The Terrible Poetry Contest 3/18/22

Welcome to the biweekly Terrible Poetry Contest!

Most poetry is terrible. We’re just out to make fun of it. Need to know how? Click here.

Here are the specifics for this contest:

  1. Colleen Chesebro has decreed the Theme to be aging (or, ageing). The form is a burlesque poem. Burlesque isn’t difficult; after reading the definition, I realize we write in that form frequently. The idea is to mimic styles or subjects of others in a funny way.
  2. Therefore, Length is up to you.
  3. Rhyming is up to you.
  4. Making it terrible is up to you! I suggest you choose to, since you’re not likely to win otherwise. Parody the satire out of a pastiched poet. Please.
  5. Rating: PG-13 or cleaner. Aging can bring out the worst in us.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST on Thursday, March 31 to submit a poem.

Use the form below if you want to be anonymous for a week. It hasn’t gone through unless you see a message saying it has.

For a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments. Please alert me if your pingback or poem does not show up within a day.

The winner gains bragging rights, a badge, and the option to choose the next iteration’s topic and type of poem.


Photo by Ivan Samkov on

©2022 Chel Owens

16 thoughts on “The Terrible Poetry Contest 3/18/22

  1. I have given this one the cumbersome (and terrible) title of Dirty Old Man in the Nursing Home. I think it is a sort of burlesque tragedy, if such a thing exists. With a bit of editing it might have been a little less terrible – so it comes to you as a jumbled mess …

    Stop your crying, I’m not dying
    Sit beside me, pretty nurse
    Please hold my hand, please understand
    That we must delay the hearse
    Do I repel you? Please let me smell you
    Let me get a little whiff
    You’re a fantastic aromatic
    Please come closer as I sniff
    I know I dither as I wither
    My mind and body growing thin
    I know this body’s looking shoddy
    But a heart still beats within
    So though unsteady, I’m not ready
    To depart this mortal life
    Let’s have a giggle, have a wiggle
    You can pretend to be my wife
    Though I disgust you, I still trust you
    And my bark’s worse than my bite
    You’re such a cutie. Do your duty
    Look after me tonight
    I know you know that it’s all show
    My days of love are far behind
    Imagination. Agitation.
    Just be patient. Just be kind
    Yes, I’m older, but I’m no bolder
    Senility is bliss
    I’m just ageing, I’m not raging
    But ….. how about a kiss?

    Liked by 2 people

  2. A dig at Joyce Kilmer’s’ ‘Trees’ a trite, turgid self-important load of sappy claptrap if I ever read one.

    Trees. Joyce Kilmer. I think that I shall never see / A poem lovely as a tree. /// A tree whose hungry mouth is prest* / Against the sweet earth’s flowing breast /// A tree that looks at God all day / And lifts her leafy arms to pray. /// A tree that may in summer wear / A nest of robins in her hair./// Upon whose bosom snow has lain / Who intimately lives with rain. /// Poems are made by fools like
    me / But only God can make a tree.

    * yep, Joyce is getting all pretentious.


    I wish I never had to rheumily see
    My skin so weather-worn and leathery.

    This toothless mouth remains hard- pressed;
    My teeth have long gone South and West.

    A bod that looks like God had a bad day,
    A face beyond all hope, and Oil Of Olay.

    A pate that requires new summer wear;
    A Blue Jays cap in lieu of lost hair.

    When snow falls I dream of hot dry Spain;
    Stuck in sodden Toronto, who’d not complain?

    When God tires of bad poetry, and poor old me
    Put me on the mantel, not ‘neath no cold Yew tree.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. This poem attempts to imitate the lyrics of songs like the classic “Bird is the word”. If you’ve never heard that song, don’t look it up.

    I’m over the hill
    over the hill
    over the hill

    (repeat ad nauseam)

    Liked by 2 people

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