The Terrible Poetry Contest 5/5/22

Welcome (welcome! welcome!) to the biweekly Terrible Poetry Contest!

Everyone starts out terrible; some poets never move on from there! This ‘contest’ is about embracing the bad, letting go of inhibitions, and poking fun of those stodgy writers who can’t see the farce for the poetries. I’ve typed up a map in case you’re still lost. For the rest of you, here are the specifics:

  1. Geoff Le Pard’s poem won last time‘s contest, so he’s set our Theme and Form:
    Take the first line of a famous poem and then rewrite the rest as [the poet] see(s) fit. Bonus points if [you] use the original meter and rhyming scheme.
  2. I believe the Length is entirely up to you.
  3. Rhyme? If you feel inclined.
  4. Don’t take it from me. Take it from Maya Angelou, Edgar Allen Poe, Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson, Walt Whitman, John Keats, Sylvia Plath, William Blake, William Wordsworth, and the immortal Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz. Seriously; take it from them and make it terrible.
  5. Rating: PG or cleaner.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MDT on Thursday, May 19 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 Mike on Pexels.com

—–

©2022 Chel Owens

WINNER of the Terrible Poetry Contest 4/28/2022

Frank won last time; he suggested we write a common four-line meter in a nursery rhyme. Sounds simple enough, right? But… who did it the best and is the winner of this contest?

Nursery Rhymes For A Post Pandemic Utopia

by TanGental

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
When a man with appal-
-ing taste in novelty knitwear
Pushed him off and told him
To sit on his own wall.

Little Miss Muffet
Sat on a spider.
She said, ‘Tuffet-chic is so last century.’
The spider declined to comment.

Jack and Jill
Went up the hill.
Everyone said,
‘It’ll be downhill from here.’

Little Jack Horner
Sat in the corner.
Plotting…

Jack Spratt would eat no fat,
His wife said, ‘You’re a prat, Jack.’

Mary, Mary
Wasn’t that contrary.
She just liked saying her name twice.
Like Bond, James Bond.

The Grand Ol’ Duke of York
Is so called because he spends several grand
Buying silence.

Ring a ring A Roses
To place your next order
For that important person
Who you’ve pissed off.

London Bridge is falling down
Due to sheer weight of traffic.

Georgie Porgy
Is unlikely to get bail this time.

—–

Congratulations, Geoff! You are the most terrible poet! Let me know the type of poem and theme for the next two weeks.

I LOVED the poems this time around! The ‘nursery rhymes’ were so amusing; one of my sons read over my shoulder and kept snickering. Geoff’s poem used many elements others’ did: a few references to other rhymes, unexpected endings, and some current events. He narrowly beat out at least two others with his take on “Georgie Porgy.”

I won’t deprive you of reading the others any longer:

Untitled

by John W. Howell

Frankie is a little trim,
Who never wears clean clothes.
All the piggies follow him
Wherever Frankie goes.

On the way to school one day,
He stopped to smell a flower.
The piggies looked at each to say,
Let’s all do a boy devour.

—–

Chris Gets A Hand

by Obbverse

Will, he had a little slap,
Rock reeled back from the blow,
Will wouldn’t say ‘Chris, shut your trap;’
To no more Oscars Will he go.

—–

Jack And Ill Will

by Obbverse

It was ON
‘Tween Amber and John
Their freak-show biz deal Deppinitely over.

After many years,
Crossed words, crocodile tears
Their lawyers settled, finally in the clover.

—–

Sing a Super Confusing Song of The Old Money

by trentpmcd

Sing a song of sixpence
A pocket full of change
Money has no meaning
In such a tiny range

There were four and twenty black birds
Is that two whole shilling?
Can we just please switch to decimal?
I’m more than willing!

The king was in the counting house
Looking quite confused
Six is a half a shilling, or a fortieth of a pound
Is this stupid system still used?

The queen was in the parlour
Eating milk and honey
I guess in the promised land
You don’t worry about money

The maid was in the garden
With the Jack of Hearts
Oh, wait minute
Isn’t that how a Bob Dylan song starts?

From here it gets even more surreal
An a land with a never setting sun
But at least Britain moved to a system decimal
Back in 1971!

