WINNER of the A Mused Poetry Contest 10/9/2020

Just in time for Halloween, this week’s challenge was to write the wittiest message inside your next anniversary card. So, who wrote the wittiest?

Unaltered By Time, by Michael B. Fishman
148,920 hours since we said, “I do”,
and honey, baby, I still love you.

You always fight fair, you sometimes let me win.
And who really cares if you’re no longer thin?

You’re the mother of my children and one day you’ll agree,
that it’s probably a good thing that the kids look like me.

You’re the one and only entry in my little black book,
and it’s never been a problem that you really can’t cook.

Your eyes are as bright as that very first day,
and it doesn’t bother me that your hair is all gray.

All these years later, and I happy I met ‘ya?
Every minute, every day, oh sweetheart, you betcha.

Congratulations, Fishman, on a-musing me! You won for the clever, terrible, almost-sweet mentions to your sweetheart.

Others went a similar direction. Others, still, went farther for a good laugh. Read and enjoy:

Untitled, by Trent McDonald
Happy Anniversary!
(Only 4 days late)
Did I tell you today
That you look great!?

And can you believe
It’s been 10 years?
So full of smiles
(And full of tears…)
I remember that day
Oh so very well
(A party the night before,
I still felt like Hell.)

But you were beautiful
In your gown and vail
But my hung-over mind
Was only thinking of some tai..(BLEEP! – sorry, keeping it PG 😉 )

But overall it was
A day from Heaven
Even if the rings were forgotten
By my best man, Kevin

And since that best of days
When you were made my wife
I’ve counted my blessings
So thankful that you are in my life!

(Did I make it up to you
With my poetry?
Will you please unlock the door
And perhaps forgive me?)

Untitled, by Jon
Dear, Oh dear,
Another year!
Let me be clear:
I want to share,
as many as you dare!

An Anniversary Messsage, by H.R.R. Gorman
They say marriage is about sparks,
About that someone who in the dark
Sets your mind and loins aflame.
But isn’t that meager? Lame?

I’ve learned in this blissful year
That’s it’s more like cracking a beer
Open and accepting farts
Are made by those with good hearts.

So while I take a hot shower,
You grunt on the throne with power.
It’s the sign of your loving care
That you keep pooping and don’t stare.

Happy Anniversary!

Untitled, by Hobbo
Married now for fifty year
And I still think you’re hot
So, love is in the air, my dear
When you say,”Yes. Why not?”

Aunty Jess, by Mister Bump
To write this prompt, it wasn’t hard,
I hardly ever send a card.
My family is very scant,
Except down under, have an aunt.

Another aunt in Lancashire,
She’s eighty now, delightful dear,
Her birthday now is round about,
I’d better pull my finger out!

The card’s awaiting me to send,
My missus made it last weekend,
Better than I could have bought,
But to the message, gave no thought.

No flow’ry message was supplied,
Just “Happy Birthday” stamped inside,
As long as there’s no writer’s cramp,
All I’m waiting for’s a stamp.

Must keep my cool, not overkeen,
Her birthday’s not ’til Hallowe’en,
By then must break out from my bubble,
If card is late, I’ll be in trouble!

Untitled, by Deb Whittam
Roses are red
Violets are blue
We’ve grown old together
What are we going to do?

Hard of hearing,
You snore, I fart,
Thirty years together
It’s way too late to part

Untitled, by Gary
So sorry this card is late

So sorry I’m a bit overweight

I thought we had an anniversary last year

Do we really get them every year, my dear

Just 122 words is perfect for a food shopping list

Or divorce papers which I have chosen to miss

I’ve really got no idea why you put up with me

Especially as I’ve just spilled coffee over your settee

Untitled, by Ruth Scribbles
Thirty years ago

We tied the knot

You promised peaches

That’s all I got

Always on the cards, by Over Soil
Last second writing “All my love” so cursory,
Time and again made us forget each anniversary,
For us, protecting trees was always on the cards,
So what better than a trip to a nearby plant nursery.

Untitled, by Ellen Best
I love your beard … when its not there.
And the shine … that’s not hair.
The way that you snore sounded sweet
Well until, the first time it woke me from sleep.

I love the ring in your nose
The way you bite at your toes
Because you can’t be arsed,
to get the clippers off the shelf.

I like all the things that you do,
But you never bag the dogs poo.
Now that might make me mad,
just a bit.
I am glad we got wed,
Though you spent a week in bed
Because of jet lag
As I recall you to say.

