The Terrible Poetry Contest, Class of ’20 Reunion

There’s something about Christmas that sets our Scrooge-like minds to soft, sentimental musings.

Such has been the state of my mind, in absence of an annual tradition no home should be without: the Terrible Poetry Contest.

Inspired by Greg, the cousin of Jacob Marley*, I’ve decided to unearth my Ghost of Christmases Past for just one week. Not sure to which phantoms I refer? Click here, Ebenezer. Not sure what a terrible poem might be? Look here, Mr. Scrooge.

Welcome to the Terrible Poetry Contest, Holiday Edition 2021.

  1. Topic: A parody of a Christmas song. You’ve been listening to them since November 1st, whether you wanted to or not. Now, show those Christmas shoes and Dashers/Dancers and 12 Days of headache just how you feel.
  2. Length: A couple stanzas. Or, just one. You choose. (If you choose every. single. verse. of 12 Days, however, you shall be boiled with your own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through your heart.)
  3. Rhyming: Obviously. These are song parodies. You’d better rhyme!
  4. Oh; for the love –Make it terrible! Mismatch the song’s meter. Schmaltz up the message to the extreme. Cliché the heck out of it. If you aren’t visited by all three of the Christmas spirits, plus Michael Bublé’s record label lawyers -pleading with you to just stop, for the love of all that’s holly and ivy; just stop!– then you’re not trying hard enough.
  5. Rating: PG or cleaner. The children are listening!

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Monday (December 20) to submit a poem.

Use the form below if you want to be anonymous for a week.

If not, and for a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments. Please let me know if your pingback or poem do not show up within a day.

As always, have fun. Spread the word. Spread the joy.

red volkswagen beetle scale model

Untitled piece

by D. Wallace Peach

Sung to the tune of We Three Kings

We three drunks of the neighborhood bar
Pounding shots we daren’t drive the car
Bloody Mary, beer and brandy
Oh my gosh, I’m seeing stars

Bourbon, I love you, high as a kite
Bar with a mirror lit up so bright
To the gutter leading, hope I’m not bleeding
Guide us to thy Michelob Light

Chicken wings, my mouth is on fire
Give me a pint to douse the hot pyre
Drunks forever, barfing never
Karaoke carols join the choir

Oh-ohhhh, bar of wonder, bar of blight
Bar of cocktails, blurry-eyed sight
Olives and cherries, I’m feeling merry
Cheers to a tipsy Christmas night!


©2021 Chelsea Owens

*Greg is not actually Jacob Marley’s cousin.

85 thoughts on “The Terrible Poetry Contest, Class of ’20 Reunion

  1. To Happy Christmas, war is over by John Lennon and Yoko Ono:

    And so, a Jolly Christmas for all shades of LGBTQIA
    Which it will be all day long
    (Covid is over if you wear a mask)
    For the straights and the not-so-straights
    (If you want sprouts, just ask.)

    A super-duper Christmas
    with mulled wine and warm, cloudy beer
    If you see three wise men looking lost
    The Star pub is over here.

    Liked by 4 people

  2. Poopy’s Christmas

    The news it came out in the first year of Biden
    The cupboards were bare and the truckers were hiding
    Jen Psaki declared, “Let them eat buns”
    To which the President added a whole lot of ums.

    Christmas hell oh Christmas hell
    Sing a Christmas Gloria
    Bringing crumbs to all the world
    But peace to those with gender dysphoria.

    Liked by 3 people

  3. The original (in case it doesn’t resonate on your side of the Pond)

    Wham’s ‘Last Christmas’

    Last Christmas
    I gave you my heart
    But the very next day you gave it away
    This year
    To save me from tears
    I’ll give it to someone special

    My version
    Last Christmas
    You let go a fart
    Full of rot and decay, I near passed away
    This year
    Your disgusting rear
    Has been truly exceptional…

    Liked by 3 people

  4. Here’s my entry, let see if it is worthy of some of the amazingly terrible stuff I’ve read from this and past editions of the Terrible Poetry Contest!

