I’m speechless, so it’s a good thing I’m able to type.
I read through all the entries this week several times, and kept thinking that I need to make a ten-way tie. Only two or three of the submitted poems were too fancy for our dubious standards, and even those were just barely so.
The winner this week is D. Wallace Peach.
There once was a hairy old coot
Who loved to squeeze out a poot
It was stinky and smelly
Gurgled like jelly
And popped off a sound like a toot
But he wasn’t close to the worst
My granny caught poots in her purse
She saved up the sound
For when grandkids came ‘round
Then out of her purse they would burst
Now MY poots are dainty as roses
No trouble for delicate noses
They make a small putter
Wheeze or soft flutter
But they won’t curl your hair or your toeses
Congratulations, Diana! You are the most terrible poet of the week!
I don’t want to encourage next week’s poets to utilize this strategy, but I had to force myself to go through reading hers the second time. 😀
All of you employed bad meter, mismatched rhyming, theme that rambled somewhere and then got lost but came back in a related way, and plenty of references and word usages to make artistic nerves cringe. On top of that extremely high bar, Diana won with the added benefit of -well, if you read it, you know.
I am not pandering in any way when I say the rest of the entries were AMAZING. As a poet sponsor, I am so proud of you all!
Here you are, in whatever order I could use to catch ’em all:
THE LOCKLOOSE GOOSE TRUCE!
I was hunting in far off Lockloose,
In the woods near St. Patty’s dam,
When I spied me an aging goose,
Just as sure as I’m sure I am,
And I was so damn hungry,
So, I wasn’t a bit choose-y,
So, I grabbed my gun, see,
And shot that ole’ goose-y,
But then it grabbed my gun,
And shot me back, damn!
So, we both lay bleedin’ at the settin’ sun,
Just as sure as I’m sure I am!
So, now, me and ole’ goose-y
Are bestest chums, by damn,
If you can’t eat ’em, don’t be choose-y,
Just as sure as I’m sure I am!
Hark! Hark! Listen to that bark.
For sooth, or is it for sure? The tea kettle is boiling over, I assure…
Drip. Drip. Drip.
KLANG! KLANG! KLANG!
Ring, ring, ring.
Ka-boom, pop, boom!
Noises! Ack! What, where, how?
My ears are crying green pus, how doth one make it stop now?
Oh, I have my instrument pointed at Earth. It’s picking up all the audio waves. ‘Tis a terribly noisy planet, ’tis sooth, I’m afraid.
Quick Makbobblec3ft0, point the spaceship the other way. We shouldn’t have taken a left at Mars, nay neigh.
What’s that noise?
The car started it.
I felt such a twit when
The intermittent twanging
From the bang
When I put my foot down
And then the kettle
Got really annoying
When it sang an aria rather than
Its normal whistle.
Don’t they know
It hurts my head
When their infernal row
Makes me see Scarlett.
Bet she didn’t have
These issues at Tara.
All her noises went away in the wind.
And she had a butler to sort them out
Not like me.
The hootin’ toothy tootin’ lady
There was an old lady who tooted
The kids all thought it was a hoot
She sniffled and coughed
And ate applesauce
And went to sleep over there
On the sofa
Her bed was piled with laundry
Bawls before kickoff
They’re sitting in the stands,
All settled in their rows,
Bundled in sensible layers
Wearing adorable chapeaus.
The crowd noise is thunderous,
Delighting in their teams,
When a star takes center stage
And utters a piercing scream.
Has there been a threat to life?
A gunman on the loose?
From whence sprung this shrill shriek?
Some sort of harsh abuse?
The throng is shocked into silence
Hoping no one throws a tantrum,
As the screeching goes on and on and on and on
To execute the national anthem.
Oh, say, can you sing?
No! The group decrees.
Hire an opera singer
Who can reach the last high E!
Squirrels go whirling
The squirrel in the attic
Became full of static
From running around in the insulation
Itching and scratching
He left the attic because the people
Heard him running
And they went to chase him out
But it was a nightmare because
He caused sparks that sizzled
From the static in the attic
And then I woke up.
They seem to follow me secretly.
They can be farts
Or doggies squatting
with terrible noises that don’t come out
But I can smell.
Or they can be loud and rude
Especially when the back
of the one I love
is turned directly to my face.
It gives me warning,
but it is too late.
I’m afraid terrible noises
are to be my lifetime fate!
The Bottom Burp
Was really very small
Was nothing at all.
On the tiny side
And be difficult to hide
Will give you away
It’s the sound
To make you pay.
Try, my boys
To keep the noise
Under some control
Or you’ll find
Won’t be very impressed and may well think you’re some kind of uncivilised idiot.
It’s OK to slurp
at the bottom of the cup.
But try not to burp,
or let some come back up.
If you drink it too fast,
a cola will fizz,
and run out your nose,
that’s just how it is.
An ode to Aunt Marlene
I worry some about worrisome noise, boys.
Cars are not toys
No matter if they bring you joys.
They are dangerous and when one hears a worrisome noise
When driving along the road
One knows instantly that it’s either the engine producing too much heat
Or old Aunt Marlene in the back seat.
The other day while driving along the road,
Just after leaving my abode,
Something went clack clack clack.
Oh what a worrisome noise!
No, it wasn’t old Aunt Marlene in the back.
I’d run over Aunt Marlene’s cat.
Old Aunt Marlene likes to read poetry out loud
When she’s in the back sitting proud.
Last week she read “The Ballad of Dick Turpin”.
It went on and on.
I said, “Can’t you shut up, Aunt Marlene, you’re driving us nuts?”
She said “It’s by Alfred Noyes”.
And I said “Well he’s a most worrisome Noyes.”
Drop the “I” out of NOISE and you get a WORRISOME NOSE.
by Bladud Fleas
here is a poem to sing
grundle pip boing thwack and ping
brrrp tinkle whap hmmp prr-dong
and that’s about the end of the song
no, wait, there’s another verse
and the noises they get a whole lot worse
but so we don’t increase our fears
we’ll just think them so no one hears
What’s with these ear piercing, skin crawling sounds?
They are eating me alive, I just can’t stick around.
Where would I go? These noises are everywhere.
They’ve even made appearances in my nightmares.
Please save me from these “schlik, squish, slurp” type noises,
Before I become psychotic, and start hearing them as voices.
Visit tomorrow for next week’s prompt, and keep up the terrible work!!