Romance is not dead
We’ll have adventures you said,
So we married on a beach in the bay
Even the bomb squad didn’t ruin our day.

—–

Photo by Asad Photo Maldives on Pexels.com

Thanks for playing!! Return tomorrow for next week’s prompt.

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

©2020 The poets, and their respective works

The A Mused Poetry Contest 10/3 – 10/9/2020

Welcome, one and all, to the A Mused Poetry Contest! We are very serious about humor here.

These are the specifics for this week:

  1. At Ellen’s suggestion, the Theme is the wittiest message inside your next anniversary card. (And, coincidentally, happy anniversary to her and her husband!)
  2. The Length needs to be short and sweet and easy on the ink. Let’s keep it under 122.5 words.
  3. Rhymes are a popular and catchy way to sell greeting cards, but it’s not a requirement for this contest.
  4. The Rating can be PG-13 or cleaner (please avoid cussing).
  5. The years have been kind to your sweetheart …or, maybe not. Either way, make him/her laugh. They’ve put up with you this long, after all…

You have till 10:00 a.m. MST next Friday (October 9) to submit a poem.

Use the form below to stay anonymous for a week.

Otherwise, for a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments. Drop a comment if you try to link back and it doesn’t show up within a day.

—–

Have a wonderful anniversary!

—–

Photo by Asad Photo Maldives on Pexels.com

©2020 Chel Owens

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest 2/28/2020

My apologies, as usual, for the lateness of posting. As such, no more dallying.

The winner is:

Anniversary threnody

by Bruce Goodman

Today is our anniversary
And I’m just writing to say
I hate your guts.
No ifs or buts;
I hate your guts.
And God knows
You’ve plenty of guts –
Not courage but great wads of fat
Hanging over the top of your belt
Like a petrified tsunami
Brought about by eating too much pastrami.

We had known each other for almost two whole days,
And when you left
I was bereft.
That was a week ago today
And although me and me dog
Don’t want to flog
A dead horse, on the way out you should’ve known
That you were driving over my precious drone.

Congratulations, Bruce! You are (once again!) the most terrible poet of the week!

I had a good four or five poems I considered for the winner. They used different terrible elements, though all included a terrible subject. Bruce rose to first for his continued, annoying rhyming of “guts/buts/guts/guts” and his mis-metering overall.

If you’re looking for more love and nostalgia (and have issues), here are the rest:

Transcripts Used by the Defense at the Trial

by Trent P. McDonald

Happy Anni, my dear
Let’s celebrate and have a beer!
I know you like fine wine
But tonight a Bud is fine
I’ll even pay the fine since double-“A” says “No!”
That’s one club I think I’ll blow
I’m not off the wagon, dear one
I just want a little Anniversary fun!
Yeah, I know keeping me straight is your mission
Maybe I’ll just sneak some booze when I’m out fishin’
Didn’t I tell you about it?
The guys rented a boat and seven of us will fit!
Yeah, it’s later I’m going to catch some fishes
And you can stay home and wash all the dishes
Since I invite the gang over for lunch
Hurry and cook something for my bunch!
What’d you mean I’m leaving my paddle as I go up the creek
Since we’ve been married just a week?
You should dance and sing a song
I’ve never committed to anything quite this long!
So happy Anni, my wife
And just think, this is how it will be the rest of your life!!

—–

Love Puppies

by The Abject Muse

And they said it wouldn’t last.

Some days went so fast!

But others went so slow

I wanted to slit my throat.

All in all as time goes by

with lots of other fish to fry

and as I end another fling

I wonder what the next six will bring.

Perhaps we’ll fall deeper in love,

with lots of help from Up Above.

Or perhaps like Charles Bukowski penned

“Love is a Dog from Hell,” (Amen).

