WINNER of the A Mused Poetry Contest 6/30/2021

Better late than never, here is the winner of the last A Mused Poetry Contest before my annual summer sabbatical! Which amazing poet encapsulated eccentricity the best? (Warning, for those who are prudish, to skip this one 😀 )

Untitled, by Matt Snyder
Hi twiddily Dee hi twiddily Doe
I prance about and give it a go
Wearing nothing but
a well placed sock down below
my backside and top bits bask
about in a moonlit glow

hi diddle Dee hi diddle Dee do
with top hat and monocle
and a touch of class
How dare you speak of my big fat
ask me now I say to thee
I am but a man full of dignity
of Grace of flair
who cares if my sock is my frontal
Underwear

A middle e and a middle o
like a great cat’s meow
I must go
but not first without
leaving you with a taste of my riches
I remove my sock
to reveal my delicious
solid gold coc….
Sorry gotta keep
the end PG
for the poetry Mrs 😉

Congratulations, Matt! You are the funniest poet for the month!

From such a talented pool of writers, Matt’s poem stuck out to me …erm, that is- it pushed ahead… hm. Let’s just say I laughed the most, shall we?

Eccentricity’s a tough one to define, but not so tough to write cleverly about -at least for these poets:

Moon Dancing, by Frank Hubeny
The night sky is clear and the full moon is bright.
It’s nutty I know but I’ll dance in its light.
The moon doesn’t care. “Yes, I do.” Well, so what?
“You’re nutty enough.” No, I ain’t. “You’re a nut.”

An Eccentrics Guide To Lightening Up / Or; Go With The Flow, by Obbverse
A rare precious few view me as being one of a kind,
Far more as possessed of a most peculiar singular mind,
One gloomy psychiatrist classified me as slightly neurotic,
A better one called me, far more politely, simply quixotic.

Some call me eccentric, but that ain’t fair,
I prefer to think I think outside the square,
Others say my view on reality is a tad murky,
They say I’m ‘way out there,’ I’d say ‘quirky.’

The true eccentric is hard to define,
The clued-up eccentric rides a fine line,
It’s best to keep eccentricities on the down low;
Tone it down bro, or up to Bellvue you’re bound to go.

Some admit they think outside the box,
I don’t… wish to submit to electric shocks,
So, Doc, if eccentricity’s in the eye of the beholder
Just call me quietly eccentric- I don’t wanna smoulder.

Pickin’ a winner, by Michael Fishman
I feel an urge!
There’s something to purge!

I can’t tell it’s size
without a poke and a prise.

Is it soft as a sock
or as hard as a rock?