    On the twelfth day of Christmas
    She’ll drive a holly stake through your heart…

    Cut, cut, I think we’d be safer taking this in a different direction?

    doG blessed ye hairy gentlemen
    You’ll be warm on this very day
    Remember that the rest of us
    Will be frozen until May
    With razor blades we’ll come for you
    And shave it all away
    O shavings of back hair and Bengay

    We’ll stuff the clipping into bags
    And ship them on their way
    To far-off Nike sweatshops
    In Hong Kong and Bombay
    Where they’ll stitch them all together
    With labels that say “Made in U.S.A.”
    O tidings from Tài Sǔn and Ganmay

    And when those man-hair sweaters
    Arrive upon our shores
    We’ll click on over to Amazon
    And buy them by the scores
    We’ll wrap them up for Christmas gifts
    And cold, we’ll be no more
    O tidings of comfort and joy
    Comfort and joy
    O tidings of comfort and joy

    Damn these things are scratchy,
    Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night…

    Liked by 4 people

  5. I have just submitted and it was the best fun eva. I will admin I went a little overboard, even Charles would wince at this one. Thanks so much for the special edition Chelsea.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. OK, let the old chestnuts get a’roasted. Michael Buble, you’re up.
    It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Mechula.*

    It’s beginning to look like I’m insolvent,
    Where’d my cash flow go?
    Down to my last 5 and 10, my credits maxed out again,
    Oh, the painful amount of IOUs I owe.

    I’m beginning to wish I’d not seen loan shark Carmine,
    Now all hell will start,
    And da brass knuckles he will bring will make my head fair ring,
    Then he’ll rip out my heart.

    A pair o’ brutes in ill-fitting suits with pistols that shoot,
    It’s Carmine’s repo-hit men,
    Dey say ‘Carmine wants to talk, let’s take a walk.’
    But I daren’t say ‘willkommen,’
    I’m not mad nor dumb or fool enough to open this door again.

    It’s beginning to look like I won’t make Christmas,
    My debts Carmine won’t ignore,
    What an ugly sight it is to see some thug pounding heavily
    On my barred and bolted door.

    * Bankruptcy, Yiddish.

    Liked by 4 people

  7. Sounds like fun. How about this to the tune of I wish you a Merry Christmas

    I wish you a monster isthmus
    I wish you a monster isthmus
    I wish you a monster Isthmus
    Until you lose weight.

    Glad tidings will be not only for me
    Glad tidings will be not only for me
    Glad tidings will be not only for me
    You may spot your feet

    Oh, turn down the figgy pudding
    Oh, turn down the figgy pudding
    Oh, turn down the figgy pudding
    And lose a whole chin

    We are not leaving till we get some
    We are not leaving till we get some
    We are not leaving till we get some
    Melba toast is a win

    Liked by 2 people

  8. How terribly cool is this? If a song strikes I’ll swing back by!
    If it’s okay, this one here is from Frankie, the fictional one-eyed post mistress of Carrot Ranch who delivers mail on horseback:

    Burt an’ me we travel so far
    Deliverin’ mail with no van or car
    He’s a sturdy strong horse
    Keeps us mostly on course
    In these parts we’re without par
    Packages too many ta count
    But I can trust Burt, my loyal mount
    We sweat an’ shiver
    But always deliver
    With time ta Saddle Up unannounced
    Oh bartender I wonder if you might
    Reward me for my work tonight
    I delivered a song
    After a day so long
    But at the Saloon I’m feelin’ alright.”

    Liked by 4 people

  9. Chelsea, what fun to come across your blog from Diana’s! I love the concept for the terrible poetry contest and laughing out loud to Diana’s one here! I won’t be able to sing ‘We Three Kings’ with a straight face again this year! 😀

    Liked by 2 people

  10. Since I’ll be too late for your deadline, here is my entry: O Holy Grail

    O holy grail, thy will always prevail
    our faithful attempts to pursue the American dream
    race to the mall or find solace in an aie
    married to a destructive consumer regime
    on Macy’s, on Kohl’s, to the mall we go
    for shopping is the holy grail we know
    fall on your knees before the corporate pleas
    o holy grail, o holy grail
    for thee, we must never fail

    Liked by 2 people


    Oh Holy night

    Late December back in 5 B.C.

    Circular things in the sky are bright you see?

    Oh Holy night

    In the manger was born what’s his name?

    Ya know the Spanish kid, no I don’t mean the goat…the kid

    Hey-Suess yeah him, this Holy night

    Why is it taking so long to see the light?

    OH ho ho ho holy night

    I’ve fallen and I can’t get up

    I think I sprained my knee-eeees

    Oh right, on time

    What a sweet baby, oh what a holy night

    Oh? I said his name wrong!

    Oh hear……Everyone shouting

    Yout idiot, you tool!

    You need to go back to biblical school

    Oy Vey! What a night!

    Liked by 1 person

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