—–

Anniversary

by Bryntin

there have been many mrs bryntins
I think you are the fifth
but you’re the one that’s lasted best
and didn’t run off with the blacksmith
like the last three did
what he lacks in wit
he makes up for with width
but they only really run off with him
because he rhymed with fifth

anyway

we have made it to ten years
which for me is new frontiers
and I know for you
it is also new
so how have we lasted so well?
I don’t know, I must be hell
to live with
but you are largely
the woman of my dreams
you make great tea
and bring it with custard creams

do you remember
when you made me propose?
and due to mitigating circumstance
like the pain for example
I said yes
and asked you to marry me?
can’t believe that ten years
has passed without too many tears
of frustration so well really

we go together
like fish and chips
you all crinkly
and me battered
like strawberries and cream
you fat and full of calories
me fruity but likely macerated
like punch and judy
which also doesn’t work out for me that well

so happy anniversary my love
I know you’ll be expecting a present
so…
what do you mean it’s not till next month?

bugger

—–

Anniversaries

by Deb Whittam

It was love at first sight.
I knew you were for me.
The moment I tugged you on.
My heart expanded and I ceased to be
Without fear, without heartache,
You were so perfect, I could not
Believe. That I had chosen you,
And you were there for me.
We went everywhere together,
Up hills, down hills, onto the dirt.
Round the corners. In the rain, the wind,
The hail, the sunshine, the darkness ….
You were such a right fit, I felt
Like I was floating away but now as we
Reach our 3 month anniversary
We have begun to drift apart.
Seams are fraying, your soul is growing
Hard, you have lost your bounce and I
Am losing mine. So perhaps we should
Part? I will remember you always,
As Adrenaline 22/11/2019 – 429km
Buy Runners. I will love you always.

—–

A gem of a marriage

by Geoff LePard

We married young and liked our fun
As do healthy boys and girls
We stayed quite flirty at year thirty
Romping on a bed of pearls.

We didn’t brag cos we were glad
To bounce around like newbies
We’d kept it naughty at year forty
So we deserved those rubies.

Time has passed, we can’t be arsed
And faking it’s not clever.
Still the wife’s still frisky at year sixty
So these diamonds are for Eva.

—–

Perce P Cassidy and the Sunblock Kid

by Doug Jacquier

60 years they been ridin’ together
only these days they ride by rail,
Perce’s face like Nebuchadnezzar,
The Kid a whiter shade of pale.

Despite all that Hollywood drivel
These two are indefatigable
Although The Kid has developed a dribble
And Perce has a ring that’s inflatable.

Just when The Kid thought he’d forgotten
Perce flourished a diamond ring
It’s origins of course misbegotten
But The Kid always loved the bling.

Now don’t go round town flashin’
that ring, old Perce he roughly croaks
Folks might get the wrong idea, Kid,
That we’re not pure manly blokes.

The Kid smiled and said he’d ne’er tell
And closer to Perce he did scootch
And whispered into his ear-like shell
‘Oh, Perce, you were always so Butch.’

—–

Anniversary

by Joanne the Geek

I want you to really know right now
This day I’m going to make you go wow
Surprise! It is our anniversary today
We’ve been together for one whole day!

I treasure every moment I’m with you
And I really hope you feel the same way too
I just love following you around
Even when you seem to go to ground

I just can’t wait when we dine tonight
With your skin looking lovely and white
I love it so much I’d wear it myself
Or possibly leave it dangling from a shelf

Anyways, this night I have a big surprise in store
It will probably make you drop your jaw!
I’m going to ask you to marry me
Because I think we are truly meant to be

So please say yes because I don’t know what I’d do
Without you, say no you’ll really end up in the poo

—–

Cheers

by Peregrine Arc

Annually I greet thee
Laying among the leaves scattered on the ground
It’s almost winter here now, you would have liked it.
Frost in window corners, school buses making their rounds.
It’s too bad you smacked your lips one too many times at the dinner table
And belched Beethoven’s 5th at every chance you had.
Maybe I could’ve overlooked that and the many other troubling manners you possessed.
If only you had faster reflexes than I when I sat behind the wheel…

Ah, well, ’tis life.
Ten feet to you under ground, I toast my wine glass to you above.
A delightful pig lies here, sending up a treadmarked, contented burp.
I picked Merlot this year.
From me to you, cheers. 🐖

—–

Little willie

by Ruth Scribbles

Little willie got married
He always felt harried
He said to his wife
Just stab me with a knife

Sixty years later
He said to his mater
Why did you marry me
You could have had Larry

—–

An Awful Anniversary Assembly.

by Ellen Best

Sixty years, well here’s to it, I raise a glass; into it, I spit.
Jerk my head to call him near, passed his glass feigned a cheer.
He swallowed with greed; saliva and all. I curl my lip; soon he’ll fall.

A drunk, a bully full of hate; tonight, they will see his colours
spread out on the dinner plate. I served tripe and jellied eels.
This food, both banal and grey; like him, had seen a better day.