I won’t know a where, a what or a why
until I reach in and wiggle and try.

~~~~

I pick my nose.
And so it goes.

What’s that you ask?

Well —

It was yellow and green
it was curled up and dried;
and if I ate it or not
is up to you to decide.

I know it’s kind of gritty,
my slightly odd eccentricity.
And though it’s not so pretty,
I hope you won’t dismiss-a-me

Shopping Al Fresco, by Hobbo
When shopping for food
She always went nude,
A decision eccentric, if rash,
But the girl was no fool
And though sometimes cool,
She was never again stuck for cash.

—–

I plan to continue the contest once I return. Enjoy your summer (or winter) in the meantime!

Matt, here’s the slightly inaccurate badge for you to use on your site. Congratulations!

©2021 The poets, and their respective works

The A Mused Poetry Contest 5/29/2021 – 6/26/2021

It’s, once again, way past time for our A Mused Poetry Contest. Better late than never!

  1. The Theme is a silly poem about an unusual eccentricity. In my ‘free time’ that is completely nonexistent, I’ve (still) been ploughing through In Search of the English EccentricFoibles, personal oddities, and strange collections abound.
  2. I recommend keeping the poem’s Length to fewer than 200 words, but who am I to suppress a slightly mad creative mind?
  3. I also recommend Rhyming but see the caveat, above.
  4. Rating: PG-13. Some eccentrics delve into less …acceptable behaviors of a less modest nature. If you wish to rhyme about such a one as this, allusions will be your friend.
  5. Above all, maintain a sense of levity. An unusual dignity, yes; but humor as well!

You have till 10:00 a.m. MST next MONTH (June 26) to submit a poem.

Use the form, below, to retain anonymity until results are posted.

Otherwise, include your poem in the comments, link to it in the comments, or leave a note that you’ve written one and stuck it on your own site in the comments. You cannot just link back to my post because WordPress is stupid and I will not receive it.

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©2021 Chel Owens

WINNER of the A Mused Poetry Contest 5/14/2021

The results of this month’s contest are a titch late, due to the family all coming down with colds. Believe you me: nothing takes the amusement out of amusing poetry like not sleeping nor feeling well.

But, we’re here to talk about politics! Who, among the entrants, came up with the funniest campaign promises?

A Sitting Member, by Bruce Goodman
A vote for me is a vote for wit
The other candidates are a pile of nonsense.

I promise I will never quit
The other candidates are a pile of rubbish.

My policies will be a hit
The other candidates are a pile of drivel.

I will lower your taxes a bit
The other candidates are a pile of gobbledygook.

You might think I’m a git
The other candidates are a pile of malarkey.

Congratulations, Bruce! You are once again the funniest poet for the week!

Bruce won for some sort of reference to some sort of word that seems to be missing as part of this rhyme. Well done.

And, well done to the others! Read them over and decide if they’re worth the vote:

Brief Campaign Announcement, by Frank Hubeny
It doesn’t matter, blue or red.
Vote as you will, alive or dead.
We own what counts, both big and small.
We’ve voted for you after all.

Truth Over Facts, by Dumbestblogger
No one pays a dime
Peace will reign sublime
Children will be fine
We will fix the clime
And you’ll be happy

Campaign Disaster, by RuthEK
There once was a campaign disaster-

When she said “I’ve heard nasty chatter”

The politician turned red

And said with some dread

That’s chatter that just doesn’t matter

—–

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

Come back tomorrow for the next month’s prompt!

Bruce, here’s that ol’, inaccurate badge for you to use on your site. Congratulations!

©2021 The poets, and their respective works

The A Mused Poetry Contest 4/17/2021 – 5/14/2021

It’s past time for another A Mused Poetry Contest. I blame the management. And aliens.

  1. This month’s Theme is a political campaign slogan and/or speech. You’ve heard the usual promises, mud-slinging, and appeals to special interest groups -now, USE THEM.
  2. Gone are the days of the Lincoln/Douglas debates; keep your poem’s Length brief and snappy enough to… oh, man; you’ve already lost the audience.
  3. Rhyming is up to your campaign manager.
  4. This will be broadcast to general audiences, so keep the Rating clean -or, at least realize that some ****ing ****s will be censored.
  5. What’s most important? HUMOR! When do we want it? By next month!

You have till 10:00 a.m. MST next MONTH (May 14) to submit a poem.

Use the form, below, to keep your record clean until results are posted.

Otherwise, include your poem in the comments, link to it in the comments, or leave a note that you’ve written one and stuck it on your own site in the comments. You cannot just link back to my post because WordPress is stupid and I will not receive it.

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Photo by Aaron Kittredge on Pexels.com

