Matt Snyder of Prolific Potpourri introduced a very fun challenge for this week’s contest, a Golden Shovel form on the theme of the family pet. Who rose to the challenge the worst best?

Why, it was:

Dog Love Made Manifest

“How Do I Love Thee, Let Me Count The Ways” by EB Browning

by TanGental

I do wonder HOW
I let you get away with it. I lose concentration and you go and DO
A poo. I
‘m probably listening to a podcast when some little old lady says, ‘LOVE,
He’s crapped over here.’ She expects me to pick it up. ‘YOU
Sure?’ I ask because I’m blowed if I can see it in the leaves. You’ll LET
ME
Take the blame if I don’t pick something up. I’ve lost COUNT
Of THE
Times I’ve had to pretend for you, but I always forgive you your funny little WAYS.

—–

Congratulations, Geoff! You are the most terrible poet of the week! Now you get to pick the type of poem and theme for next week!

If I thought choosing a winner last week was difficult, this round proved even more so! I had a solid three poems I thought tied for first. Geoff’s stood out for how blatantly terrible he was at following directions, how wonderfully he mimicked serious poetry with his line breaks, and for my being able to picture some poor British dear saying, “Love, he’s crapped over there.”

These were all quite funny. What a fun theme to write to:

To Fred

“Some say the world will end in fire” Robert Frost, Fire and Ice

by Frank Hubeny

Those free-range hens and their rooster loved to tease you. They knew how long your chain was by the dead grass around your doghouse. They waddled up and wiggled their butts in your face until you lunged at them. Some

say

the

birds deserved what they got. Like a fool I unsnapped your chain thinking that you had led me downhill a mile into the woods for some bonding time You had this all planned out. They thought their world

against your wrath and will

was secure and would never end

and it wouldn’t have except I unsnapped your chain deep in

the woods and witlessly let your hatred fire.

—–

Donna Kitty Kitty

Based On Lord Byron’s “Don Juan Canto The Ninth”

by Deb, who is Not Pam

There was a cat who desired Fame

In its very many grand and extreme Ways

Kitty Kitty (Or as originally named Princess) was her Name

She declared this was a Phrase

Ok she meant phase, but Lord Byron is dictating this poem, so same, Same

She did tremendous things to gain Praise

Like rolling around on her back with a miaow, but some Gainsay

That Kitty’s desire for fame was a Nay Nay

—–

The Admirable Persistence of Tortoises

“How Do I Love Thee, Let Me Count The Ways” by EB Browning

by TanGental

My Tortoise, Vicky has various WAYS
Of escaping from my garden. The HEIGHT
Of the fence is no barrier. The SIGHT
Of her hauling herself isn’t exactly GRACE-
-Ful and it might take her several DAYS
To recover. She does tend to make LIGHT
Of the strain; her knees are shot and her RIGHT
Elbow needs some rest, but she thrives on PRAISE.
Whatever I say, it really is no USE
I can’t see her stopping now and her FAITH
In her awesome abilities to LOSE
The shackles of gravity take my BREATH
Away. I believe it is noble to CHOOSE
Her freedom over capture; that was is DEATH.

—–

CINNAMON OH SNATCHER OF HATS

After Percy Bysshe Shelly “Music, when soft voices die”

by Matt Snyder

My bark was that of which soothing ear of Music,
Thinking back I was with them when?
My beautiful brown fur to the touch be soft
The neighboring howls, rejoice in their voices
That rodent, that Squirrel who we, us despise must die,
An exit defeated this collar it Vibrates
Oh, but who is that peering in?
It’s my young master Matt wearing a hat, that walk in the park the memory—
Roadkill to rub in with wonderous Odours,
if not now when?
Lost in dog park thoughts and that for which his hat looks sweet
Do not be deterred by the beauty of the garden of violets
I leap, I snatch, poor little boy his hat in my mouth,I am victorious master Matt begins to sicken.

—–

Untitled

Philip Larkin, and his classic ‘This be the verse’, let’s use the first line……

by Gary

His best buddy is a seriously fat cat, it’s far too quiet, where are THEY

They have just pulled the curtain off the wall, what the F**K

Now it’s on the floor, covered in hairs, well Thank YOU

Captain now thinks it’s great fun to try to hump the cat, that’s seriously messed UP

Even The Cap knows you can’t end a sentence with a possessive determiner like YOUR

But he is a clever dog with a great pedigree, a beautiful white Spitz is his MUM

He gets his intelligence, looks, fluffy hair and cunning from her AND

being a right ruffian, rogue, rascal and rampantly randy from his Cocker Spaniel DAD

—–

Thank you, you amazing poets, you! Come back tomorrow to learn next week’s prompt.

Geoff: Here’s the honorary badge you can post as proof of your poetic mastery (I’ll fix the URL later):

©2022 The poets, and their respective poems.