunder with a rose
Then waves arise and buoys stirred
Enigmatic in the dark
The depths and breadths immeasured
The torrent winds embarked
Abreast to constellations cure
With sextant heart aligned
The land afar the water pure
The times of time relined
Then rendered all asunder
Magma, mist and man
The finished feral plunder fill
The breach to understand

...but I am not the rain
I am the  smooth red clay molded into
an imperfect pot
With perfect cracks that leak the soil
Back into the love saturated earth 
That filters and perfectly renders the
Ancient foundation beneath and around
The stones which embrace the skull
at the foot of the cross 
and I am the tides and the moon
and I am the son of shadows casting
In the bright glare of the sun
And breathless golden slumbers
I wear dark clouds over my shoulders 
Until the rain is so heavy
That it drapes over my entire world
And my teary reunion with hope
For deliverance from the cold

And warming the sun
Married the flowers
To earth the clay
To stones the time
And colors the wind
All for one and over
Again children
Come up and bloom 
Again
 

that's so bad it's good

wait, it's much worse than that, it's great

Bad Poetry Sells Itself

I saw you looking
Now look at you sawing
Cutting off your nose
In spite of what you face
Thinking that the hole in the floor
Will lead to open space

I see you smiling
Safety in numbers under corpses piling
Cadaverous caverns wind over and through
That hole in the carpet is obviously new
Escape will not go undetected
Chances be acts of courage

I'm at the door now, may I sell you the word?
Perhaps that motor whining is not what you heard
Watch closely now and do remain alert
Vacuum and bag even microscopic dirt
Surely such innovation sells itself
An offer you can't refuse

Next your sofa cushion is in the bag
Don't look away now the magic won't drag
Watch as it becomes an embodied wafer
The seat in this feat will make you feel safer
Be so kind as to sell your secrets
And buy my considerable connections

Now death is oh so fascinating
We can market this thing from cradle to grave
Clean up on isle three! Buy now and save!
How do you be, and your family?
Even in dying you're still a slave
Simple as it never was