—–

©2021 Chel Owens

WINNER of the A Mused Poetry Contest 3/16/2021

I almost didn’t make it today, but knew someone might be waiting on pins and needles to see just what sort of product one really should not purchase.

The winners who created the funniest commercial jingles are:

Untitled, by Bruce Goodman
Use our washing powder
To make chowder
It’ll clean up your guts
With no ifs or buts.

Camptown Ice-cream, by Doug Jacquier
What’s the best ice-cream in town?
Rhubarb, rhubarb.
Forget that fat old chocolate chip
Rhubarb, rhubarb
Make you run all night, make you run all day
When Mama says ‘what flavour?’, kids say everyday
Rhubarb, rhubarb!

Congratulations, Bruce and Doug! You are the funniest poets for the week!

I could not decide on a straight-out winner, so I blame my stomach for this decision. Who would agree to clean his guts with soap? What person wants to spoon rhubarb into her bowl? Craziness!

Now, please do not reach for the phone after hearing about the rest of these products:

Untitled, by Vishal D
Cute, cuddly Gremlins
Get your fluffy Gremlins
They will eat you up
with their warmth
And then look with
mischievous eyes
And sympathise with
your cries
Cute, cuddly Gremlins
Soft, furry Gremlins

Untitled, by Ian Kay
Lap cushions, lap cushions,
they don’t look half bad
put them on your fronts
if they make your backs mad!
(voiceover: matching colors and fabrics are available!)

Untitled, by Richmond Road
Are your children of an age
That’s driving you insane?
Doing things you used to do
Things you can’t explain?
Reacting to those hormones
That you wish that you still had
Taking an eternity
To traverse a passing fad?
The solution is so simple
Let us take them off your hands
Don’t let them anymore disturb
Your sweet retirement plans
Let us do the dirty work
Let us make the golden rules
Enrol your little darlings
In our exclusive boarding schools

($100,000 per annum. No questions asked. Or answered)

The newest free range breakfast food, by Doug Jacquier
Hungry, need a fix?
Weedy Bix!
Just eat five or six
Weedy Bix!
eating green’s so easy
Weedy Bix!
Weedy, weedy, Weedy Bix.

Da doo rum gum, by Doug Jacquier
When you’re at a party and the bar is dry
Chew new Booze Gum, chew new Booze Gum
You’ll be feeling tipsy in the blink of an eye
Chew new Booze Gum, chew new Booze Gum
Comes in gin, rum, whiskey and rye
Chew new Booze Bum, chew new Booze Gum

Untitled, by Frank Hubeny
Lazy daisy, gender hazy,
riot gear to drive you crazy.

Kitty-cobra, by Trent McDonald
Are you a dull bore
And make kitty snore
Buying for your cat
A stupid rubber rat
Or you think for fun
Sprinkle some catnip and you’re done?

Get some come-hithers
And buy the toy that slithers!
A mechanical snake
It doesn’t look fake!
Is the toy that’s fitten
To give your kitten!

Kitty-cobra, Kitty-cobra
Will the fun never end?
Kitty-cobra, Kitty-cobra
Your cat’s new best friend!

A Timekeeping Bargain, by Hobbo
A pain in the crotch
Life, where does it go?
With our time travel watch
You can go fast, or slow.

Set it to your own pace,
Even temporary stop.
The deluxe, will retrace,
So your clogs never pop.

Non Voyage, by Obbverse
‘Before you book that holiday apartment,
A message from the State Department-
Forget stayin’ in Paree, forgo Rome,
Let’s not fly, let’s stay home’

Madam, your passport has expired,
New detailed documentation is required,
We now demand, after your vacation
Proof positive of a Covid vaccination.

‘Before you take that holiday apartment
Please listen to the State Department,
Pass on Paris, nix to Rome
Don’t spread your wings, stay home.’

Before you’re welcome back from overseas
W’ll check you out for that spread disease,
We can’t just freely stamp that new passport,
Why risk making a happy holiday your last resort?

No Clue, by Ruth Scribbles
She wanted a jingle of sale 🏷
For things that would send you to jail 🙃
My brain could not think 🧠
Of what would not stink 💩
And this is my try just to fail 🙄

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Photo by Ketut Subiyanto on Pexels.com

Come back tomorrow for the next month’s prompt!

And, Bruce and Doug, here’s a badge for you to use on your site. Congratulations!

©2021 The poets, and their respective works

The A Mused Poetry Contest 3/16/2021 – 4/16/2021

It’s definitely time for another A Mused Poetry Contest. I hope you’ve been honing your poetic skills for this one…

  1. The Theme is a catchy jingle for a product that really should not be sold to the general public.
  2. Commercials pay by air time used, so keep your Length short, sweet, and repeat-able.
  3. Rhyming is optional, but recommended. The most memorable ditties usually do.
  4. This isn’t PPV, so aim for a Rating of TV-PG or cleaner.
  5. The most important angle here, chairmen of the board, is humor. What makes our audience laugh? What will make them snort up their diet soft drink all over their luxury sofa and soil that designer pair of celebrity-endorsed trousers? Hmmm?

You have till 10:00 a.m. MST next MONTH (April 16) to submit a poem. I’ll try to remember, this time.

