The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Chel Owens

Welcome to 25th Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest!

I’ve been reading about different types of poetry and am interested in pursuing an elegy. According to dictionary.com, an elegy is a content description and not a type of poem. It is written to lament a person’s death. “The purpose of this kind of poem is to express feelings rather than tell a story.” Apparently, it is a serious thing.

Very serious.

  1. Our Topic, therefore, is a regular item that we constantly misplace. Write an elegy to it.
  2. The Length depends on exactly how attached you were to those car keys, sunglasses, or third child; but please do not go longer than 200 words.
  3. Rhyming is optional. Use your powers wisely.
  4. The most important rule is Make it Terrible. After you deliver your elegy in as heartfelt a string of adjectives as our world has ever known, I want all funeral directors (the world has ever known) to kindly interrupt you by way of dropping a casket on your head.
  5. Keep the rating at PG or nicer.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (May 18) to submit a poem.

Use the form below if you don’t want the world to read your artistry… till next week. Leave me a comment saying that you did as well, just to be certain. I will then be able to tell you whether I received it.

Or, for a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments.

Have fun!

mayron-oliveira-1224441-unsplash

Photo credit:
Mayron Oliveira

23 thoughts on “The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest”

  1. An Allergy

    Oh woe is me
    For I have lost my Virginity
    Somewhere between the pharmacy
    And under the Linden Tree.

    If you should see it running about
    Give me a shout
    Even if you are in doubt.
    I have no idea how it got out.

    It was here one minute and then gone
    Quick as a flash, it didn’t take long.
    Where could have I gone wrong?
    I feel such a ning-nong.

    I desperately want my Virginity back
    To lose it is a great lack.
    My mother says it’s my own fault, that’s a fact,
    And anyway, she says, Virginity is a stupid name for a cat.

    Liked by 10 people

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  6. I don’t know if this works, but, uhm, isn’t that what terrible poetry is about? 😉
    Gone for Good, Gone for Bad by Trent McDonald, but don’t blame me for it!

    Even keeled
    In a fair wind
    Keeping my balance
    In all things emotional
    I have lost thee!
    How, oh how, could it be?

    You are the one thing
    That keeps me safe!
    Without you
    I would be beaten up
    All of the time
    You make me watch my mouth
    my language
    All of the time
    I don’t insult bigger guys
    Because of you
    But now you are gone
    To wherever such things go
    No more
    Gone

    I see only red
    I can’t find you
    When the world is red!
    Darn it,
    I hate red!
    And it is pissing me off
    To no end!
    The red is growing
    I am trembling
    I need to punch something
    Because you are gone!!!!
    GET BACK HERE!!!!!!!
    Arrggggggghhhh!!

    Ah, my temper
    where can you be?
    I have lost my temper once again
    And the world
    Will never be the same

    Liked by 5 people

  7. By Any Other Name

    Euphemisms abound around this truth that’s hard to face;
    My admission – I avoid it – staring blankly into space.
    My loss has now beset me. My lament has brought me low.
    Ever more do others notice. Clearly they’re no longer stowed.
    Ere I pursued that line of thought, I prob’ly should have paused,
    Alas too late, as now is clear, my marbles I have lost!

    Liked by 6 people

  8. Thar’ She Blows

    I’ve had it up to here
    My patience has disappeared.
    No longer am I diplomatic;
    no longer are we being quite so pragmatic.

    You’ll get it done, you’ll jot it here
    Two weeks later and it’s–oh dear!
    It isn’t done, it isn’t well?
    Well who could’ve bloody telled?

    It’s no matter, I forgive
    Just sign this paper here, no motive.
    For my patience has gave, it is no more
    For your incompetence has made me forlorn.

    I’ll measure your shoulders, I’ll dig the hole
    And into your coffin with prayers you’ll go.
    For I’m tired of hearing you’ll do something soon
    When you’d just as well promise me the moon.

    Liked by 4 people

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