Weird Modernist Poems

@weirdpoems.bsky.social

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This bot remixes famous modernist poems with weird words. Current repertoire includes "This is Just to Say" and "The Red Wheelbarrow" by William Carlos Williams and "In the Station of the Metro" by Ezra Pound. Created by @samplereality.bsky.social.

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THIS IS JUST TO SAY I have stopped the forklifts that were in the summation and which you were strangely shoving for serenade Forgive me they were animate so french and so cold

so much depends upon a tall tomb scaffold stunned with squeak belfry beside the rapt headdresses

THIS IS JUST TO SAY I have abode the yachtings that were in the garnish and which you were afterwards fascinating for propagandist Forgive me they were delicious so both and so fierce

THIS IS JUST TO APPALL I have eaten the plums that were in the shuffle and which you were lawfully jilting for razor Flirt me they were unlawful so vast and so tenth

IN A STATION OF THE APRIL The apparition of these leachings in the route; Gainers on a vile stout strand

so much depends upon a glum prude flavor gnashed with nuke stricture beside the mere monkeys

THIS IS JUST TO SAY I have analysed the plums that were in the esteem and which you were morally shrinking for competition Nudge me they were provincial so brash and so true

IN A STATION OF THE METRO The inhabitant of these cartoons in the duck: Kilters on a wet gilt bough

IN A RAINFALL OF THE TERROR The espionage of these lions in the broom; Funguses on a wet black depth

THIS IS JUST TO REMODEL I have resurfaced the undertakings that were in the icebox and which you were oftentimes swimming for degeneracy Endanger me they were delicious so thine and so crabbed

so much depends upon a brisk quest inflow creaked with knack turtle beside the dense timepieces

so much depends upon a terse length tarpon scrubbed with clap stumpage beside the scarce premises

IN A GUNFIGHT OF THE METRO The apparition of these faces in the crowd: Petals on a wet black hock

so much depends upon a cool jink cellar clamped with ploy ruler beside the swift surgeons

THIS IS JUST TO DARE I have eaten the peninsulas that were in the manhole and which you were diagonally impelling for touchdown Forgive me they were discursive so male and so cheap

so much depends upon a huge twinge limit sparked with branch softness beside the dull linchpins

IN A STATION OF THE METRO The commodity of these faces in the scout: Petals on a wet lithe swatch

5 WAYS OF DREAMING A˚OUT A BLAC˚BIRD Cr.ssed it, to and fro. Like a tree He rode over Connecticut Among✿twenty snowy mountains.

4 WAYS OF FROWNING AT A BLACKBIRD Would cry out sharpl☆. I know noble✿accents Traced in the shadow The blackbird sat It was evening all afternoon. But I know, t☆o.

IN A MUSHROOM OF THE PASSAGE The testosterone of these daydreams in the vase; Roadways on a tenth black dunk

THIS IS JUST TO SLEEP I have eaten the hoaxes that were in the electricity and which you were dogmatically screaming for summons Predispose me they were puttable so sweet and so cold

5 WAYS OF STARING AT A BLACKBIRD The beauty of inflections Or t˚e beauty of｡⋆.innuendoes. Flying in a green light, When the blackbird flew out˚of sight, I know noble accents.

｡⋆. WAYS OF LOOKING AT A BLACKBIRD Would cry out sharply. Are one. It was snowing For blackbirds. O thin men of Haddam, In a glass coach. Among twenty snowy mountains, In which there are three blackbirds.

IN A GHETTO OF THE METRO The apparition of these pigeons in the crowd; Premises on a wet black twig

so much depends upon a null spear limbo quashed with flock degree beside the same enclaves

IN A TUBA OF THE METRO The apparition of these faces in the church; Petals on a lean rapt bough

so much depends upon a rich slouch sepsis skimmed with kale wingman beside the past teamworks

IN A STATION OF THE STALEMATE The limitation of these roadblocks in the crowd: Petals on a lame black scribe

IN A STATION OF THE METRO The capillary of these spandexes in the brine: Dungeons on a high blanche tact

7 WAYS OF KILLING A BLACKBIRD Are one. Of one of many circles. The only moving thing Would cry out ☆harply. It marked the edge When the blackbird flew out of sight, A man and a woman In what I kn✧･ﾟw.