—–

Blackout

by Not Pam

iPhone, iPad, iWatch, and iDon’tKnow
iWatch, but iDon’tKnow
iPhone, iPad, iWatch, and iDon’tKnow
iWatch, but iDon’tKnow
And Facebook, and Twitter, and Instagram, and TikTok
iPhone, iPad, iwatch and iDon’tKnow
iWatch, but iDon’tKnow

Hickory Dickory Spock
Exhale, and take stock
It’s a blackout
No need to shout
Hickory Dickory Spock

Hickory Dickory Spock
Watch Grandma mock
As you forlornly wail
The power must prevail
No gadgets? What a horrid shock.

—–

Untitled

by Frank Hubeny

Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall.
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the King’s horses and all the King’s men
Had breakfast that morning.

—–

The day

by Michael B. Fishman

The day is bright as cooked brown rice,
the winds as calm as tea.
The birds alight on edelweiss
and
because I haven’t eaten in some time
well, wouldn’t you know,
I’m as hungry as could be.

I ate my rice with ketchup.
I ate my rice with beans.
I ate my rice while looking at a map of Manila,
the capital of the Philippines.

I’ve never been to the Philippines,
I’ve never been to Indonesia.
But wait! I could have been, and I don’t know,
because I could have, ‘ya know, amnesia.

My kitty lies over my other kitty,
He does it for all of us to see
My kitty just got off my other kitty.
I hope they don’t have a baby.

—–

Bought the Farm

by Greg’s Blog

Sadie rushed out to the barn,
A whip with her cowgirl charm,
The animals arranged,
An ending deranged,
Now Sadie’s done bought the farm.

—–

Fad Diet

by Greg’s Blog

Fat Larry began a fad diet,
With an eye for sweet apple pies,
He followed the plan to the letter,
And promptly when up one size.
Undeterred he continued to eat,
For the losses he’d soon realize,
Until a peek in the mirror did show,
The pie had gone straight to his thighs.

—–

Photo by Pixabay.

Thank you, everyone! Come back to learn the next two weeks’ prompt.

Mr. Le Pard: Here’s your badge you can post as proof of your poetic mastery:

terrible-poetry-contest

©2022 The poets, and their respective poems.

The Terrible Poetry Contest 4/14/22

Hello and welcome to the biweekly Terrible Poetry Contest!

Don’t know what ‘terrible poetry’ is? Of course you do! Think of the best poet you know; I can guarantee that s/he wrote a terrible poem. Odds are, it was about teen angst. See? -not so difficult. Now, pick up that keyboard, read through my guide, and start poeming!

Here are the specifics:

  1. We need a Theme and Form. Frank won last time, and says: I would recommend the type of poem being at least one stanza of four lines of common meter. That would be something like “Mary Had A Little Lamb” but there are many variations of the rhyme and meter that would be recognized as common meter. The theme would be to parody some nursery rhyme or start from scratch and write an entirely new one.
  2. Length: at least one stanza of four lines of common meter.
  3. Baa baa, black sheep; should we try to Rhyme? Yes, sir; yes, sir; every other line.
  4. Mother Goose says make it terrible! You’d better do it, before Jack Horner gets in that corner and eats all your curds and your whey!
  5. Rating: G or cleaner. Ask me not why, or the children may cry.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MDT on Thursday, April 28 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 Pixabay.

—–

©2022 Chel Owens

WINNER of the Terrible Poetry Contest 4/14/2022

The challenge was to write a free-verse poem on bad driving, compliments of last contest’s winner, Matt! So, at long last, who was the ‘best’ at ‘worst?’

Bad Driver

by Frank

I told my shrink that the cops brought me here because of my bad driving and he said I had no record of ever driving a car in my life and I told him, not car, spaceship, S-P-A-C-E-S-H-I-P, and he said I had no spaceship and wasn’t an alien because my DNA test, D-N-A, showed I’m human enough and I told him, well, then why am I in that padded cell and he said I wasn’t in any cell and I asked him if he was trying to drive me crazy and if he was he wasn’t doing a good job of it and then he said I was brought in because I was scaring the neighborhood kids and the judge assigned me to him and I told him that I had a lot of fun turning my head 360 degrees like an owl and he said I couldn’t do stuff like that and I asked him whether he ever saw me and he said no and so I asked him if he wanted to see me turn my head 360 degrees and he said, “Sure, Marvin, go ahead turn your head 360 degrees like an own, go on show me” and so I turned my head 360 degrees like an owl and he called the exorcist.

This poem is in imitation of Gerald Stern’s American Sonnets. There “sonnets” have no rhyme nor meter (and often no sense that I could detect). They are all one sentence long allowing the reader to put in line breaks or not. I would call them terrible American sonnets, but he won some award for them and they are occasionally entertaining.

