In honor of the last Terrible Poetry Contest before summer break, I give you my very best at terrible-ness. Do as I do, or even worse, and you’re guaranteed to win:
I don’t like soup it makes me think of love
Erstwhile torment forsooth magniloquent
Like when my boyfriend made me soup with doves
Pain angst pain angst pain angst I’m eloquent.
I took a steak he cut out from my heart
Or flank -oh, agony! At least the taste
Was better, far, than soup I think in part…
But haste I hates or waste on waist for taste
“You make no sense,” he croons from slurping spoon,
“The dove I caught, the steak a homophone.”
“Alas,” I rage to azure suns, then swoon
At this failed step to feed my sex hormones.
Something symbolic and depressed goes here
And then I rhyme with ‘soup’ and sound unclear.
Chel Owens 
Well Bravo, looks a winner to me 😉😁
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I’m sort of not allowed to compete. 😉
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Bah, even if you don’t get the prize
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No.
Nor any employees of chelowens.com.
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I don’t care TPC aside, this is a winning poem of Matt Snyders inaugural It’s so Awful, it’s good poem.
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🏅 Yes!
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😉
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omg – so terrible and had to keep reading to see if it got better-lol
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Did I disappoint? 😀
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ha ha!
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OK. I’m impressed. You have set the bar very low and most of us may struggle to get under it. Although I thought there were a couple of instances in there somewhere that started to make a bit of sense.
Here is another modest attempt on my part …..
Soup
that I scoop out of the entrails of our love
the little bits of pre-digested nourishment
that fall like manna from above
our love that travelled the universe like a comet
with all the colours of a parrot
oh, wait. that’s vomit
and I think I see a bit of carrot
floating around in there
somewhere
with the noodles and oodles of emotion
I have the notion
to express
like milk from the breast
all the best, to us
with love
Brutus
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I thought of you throughout!
I’ll try to remember to include this one as well; thanks!
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Tragic that such an inspired piece of terribality failed to feed your sex hormones. 🙂
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I sincerely hope no one is titillated by this sort of thing.
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Verily, I stand slack-jaw, smacked of gob;
Thy, Ms Owen, hath rendered a terrible job.
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Ah thanks, Obbverse.
-although I’m sorry
To smack your gob
And slack your jaw-ry. 🙂
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Misseth the ‘s’ on thy noble name. Perish do I, wracked with gibbering guilt.
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I didn’t notice; it happens often.
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Yeah, good but bad all at the same time.
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But mostly bad, right?
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I would say given the project so bad it’s good.
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Yep that’s the winner. Fantastically bad Chelsea
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Thanks! 😀 It will merely serve as inspiration.
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Whoa, Chelsea. That’s about the terriblest of the terrible, the manglest of the mangled. Lol. Loved it.
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Thanks! I’ll take it!
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Nice line – I can just hear him say it; “You make no sense,” he croons from slurping spoon,
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❤ Thank you, Frank.
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I love it, it’s terrible! Betty Boop rhymes with soup, by the way, if you wanted to slide a totally unrelated cultural reference in the poem, and apparently poetry with cultural references is ‘on point’ at the moment …
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I like it. I like it. I hadn’t even considered throwing in a cultural reference!
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Oh my, this is quite a poem, Chel
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It’s fantastic, isn’t it? I think I have a real future as a serious poet.
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Well, some people like poetry that makes them laugh so serious poet is an interpretation [smile]
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Ha! I’ll aim for that!
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Shakespearean like awesomeness ❤️
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I sure hope Shakespeare wrote better than that!
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