Use the form, below, to remain anonymous until results are posted.

Otherwise, include your poem in the comments, link to it in the comments, or leave a note that you’ve written one and stuck it on your own site in the comments. You cannot simply link back to my post because WordPress is stupid and I will not receive it.

—–

I’ve set the date
Now I can’t wait.
Write us a poem,
Then you’ll feel great!

Try to make your commercial more interesting than whatever they just watched.
Photo by Ketut Subiyanto on Pexels.com

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©2021 Chel Owens

WINNER of the A Mused Poetry Contest 3/15/2021

We apologise for the fault in the A Mused Poetry Contest and its delay. While the hostess would prefer being sacked after forgetfulness, a birthday, a church newsletter assignment, and then a stomach ‘flu came through; she’ll go ahead and announce who won this month’s contest, instead:

The winner of the most ‘romantic’ love poem in a greeting card is:

Untitled, by Gary
When you lie in double bed all alone
Experiencing a completely love free zone
Feeling like a redundant out of tune trombone
Your only company is a smelly dog and farting cat
Feeling as popular as flea ridden rabid fat wombat
But maybe today that Hallmark card will land on my mat
Bringing much needed kisses and expressions of affection
Offering a few sweet moments of romantic misdirection
Which is always better than a bad case of fungal infection…..

Congratulations, Gary! You are the funniest poet for the week!

I loved reading the entries (finally!) this time around. Even the silly, snarky ones made me sigh. And laugh. There were some close contenders, but Gary’s won for heavy-handed awfulness. Who wouldn’t be won over by a farting cat or a comparison to a fungal infection?

If you need more material for that special someone, just read the rest:

Blessed are the cheesemakers, by Doug Jacquier
You said you didn’t want a birthday gift,
Hallmark cheesy made you vomit.
But I’ve fallen for that before,
so here’s some Wallace and some Gromit.

Hence behold my new invention!
No vapid Wensleydale, penicillin’s what it’s built on.
Cambridgeshire meets jalapeno
in my stunning chilli Stilton.

I’ve named this fromage after you
because it causes odd and vivid dreams
and on the morrow, it is said,
requires use of soothing creams.

Enjoy your day, my curdle dove,
as you wend your merry whey,
and feast full well on this daily rind …
My God, put that knife away!

Something bright and gay, by Bruce
These dozen red roses, please accept them I pray,
To celebrate love on this Valentine’s Day.
You light up my life in every way,
Just don’t tell my fiancée.

Untitled, by Dumbestblogger
Love is a burning thing
I’m so glad we had a fling
Glad I didn’t get a ring
Happily, I have no strings

Untitled, by Writerinretrospect
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I eat lots of chocolates
You should too!

(Chocolates not included)

Mountains and Valleys, by Frank Hubeny
Love comes when the mountains ring
and valleys rise to roar.
They rang, I fear.
Oh, can’t you hear?
I love you more and more.

Heart Strings, by Obbverse
Accept this humble Valentines card, my sweet,
Know ’tis only you who makes my life complete,
You cause my happy heart to lightly skip a beat,
I freely give you my heart- consider my card your receipt.

My love, my love for you runs true and deep,
Know I dream of you at night before I sleep,
So my love, close to your heart my love-note keep,
I’d hand you a few roses too- but I’m too damned cheap.

Untitled, by Kshtatiana
I have been hiding all my feelings.
Of fear that I might lose you
The truth is, I can’t conceal it.
My heart is in love with you.

If the hearts could melt,
Mine melted since the day you said ‘hello.’
When our eyes first met, I felt-
I could not let you go.

Happy Lover’s Day, by Ruth Scribbles
We met in the restaurant above
Had drinks and by chance you got shoved
You tumbled and fell
That rang your bell
And that was our start of true love

Love Languages, by Bilocalalia
Yours is clearing off the snow,
mine is saying not to go;
you sweep the car with a broom
while I watch cozy in our room.
You rise early while I sleep late;
I cook the meat that’s on your plate;
you eye my veggies with disdain,
but walk the dog out in the rain.
You’re my media naranja, I swear;
opposites make the perfect pair.

—–

Photo by Giftpundits.com on Pexels.com

Stick around a little later for the next month’s prompt!

Gary, here’s a badge for you to use on your site. Congratulations!

©2021 The poets, and their respective works

The A Mused Poetry Contest 2/7/2021 – 3/5/2021 (AKA 7/2/21-5/3/21)

Phew! After last month‘s hilarious entries, I had a bit of trouble thinking of what our next venture should be. What to do, what to do…

  1. Let’s try an oldie but a goodie: A Funny Love Poem Inside a Greeting Card.
  2. Most greeting cards can’t hold a ballad, so a few stanzas ought to do us for the Length.
  3. I’d recommend rhyming. I mean, you are serious about this love interest, aren’t you?