—–

Congratulations, Frank! You are the most terrible poet! Let me know the type of poem and theme for the next two weeks.

I was AMAZED at the poems this week. AMAZED! Way to make my highly-prestigious judging difficult, everyone. The poems were terrible, plus they were terrible -making fun of a typical free verse, adding a twist or two, using humor or surprise, and adding in cliché poetic elements.
I think Frank’s stood out after all that because of his unique form. How annoying, really. You said Gerald Stern “won some award;” well, now you have.

Don’t stop there, though. Go ahead and enjoy the others:

First Time on the Highway!

by trentpmcd

the flowers of spring
and the newly green grass
animals frolicking
after the long winter
I smile as I wonder
how did I get here
to this little slice
of paradise
the torn-up turf
gives a clue
as does the broken windshield
oh, the joy
of freedom
did I tell you
I received my drivers license
yesterday?

—–

Untitled

by Richmond Road

When we start
It is odd
Is it not?
That the pause in the flow
Might somehow show
A teasing hint
Of thought so deep
Of thinking, not sinking
into sleep
An inner confusion
Leading to the illusion
Of footsteps
well trod
But just rot
Pretending to be art

—–

Untitled

by Dumbestblogger

Steering wheel
Gas pedal
Brake
I’m not sure which is which
I prefer abstract philosophical principles
To hard-headed empiricism
Those colored lights they put over the intersections are really pretty

—–

Road Ragin’

by Gr8bigfun

Driving down the road 🛣️
Minding my own business
When buddy flips me the bird 🦜
I know free verse don’t rhyme
But this guy’s a real turd 💩
With my ego now bruised
My brain explodes 💥
And my senses go blind
What’s this clown’s 🤡
Problem anyway
Step on the gas ⛽
I weave through the rush
My window recessed 🪟
As I pull up to your ride
I start waving my fist 👊
Rhyme a curse at the lady inside
Don’t call the cops 🚓
That’s not meant for you

I got the wrong car 🚗
Mistaken identity I swear
I’m totally raging 🤬
As I punch it again
Blast past a school bus 🚌
This rhyming is insane
I catch a glimpse 👀
As you make the left
I race through the turn 🏎️
And ‘round the bend
Caught in my web 🕸
️The thrill of pursuit gone
What do I do now ❓
I take a deep breath and
In a moment of zen ☯️
My road rage does pass
I rhyme one last time ⌚
And realise, I’m the real ass!

—–

THE BIRD

by Matt

Your blinker
is on
Still…
Oh
How much
Slower must I
go to get
You off
My
Ass!
Veins they but protrude
Shades of red flush my face
Cut me off
The hell ?
Holy
Shit a
Spider in front of
my face!
Smash Boom
Crash
not me, thankfully
we is stuck
behind rubber
neckers but you, you!!!
Pass everyone by on
the
shoulder yield
does not
mean
stop
every single one of y’all
gets the bird!

—–

Untitled

by Tangental

My driving is perfection.
I know this because I drive a Ford Cliche,
And have one aim when behind the wheel:
to remove the worst driver in the world,
Arthur Goode, from Britain’s roads.
In my car, I am perfection,
I am the enemy of the Goode.

—–

Bad Driving

by Michael B. Fishman

For, I say; fore.
Out of my way for I am a bad driver.
Four violent torso twists, the club a blur of polished wood, and the ball barely moves

but my back hurts.
For what it’s worth –

to toot my own horn –

I’ll say that I’m not bad with
irons,
or putters,
but drivers,

I am a bad driver.

Drivers are the chink in my Armour bologna Cracker Crunchers
lunch with a Butterfinger candy bar fun size dessert armor.

I ate at an Italian restaurant, name now forgotten, and I was so taken with the bombolotti, that squat little powerhouse noodle that expertly trapped the slightly sweet sauce and diced onion and, I think?

Parmigiano or pecorina cheese as a culinary captive to caress my …

my…

no provincialism here: my slobbering mouth. So I had to

compliment the chef directly.

I drove myself, chest first, proudly displaying my all’Amatriciana sauce stained shiny Sahara sand satin shirt to the kitchen,

but,

before
I
could
say anything:

The chef, garbed in his winter jacket,

for it was
winter whence
we
met, met
me
at the door and said:

“I cannot unlock my car door”.

I, taken aback, said: “Why not?”

He said, “I have gnocchi.”

I drove him home. I only exceeded the speed limit once,
very briefly,
to make a light.

