Ah, I couldn’t help it. You should write something even better for the Terrible Poetry Contest; it supposedly ends on the 30th, but I hear the judge isn’t exactly on top of things this week and you’ll not hear about a winner till Saturday…
What is life but a descent to death punctuated by philosophies upset by opinion and only sllooowwwwedddddd by a stubborn child or the DMV or that breathless moment before death when you wish you’d lived a little more
If that isn’t terrible, you need your ears checked. Also, you need to type up the warning label on the side of your shampoo, add far more adjectives, and turn it in to the Terrible Poetry Contest for this month. You have till this Thursday to enter!
Written in response to Carrot Ranch‘s prompt: balloons on a bumper
September 12, 2022, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about balloons on a bumper. Is it a spectacle, an occasion, an eccentricity? Why are the balloons there? Who is involved? Go where the prompt leads!
…I am asking, for some kind of creative writing, using the image above, and a random number hmm, lets see, 28.
So further to that, I want a piece of creative writing that is twenty-eight words onlynot more or less, but exactly 28, not including the title. And don’t get clever with the title, by making it a long one, the title must be of 5 words or fewer. It can be poetry or prose.
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.