  4. Yes, this is love (or something like unto it) but the Rating‘s PG or cleaner. After all, some kid might stumble across your offering while trying out all the musical cards.
  5. Only in stories do lovers say all the right words, remember every birthday and anniversary, and get just the right present. We are not writing a story, here, we’re writing a humorous poem. As such, make us laugh. Laughter’s the best way to a person’s heart; right?
    And, as a side note, whoever said this was a card expressing love to a person? What if you’re more fond of a juicy cheeseburger? Just a thought…

You have till 10:00 a.m. MST next MONTH (March 5) to submit a poem.

Use the form, below, to remain anonymous until results are posted.

Otherwise, include your poem or a link to it in the comments. You cannot simply link back to my post because WordPress is stupid and I will not receive it.

—–

Enjoy.

Photo by RODNAE Productions on Pexels.com

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©2021 Chel Owens

WINNER of the A Mused Poetry Contest 2/6/2021

Sometimes you just can’t meditate away a series of suckiness. I thought I was alone in wanting to release a little steam in this responsible way; have I ever been happy to be proven wrong! These bloggers are my people.

As such, I had such a difficult time selecting a winner. I laughed so much! It is with a caveat that all were truly good, therefore, that I select the winningest to be:

Short and Not So Sweet, by Sweet, sweet Ruth
Wear your mask

Damn it

Wear your mask

Or I’ll take mine

And stick it up your $$$

A Take on Roses Are Red, by Grandma’s Ramblings
Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
If I had a brick,
I would throw it at you.

Congratulations, Ruth and Grandma! You are the funniest poets for the week!

There is a range in this month’s offerings of serious ranting to humorously falsified situations to political tirade. Like I said: fantastic entries. Ruth’s and Grandma’s stood out to me because they were so short and pointed. There was some juxtaposition of my knowing they are both sweet ladies, compared against the not-so-sweet message of the poetry as well. Congratulations, you two!

Don’t skip off before reading the other entrants, though. They are golden:

Snarky snickersnackery, by Doug Jacquier
The time has come, so all us said,

to not talk of many things:

of twits and tweets to ‘mind your beeswax’

of savages and would-be kings

of whether votes are fixed or not

and whether pigs have wings.

 

Be gone, your wretched plague talk

of drinking Kool-Aid with your bleach

of bingeing booze and Netflix

of not going to the beach

of ‘who is that masked stranger?’

No more, I do beseech!

 

Let’s rid ourselves of poverty

Of coherent speech and word

Spike the ‘like’ and ‘whatever’

Treat WTF as if a steaming t**d

Let’s have a pedant as a President,

a VP proud to be a nerd.

 

Fie upon the boomer bashers

Flinging our legacy askew

Blaming us for every ill

From planet to housing queue

End their blameless sanctimony;

Vegans, anyone, on the barbecue?

Untitled, by Bruce
When the officer stopped me for speeding
I explained that he wasn’t being kind.
“Haven’t you read the road rules?” he bleated.
“Hell no,” I said, “can’t you see that I’m blind?”

“Take more care when turning those corners,
Use the brake and slow down a peg.”
I said “Are you stupid or something?
Can’t you see I’ve only one leg?”

The officer was starting to get snarky,
He said “I don’t know what you were thinking.”
“Nah officer,” I said. “Nothing much.
I never think much when I’m drinking.”

So we sat on the side of the road.
He accepted a swig from my flask.
Then he remembered his duty:
“Why aren’t you wearing a mask?”

He gave me a ticket for that
Will self-righteousness never cease?
At least it gives Joseph Robinette a reason
To support defunding the police.

Untitled, by Geoff
I hate it when you’re late
I loathe your clothes
(I detest that vest)
I abhor you for
That girl-next-door
Niceness.
It pisses me when you kisses me
Despite my animosity
Not making you cross at me.
How can my integral animus
Not cause you to make a fuss
When I swear and cuss
At what’s become of us?
It fills me with repugnance
When you say, with me, you want to dance
And despite my ingrained odium
You put me on a podium
And say that for all my revulsion
I’ll still find absolution
If only I’d learn to stop the rhyme
And see that we can be sublime
If we both take the time
To stop the hate
For it’s not too late.
To love.
Nah, bollocks.

After Eden, by Frank Hubeny
Was it the tree? Was it our choice
to be like gods that day?
That fruit, recall, did not agree.
Perhaps it really was the tree
when we did not obey.

Untitled, by Minakshi Khaitam
When the world was struggling in lockdown
When loneliness was taking us down
Sunrise and sunset was the only hope in the lockdown
The chirping of birds and fresh air was a new sound
In this gloomy time, love bloomed for me and cupid landed on earth
My prince had come on the bike to pick me up and take away me from loneliness