—–

Poor Parking Parable

by Obbverse

What a dazzlingly bright sizzler of a triple digit day
It was down at the Crucible Mall
What a joy it was to be beneath cloudless azure skies
In a Midnight Blue Horizon
With no fu…nctioning air-conditioning
Not a park to be found within spitting distance
Of the Mall’s shady walls
Nary a one
Thanks to one selfish bas- parker
who had left two half spaces on either side
Of the fat-wheeled Ford F150 parked athwart the middle line
Of the only two miserably designated Disabled car parks
Lolling In his F150 sat
A fat-as slack faced cowboy
Hairy mitt draped on the wheel
Cab wreathed in vape smoke
He paused but for a second to chug down his Bud
Before leaping down agilely and
Lightly-
Lightly for such a heavy gutted hombre-
Onto the asphalt
Belched heavily
And strode back into the Booze Barn
For ‘nother nourishing six-pack
No Disabled card on view
Nope, not right nor fair but…

Never mind.

After parking way out back in the back of beyond
Out in the furthest and farthest
Rarely traversed reaches of the car park
Far from the Mall and the madding crowd
I gamely sweated my way across
The shimmering tacky asphalt
Trekking towards the far-off
Sliding doored cold comfort of
Krogers
My journey through Hades proved to be well worth it though!
Oh
So gratifying it was to see our invalid invalid
Looking fair fit to be tied
Getting roughly cuffed and arrested by someone
Healthily buffed and in a well-stuffed XL black uniform
And
As a bonus
Our cow-poke’s big-as truck getting all
Set to be towed
I joined in with the surrounding crowd
Easing in beside
A finely groomed and elegantly dressed elderly gent
‘Another ass who believes it’s his right to use not just one
But two Disabled parks’ he offered
Eyes hard as tempered steel
‘It’s rare to see such justice playing out before our eyes’
I croaked agreeably in my parched cracked voice
Seems all about us most folks agreed
And as the baddest example
Of good driving I’d seen in quite a while
Was hauled away
Everyone enthusiastically yet oddly waved him ta-ta’s
All with both hands
But sans fingers
‘Cept for middle digits
I bade the elderly gent a hearty good day
And walked
away
He went gladly off on his way
His wheelchairs wheels
Making one Hell of a deep impression along the
Fords flanks
Which made for quite the racket too
But everyone in the vicinity
Who should have witnessed this
Had to have been deaf-finately handicapped

If not deaf, blissfully, smilingly unaware.

—–

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Thank you, everyone! Come back to learn the next two weeks’ prompt.

Frank: Here’s your badge you can post as proof of your poetic mastery:

terrible-poetry-contest

©2022 The poets, and their respective poems.

The Terrible Poetry Contest 4/2/22

Welcome to the biweekly Terrible Poetry Contest!

Did you know that everyone writes terrible poetry? Even bonafide, published, worshipped ‘poets’ write terrible poetry. Don’t worry; none of us is that famous (I think). We’re in it for the notoriety. Wanna join in but aren’t sure how to let it all go? Try reading my tips, here.

Here are the specifics for this contest:

  1. Matt won it all last round, and says we’ll write on the Theme of bad driving, free-verse style. Free verse is defined as “nonmetrical, nonrhyming lines that closely follow the natural rhythms of speech” (Poetry Foundation). Basically, you’re freewheeling it and trying to sound artsy doing so.
  2. You’re the driver; you choose the Length.
  3. Traditional free verse poetry does not Rhyme. You take that where you wish.
  4. Just make it terrible! Take the pedal to the medal on a collision course so awful you drive Ms. Daisy crazy.
  5. Rating: PG-13 or cleaner. I’ve seen you drive.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MDT on Thursday, April 14 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 Pixabay on Pexels.com

—–

©2022 Chel Owens

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest 4/1/2022

It’s finally time to announce the winner of Colleen Chesebro‘s challenge to write a terrible burlesque poem on aging (ageing):

PEW

by Matt

20’S COOL
30’S COOL
40’S Pew!
What’s that smell? oOoOO that smell, can’t you smell that smell?
Like cheese and a rotten egg got married
yet, rarely it, happened.
50’s Pew!!
That smell lingers from room to room everywhere you walk, in the house, at work, at the groceries store.
How that humanely possible?
60’s and beyond
making me sick, pungent,salty and sour
milk
Serious, seriously serious…that came out of your heiny?
I’m smellin’
it’s poor English but you sure do, yee old farty pants

—–

Congratulations, Matt! You are the most terrible poet! Let me know the type of poem and theme for the next two weeks! Exclamation points!

