Poems That Shouldn’t Exist Volume 4

Poems That Shouldn't Exist is a book for readers who suspect that reality has been taking itself far too seriously. This is a collection of poetic misbehaviour—verses that slipped past the editors of existence, dodged the censors of common sense, and now gather here in gleeful defiance. Inside these pages you'll find sock sonnets, spoon elegies, existential laundry chants, and other lyrical anomalies that refuse to obey genre, logic, or good taste. These poems were never invited, never expected, and certainly never approved. Yet here they are, stitched with satire, sacred nonsense, and the quiet conviction that absurdity is its own kind of truth.

Your journey begins in the Forbidden Anthology Room, a dimly lit archive buried beneath a long‑abandoned poetry academy. The walls are lined with shelves of banned stanzas, censored metaphors, and verses that once caused minor philosophical riots. A flickering sign warns: Poems That Shouldn't Exist. Proceed only if you're willing to question everything. The air is thick with ink, rebellion, and the faint smell of misplaced metaphors.

A sock with a monocle guards the entrance, muttering lines from a sonnet that rhymes "truth" with "tooth." A flamingo in a trench coat paces the aisles, investigating a haiku that accidentally disproved causality. The librarian—a spoon with strong opinions about chaos—refuses to alphabetise anything, insisting that meaning is best discovered by tripping over it.

Within this anarchic archive, each poem is a fugitive. Some were scribbled in margins, others whispered in stairwells, others scrawled on the backs of bureaucratic forms. They rhyme where they shouldn't, refuse to resolve, and wink at the reader with unsettling clarity. One begins mid‑thought and ends in a sigh. Another is a sestina composed entirely of questions. A third is a manifesto disguised as a limerick, hoping no one notices its revolutionary intent.

This is not a collection. It is a conspiracy. A poetic uprising against the tyranny of coherence, the dictatorship of meaning, and the oppressive expectation that poems should behave. These verses shouldn't exist—but they do. And they know it.

If you've ever loved something that made no sense, and made perfect sense because of it, this book was written for you. Or by you. Or possibly by a sock.