His presence added stars and charms to my life
I was struggling yesterday and today I am a happy soul

From the Erotic to the Idiotic, by Arthur Richardson
In starting this I’m feeling somewhat scared.
Ottava Rima is a form that’s been
Used to good effect by poets who’ve fared
Rather better than I have; have been seen
To well succeed by being well prepared,
Writing something comic or obscene
To voice complaints or a criticism
Couched in a caustic witticism.

The master of them all of course was Byron,
Trundling on for sixteen thousand lines,
Mainly, it appears, with a hard-on;
All through Don Juan you can read the signs.
I hear some say though, ‘I do beg your pardon,
Where’s the evidence he so inclines
To write throughout in a sexual fervour.
He’s less like Eros, more of a Minerva,

Goddess of verse, wisdom, strategic warfare.’
I suppose that’s true to a large extent
But what, after all then, do we care
About the character of his true intent
in being so satiric, with such flair?
It’s very unlikely that he would repent,
Retract his underlying eroticisms,
Replacing them with courtly mannerisms.

So, just as Byron sought to undermine
Hypocrisies inherent in his times,
Should we not then, also sharply shine
A piercing light today on similar crimes
Committed not in your name, nor in mine;
Those negligently, cruel paradigms
Of power, designed for the hegemonic,
The devious, deviant, selfishly moronic?

Johnson, Bezos, Bolsonaro, Trump,
To name but four of the perpetrators,
Head a stinking army, nay a rump,
Of psychopathic, snivelling people haters,
Hoovering up the profits, as the slump
Is hitting labourers, the wealth creators,
Driving millions into destitution,
Smothered by a capitalist pollution.

This Ottava Rima effort is pathetic
Compared to Byron’s brilliant Magnum Opus
In which he is poetically athletic,
A swirling cauldron filled with hocus pocus,
Learned, comic, endlessly eclectic,
Never losing pertinence or focus.
Would he were here now with his sharpened claws
To scratch the eyes out of those bloated boors.

But he, of course, was more a Tory than
The politicians and poets he sought to trash.
Raised more a lord than a common man,
His sympathies are, likely, less to clash
With the monsters of our devious plan
Than we who would indict them in a flash.
To use his searing wit, all things Byronic,
Could undermine our aims. Now that’s ironic!

But the plot to use a sharp Ottava Rima
To savage all things oligarchical,
Is pregnant in this adolescent scheme, a
Side swipe at the trad monarchical
(Perhaps I’m just a poor deluded dreamer)
State that’s verging on the farcical.
As Lenin had it, there’s a fine solution:
In Greece, Byron died for Revolution!

Let’s take them one by one, these devious infants:
So Johnson first, designated Boris,
Building, despite himself, a stout resistance
In us common folk who’ve not read Horace
As he has. At least, that’s his insistence;
More a classical flower, than a florist,
Vainglorious popinjay we should require
To shuffle off into his own satire.

A blockheaded buffoon, an unctuous creep,
A man who lied his way to head the Tory
Party, while most of us were fast asleep,
Infighting among ourselves, (another story),
Elected to oversee the State’s upkeep
But acting like the Womble Tobermory.
Yet underneath his foolish, clown-like antic,
Flows a dark and dangerous semantic.

It’s a strain reflected in that Bezos creature,
An exploiter making depredations on
Each worker picking a book, or other feature
To reinforce his empire, Amazon.
‘Do as I command, or I will beat ‘yer!’
They just cannot do right for doing wrong
Inside his evil factories of the cursed.
His form of exploitation is the worst.

Designed to manufacture profits, obscene
By any standard of civil or moral code,
The employment contracts he’s invoked have been
Introduced to undermine, erode
All human dignity at work. We’ve seen
A fetid jubilation, a la mode,
Among the tax avoiding oligarchy
Celebrating his malign malarky.

So what of Bolsonaro? What a jerk!
A fascist placeman, product of a coup
Displacing all the socialising work
Done to favour those, like me and you
Who don’t own either Jaguar or Merc,
In the favelas. So we ask, just who
Will, one day, bring this criminal to trial,
Wiping off his vile and hideous smile?

Of course, the situation in Brazil
Is mirrored in those South American states,
Where humanising work, used to instil
Just distribution, is overturned. The fate
Of millions of the poor, drowned in the swill
Produced by CIA-backed gangster mates
Of US President (The Gangster) Trump,
That preening, self-regarding Heffalump.

Trump as President, you’d hardly believe it!
Yet perhaps the Yanks really do deserve ‘im.
Not those, of course, those that would retrieve it
But all the racists, those that would preserve ‘im
to mouth the hatred as they do conceive it.
Most of us, it’s true, would rather swerve ‘im,
Stoutly chuck him into History’s litter.
(At the risk of sounding satisfyingly bitter!)

But I’m justly sad that such could be elected,
Whose message is crude, insanely autocratic.
Instead of tending to those who should be protected,