The poems this week were terribly clever! I had to pick Matt’s because it was -oh, man, Matt- very terrible with the clever. “Heiny?” “Farty pants?” Ugh. No! 😀

Don’t stop there, though. Go ahead and enjoy the others:

Untitled

by The Bag Lady

Pulling myself out of the bed
To pee again, something I dread
I’d rather be sleeping instead
Or I could just wet the bed.
Look in the mirror to check what needs shaving
Hoping fingers with razor will be behaving
I don’t want the blade to start engraving
Till blood starts running and raving.
Then there’s dressing, always a treat
Groaning to put socks and shoes on my feet
Stretching on layers smoothed to look neat
Pulling on and tucking in trousers a feat.
Finally finished, its time for a drink
Or breakfast, that’s what most people think
I prefer coffee—makes my eyes start to blink
Then into my recliner I sink.
Morning routines seem to be the way
Doing it over and over each day
Keeps unforeseen accidents at bay
When hair turns relentlessly gray.
Old age comes to us all they say:
“if you’re lucky” or “better than the alternative” way.
Those words spoken cause some dismay
Cause it’s always the young speaking that bray.

—–

Untitled

by Richmond Road

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?

—–

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

by Obbverse

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.

—–

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.

by Frank

I’m over the hill
over the hill
la-dee-dee
da-dee-dee
da-dee-dee-dill
overly
overly
over the hill

(repeat ad nauseam)

—–

Photo by Ivan Samkov on Pexels.com

Thank you, everyone! Come back to learn the next two weeks’ prompt.

Matt: Here’s your badge you can post as proof of your poetic mastery:

terrible-poetry-contest

©2022 The poets, and their respective poems.

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 Pexels.com

©2022 Chel Owens

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest 3/17/2022

What a week! Joanne suggested we tanka about what’s in one’s pocket. Who wrote the winning poem; eh, Precious?

Twisted Tanka

by Colleen Chesebro

shopping lists and lint
my mittens turned inside out
pocket poetry
quiet your skeptical mind
get your winter coat dry cleaned

—–

Congratulations, Colleen! You are the most terrible poet (I hope you take that as a compliment)! Let me know the type of poem and theme for the next two weeks!

I’m impressed that so many excellent writers stooped to write terribly about pockets. Colleen’s tanka won for breaking the most rules about writing a tanka and for making the least sense. Well done.

And, enjoy the others whilst you search your own pockets:

Terrible Tanka

by Frank

Inside my pocket
I found nothing. Anyway,
I cannot rhyme this
tanka so I won’t, but X
was where I found that nothing.

—–

Untitled

by An Artist Named M

Got the brand new pen
Cap in hand, pen in my shirt
Wow she’s , pretty hot!
Nipple Sweating? Profusely!
NO, no, no, no the ink leaked

—–

In my pocket

by willowdot21

Sticky sweet wrapper
Impaled upon my house keys
Rusty safety pin
Half a snotty ripped tissue
One dip means messy fingers.

—–

We Can’t All Be Ringo (a terrible tanka by Trent)

by trentpmcd

looked for Pepperland
in me yellow submarine
past the monster sea
so I grabbed a round thing up
I’ve an ‘ole in me pocket

OK, so Ringo said “I’ve -got- an ‘ole in my pocket”, but that was one syllable too long, and, well, we can’t be Ringo…

—–

Revenge

by The Bag Lady

standing with that look
satisfaction of a kook
made her pay the fine
for another’s love sublime
relax, he’ll get his in time

—–

Identifying Holes

by Geoff

In my pocket I find
A hole through which my life slips
A hole robbing me
Of my sanity. And cash.
It is a complete A***hole…

—–

Untitled

by Greg

Hand in my pocket,
Looking to steal my spare change.
I’ve left a surprise,
Cold, moist, just a hint of slime.
“A used handkerchief, you swine!”

—–

Untitled

by Couldn’t be Pam

Mother’s pride turns sour
Dreading the moment, for now
its laundry time, must
put hands in pocket, oh what
Will we find? Boogers delight

—–

Thank you, everyone! Come back to learn the next two weeks’ prompt.

Colleen: Here’s your badge you can post as proof of your poetic mastery:

terrible-poetry-contest

©2022 The poets, and their respective poems.

The Terrible Poetry Contest

Welcome to the biweekly Terrible Poetry Contest!

This contest came about because of too many poets writing far far too many qualifiers (I mean; really?), emoting in the sloppiest ways, counting syllables on their fingers about any ole subject and naming it ‘haiku,’ and because of cliché. Don’t get me started on poetic clichés. What better way to solve a problem than call it an elephant and invite it into the room, yes?

Here, then, are the specifics for this week:

  1. Joanne Fisher won the crown last time round; she’s suggested a Theme of what one might find in one’s pocket. The form? A tanka.
    Tanka poems are not difficult. The master, of course, is Colleen Chesebro, mother of Tanka Tuesday. Like haiku, there are syllables involved. The pattern for a tanka is 5-7-5-7-7. “Tanka consist of 5 lines written in the first-person point of view from the perspective of the poet” (more information, below).
  2. The Length is five lines.
  3. A tanka does not rhyme.
  4. Ah; just make it terrible! Cause Gollum to regret he ever asked what was in there -even for the chance of some nice, juicy poet-meat.
  5. Rating: PG or cleaner. I don’t know what you keep in your pockets, but I’m betting it’s no edgier than lint or a cell phone these days.
© Colleen Chesebro, wordcraftpoetry.com

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST IN TWO WEEKS: Thursday, March 17 (St. Patrick’s Day!!) to submit a poem. Every two weeks works better for me, so that’s what we’re doing.

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.

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Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

©2022 Chel Owens

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest 3/3/2022

Dumbestblogger decided we needed a limerick about grain. Given such a difficult idea, who wrote the winning poem?

Tom’s Mistake

by Joanne Fisher

Tom thought the best way to have a great brain
was to consume a great deal of grain
so he drank a large amount of scotch
till walking along some tracks he did botch
managing to get run over by a train

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Congratulations, Joanne! You are the most terrible poet! Let me know the type of poem and theme for the next two weeks!

Who’d have thought a limerick about grain would be possible? Well! I enjoyed reading through all of these. I had a few favorites at the end; admittedly, my junior judges helped choose the winner. Joanne’s poem won for skipping a more traditional limerick format -in a clever, distracting way and for the humorous twist.

Read the rest for more cleverness:

Terrible Limerick – Grain

by Frank

There once was tiny wheat grain
all soaked in a wonderful rain.
He sprouted. Oh, dear!
Now he’s done it I fear.
He thanks God that he ain’t got a brain.

—–

(Unfortunately, I came up with a second stanza.)

by Frank

The grain in the dirt in the pot
praised God for the stuff that it’s got.
“I won’t worry away
on this cold wintry day.
Bodda bee! Bodda hye! Bodda bot!”

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SOBRIETY

by M.

My distaste for barley & rye
is why I hate blueberry pie
Dad offered a sip
But, I took more of a nip
then barfed blueberry pie in his eye

—–

Untitled

by Richmond Road

I limp because I’m in pain
I am sensitive. Let me explain.
It all has to do
With a lump in my shoe
It is sand. But only one grain.

—–

Field Of Dreams

by Obbverse

This new farmers lot was not a happy lot
Till crop rotation helped fill in the plot,
Come harvest, in a quiet green field
A bounty of seeds’n’buds is revealed-
So, wild oats adds little profit to the pot.

—–

RATastrophe

by Greg G

Da bins damn full of dem rats;
Dey filled it all up wid der shats.
Gone ruined da grain,
From hunger we ’ere slain,
Me should’ve procured dem damn cats

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Lady of Skye

by Bruce Goodman

There once was a lady of Skye
Who had a grain of sand in her eye.
She said, What the heck
I’ feeling quite feck-
less. I really wish I would die.

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Tasty

by Nope, Not Pam

Marjory and James were having a brawl
She’d made cinnamon tarts he didn’t like at all
She snuck them in his meal
But after the great reveal
Had to quickly sidestep the vomit freefall

—–

Brave Little Train

by Dumbestblogger

There once was a brave little train
Filled to the the brim with some grain
It jumped off the tracks
And sat in the rain
The grain has now all turned to hay

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This is terrible for many reasons, not least the subject matter

by TanGental

One consequence of the war in Ukraine
Will be a world shortage of its fabulous grain
Which is one reason to put the boot in
On that a***wipe Vladimir Putin
Again and again and again and again…

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Thank you, everyone! Come back to learn the next two weeks’ prompt.

Joanne: Here’s your badge you can post as proof of your poetic mastery:

terrible-poetry-contest

©2022 The poets, and their respective poems.