He’d rather promote the semi-automatic.
Let’s hope there’ll soon be sense, he’s deselected
And we see the last of this phoney aristocratic,
No good piece of putrefying shit.
(I hope I haven’t overstated it!)

I’ll now conclude this Italian form of verse;
I do not have the stamina of a Byron.
I know it’s bad but it could get much worse,
Won’t earn me any pension to retire on!
Be fearful, though, you despots, you who curse
Humanity: you will feel the iron
In our depleted souls eventually.
You’ll be overthrown and we’ll be free.

A Yorksher Rant, by Hobbo
Tha’ mun think that, am med o’brass
Well, shove it up yer Khyber Pass
Fifty bob fer chips wi’ scraps
I dunt pay that fer good flat caps!

Tha’ thieving sod, tha’ll rob me blind
‘all take me stick, ‘ave ‘alf a mind
To stick it where the sun don’t shine
Tha’ robbin’ git, tha’ greedy swine.

I’m an O.A.P tha’ knows
I wotchit, where me money goes
So, tha’ can keep thee chips, instead
‘all mek do wi’ some drippin’ bread.

Translation
You may think that I have lots of money
Well, you can put that money in your bottom
£2.50 for french fries with trimmings
It costs me less for decent headgear.

You are a thief who is prepared to scam me
I am inclined to take my walking cane
And put it in a painful place
you robbing villain, you greedy scoundrel.

You know I’m an old age pensioner
And I have to be prudent with money
So you keep your chips for yourself, whilst I
Will have some bread spread liberally with pork fat.

I No Longer Care, by Joanne Fisher
There are certain bloggers
who want you to look at their posts
but under no circumstances will they
sully their own eyes by looking at yours

I believe in mutual support
but no one else seems to

I go out of my way to
read people’s posts
but the favour is not returned

So why should I care anymore?
When I have almost a thousand
followers but less than fifty
bothering to read what I write?
Why should I bother reading my
WordPress feed every night
when no one else seems to?
I could be doing something else.

When you believe in
mutual support and
no one else does,
it really sucks. WordPress
sucks.

Untitled, by bereavedandbeingasingleparent
Brexit completely messed up

Government has gone corrupt

Contracts given to party donors

Paid for by bigger bills for homeowners

100000 covid deaths

They couldn’t even care less

A nation scared forever

No virus tracing whatsoever

Care Homes lambs to the slaughter

Country becoming an second rate backwater

School system in utter disarray

While Johnson moans about his own pay

Massive backlogs at the ferry ports

Backing Ministers subject to damming bullying reports

Empty supermarkets shelves

Ministers looking after themselves

U turn after U turn after U turn

Economy in a massive downturn

Leaders downing the finest wine

Yet free school meals must be declined

Desperately trying to remove worker rights

Refusing to make safe dangerous high rise sites

All this just in one year of Johnson being in charge

A dangerous dishonest charlatan at large

So before he gets on with having another affair

Will someone please comb this numpties hair.

Cognitive Assonance, by Sudrakarma
The mental gymnastics required for those leaps
must be exhausting; The Hill was too steep.
Projecting your crimes unto every other
with a straight face you’d sell-out your mother
before you’d begin to point at yourself;
that precious pride should be put on a shelf,
wrapped in the flag that you desecrated,
with the constitution you once advocated.
No, you’re not the patriot you once pretended;
your line of credit’s been over-extended.
The amount of denial and projection required
to maintain positions in which you are mired,
are swirling with madness into the commode.
I’m really surprised
your head
doesn’t
explode.

Firing Up, by Obbverse
As far as finances go
I’m in a proper pickle,
My once flush cash flow
Has dribbled to a trickle.

The bills wash endlessly in,
Only my heart goes out,
My means are paper thin,
My prayers never more devout.

No assets left to seize,
All my boom’s gone bust,
I’m down on my knees,
Not one ‘In God We Trust.’

Pacing the floor by the door,
Going postal for that relief cheque,
To pay off Bill’s Convenience Store
Before he wrings my scrawny neck.

I gather together every letter
In shivering mittened hands;
One time a real go-getter,
Now hold only final demands.

Grab the largest pot
In the stone cold kitchen,
Dump in the miserable lot,
Got troubles? I’ll pitch in.

All those weighty dispatches,
Gone in a stroke
Thanks to Safety matches
Hello, hellfire sulphur and smoke.

…The letters dutifully brought
By the conscientious postman
Though warm, were too short,
More a flash in the pan.

Will Bill come by torchlight,
Say ‘200 bucks or go to jail?’
Cold comfort on a cold night?
‘Bill, bring a Molotov cocktail.’

Thank You Governor Evers, by Dumbestblogger
I needed a new car, so I bought one
That was the easy part
I went to get a title, like an old fart
And they said, “hey, don’t get smart!”
“Here’s a special COVID chart.
on this side is the license part,
And over here the title part
As you can see, it isn’t smart
To breathe air and transfer titles at the same time.”
Well that’s dark
It’s not like I came here on a lark
Am I the first person to come here and park
Thinking that help would be mine?
Maybe so
Fifteen minutes later
And I’m staring at paper
With a URL
Near as I could tell
the solution to this entire caper
Oh, wait. We’re talking about the government
Their websites don’t work
I love being legally obligated to use malfunctioning technology to print off a piece of paper that I then need to send to Madison through the post office
I feel so much safer
I want just want to write on the freaking paper in the first place
Is that too much to ask?

Untitled, by Deb Whittam
You know, I ain’t usually one for following the rules,

But sometimes, just sometimes,

They’re there for a reason, you fools.
Just take roundabouts my friends,

They’re designed to keep the traffic flowing,

Now let’s pause here, you do comprehend?
The other lanes clear, my ignorant friend,

This is your chance to hop on and go,

Before you send me around the bend.
Too dangerous you think and sit still,

You ain’t seen anything close to danger yet,

I’m going to be coming in for the kill.
Exactly where did you get your license again?

Wasn’t a cereal box, was it?

Sorry let me make amends.
You’ve sat there an eon and let me stew,

That, you clodhopping lout it a fatal mistake

Get out of my way, grandma’s coming through

Africa, a Parody, By Rawgod
[Verse 1]

Trump wanted to win an award so bad

He’d even take one that he knows he never earned he’s such an ass

And he’ll travel anywhere to get it

He took a call 12:30 at night

They said he’d won a big award from a country he never heard of

They even said they’d pay his way there

He never stopped to read the fine print

He’d have to travel with peasants and their animals

The trip would take a couple of days

But the prize was waiting there for him

It didn’t take much to attract him there

And he had no idea that the call was a fake

He never even stopped to pack a bag

He ran all the way to the station

[Chorus]

Trump took the train down through Africa

The shithole countries wouldn’t let him fly in

They wanted to show him they were just as human

As the people in America who exploited them

[Verse 2]

The great man cried out in the night

As he grew restless waiting to be given his brass trophy

He knew the prize was his birthright

As sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti

He sought to cure his ego’s need

Frightened now that this was just a hoax

[Chorus]

Trump took the train down through Africa

The shithole countries wouldn’t let him fly in

They wanted to show him they were just as human

As the people in America who exploited them

[Bridge]

Hurry up man you know it’s waiting there for you

Now you’re taking the train down through Africa

Riding with the peasants and their pigs

You even had to shit with your ass hanging out the door

And no T.P. to even clean your fat ass

[Chorus]

Trump took the train down through Africa

The shithole countries would not let him fly in

They wanted to show him they were just as human

As the people of America who exploited them.

Trump took the train down through Africa…

[Etc. Repeat to fade. ]

—–

Stick around a little later for the next month’s prompt!

Ruth and Barbara, here’s a badge for you to use on your site. Congratulations, again!

©2021 The poets, and their respective works

Yee-Haw!! It’s the Rodeo Writing Contest to Support Sue Vincent!

Howdy, writers! It’s officially time to crack your keyboarding knuckles, sharpen your leather-bound journal’s nibs, and dust of that ole thinking cap.

Don’t you dare tell me you don’t enter contests. You’re entering this one! Why?

  1. This is for Sue Vincent. She’s an amazing person, fantastic writer, and supportive blogger. The woman’s fighting cancer and has been the carer for her son for years. Whether you wish to donate or not (it’s voluntary), you can support this and/or tell others about it.
  2. You can win prizes!! The first place grand prize is $100 and the five runners-up will “each receive one paperback from Sue Vincent’s collection of published books (those who live in a region where the paperback is unavailable may receive an e-book instead).”
  3. It’s great writing practice.
  4. There’s nothing to lose.
  5. It’s fun!
  6. The Carrot Ranch is a wonderful community.

So, work on 99 words of a story or 99 syllables of a poem. You can do it. I believe in you.

Have I convinced you? Just follow THIS LINK RIGHT HERE to enter, officially. Each person is allowed two entries. And, here are some more numbered items to keep in mind:

  1. DO NOT PUBLISH TO YOUR BLOG. After you submit it all official-like, keep your entry locked up in a box under your bed with your spare socks and bikinis until the winners are announced.
  2. Follow the word or syllable counts. You don’t want to be discounted on a technicality.
  3. Tell all your friends! Tell your enemies! Tell your frenemies!

Seriously. Just DO IT.