I smile at those around my cloth. His cronies and the hangers-on
those that doff their cap, those that think him a super chap.
“Please sit” I cry. Having previously dressed his tripe
with little crushed garlic to disguise the arsenic’s taste.
It was with finality he gorged in ungentlemanly haste.

—–

Thank you all, so much! These were a great lift at the end of a busy day. Please check in tomorrow for next week’s prompt.

adika-suhari-SIQmdpHteVg-unsplash

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

terrible-poetry-contest

©2020 The poets, and their respective poems.

The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest 2/22 – 2/28/2020

Welcome to the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest #60! I can hardly believe we’ve lasted this long. There’ve been some rough patches, some thrown dishes, but I think we’ve reached a mutual affection along the way.

Although we’ve had a long relationship, you may wish for some instructions regarding bad poetry. A brief, helpful outline may be found here. Bad poetry is an art, much like sculpting with peanut butter or coloring with tomatoes.

Got it? Oh, well. Here are the specifics for this week:

  1. Apparently, the big six-oh means DIAMONDS. So, your Topic is anniversaries. You can write about #60, #80, or even #6 months -you romantic fool, you.
  2. Keep the Length between 5 and 205 words.
  3. Rhyming isn’t everything, but can help the cringe level of a poem.
  4. Geez, man; just make it terrible. Make your 80-years-strong sweetheart question the day she said, “I do,” even after 80.08333 years of putting up with you.
  5. This is about love and anniversaries, right? I’m therefore cool with a G-Rating. (You can be clever without being explicit. You’ve been at this 59 times, ya know…)

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (February 28) to submit a poem.

Use the form below if you want to be anonymous for a week.

If not, and for a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments. If you link back from your blog, leave a comment if it doesn’t show up in a day.

Have fun!

adika-suhari-SIQmdpHteVg-unsplash

Photo credit: Adika Suhari

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest: Anniversary Edition

For our one year celebration, entrants did not disappoint. You all made choosing a winner terribly difficult.

Which may be why there is a three-way tie:

My son is Not called Adolf

by Giselle Marks

I have five Kids but didn’t give birth
Stop laughing, that is not a Cause for mirth
And Each squalling BRAT had to B named
Ex and myself could not agree, Adoph! Never! You’ve no shame!
Don’t dig the Garden or my ex you’ll unearth.

—–

Birth

by Bruce

When Bruce said he’d like to give birth
It created considerable mirth.
There’s no need to curse –
Not a baby but verse
Except when it came to creating a possible concluding line to his exquisite limerick he couldn’t think of anything of worth.

—–

Untitled piece

by Michael Fishman

The man and the woman were naked
the man said, “If I’m not mistaken,
I find you attractive
so how’s about we get active
and make ourselves one beautiful kid?”

Congratulations, Giselle, Bruce, and Michael! You are the most terrible poets of the week!

Giselle’s poem employed my recommended elements: bad structure, some spelling/grammar issues, and messed-up meter. Bruce’s, meanwhile, mostly nailed first with his aberrant final line. Michael submitted several poems, and this one rose through the ranks for its mis-meter and non-rhyming last line.

As is usual, the others are more than a close second:

Untitled piece

by Trent P. McDonald

Telling poems with mirth
About how I came to this Earth
To meet Chelsea’s rating
I’ll skip what happens while dating
And get to the part about birth

—–

Untitled piece

by Trent P. McDonald

Those dirty limericks, so bold
Say where babies come from, I’m told
With language so crude
Some think it quite rude
But without sex, there’d be no one to hold

—–

Untitled piece

by Deb Whittam

Grunt groan, all I can do is moan
Wail cry, all the while
Scream shriek, beyond relief
Then you ask, what’s my beef?
Childbirth, it’s beyond belief.

—–

There once was a tiny ball…

by Tiredhamster

There was once a tiny ball
Who decided to end it all
So with all its might
It squeezed real tight
Now we dance upon its pall

—–

Ooh, Baby

by Michael Fishman

Their bodies they did so adorn
and maybe they watched them some porn
the months they rolled by
nine of them to quantify
and then a little baby was born.

—–

I knew this gal from Fort Worth
she ate pancakes drowned in Mrs. Butterworth
She made me an offer
her body she did proffer
with an end result of her giving birth

—–

“Wanna roll?” she said, and I said “Maybe”.
“Is it safe,” I said, “You won’t give me rabies?”
She said, “It’s OK, we can skip the foreplay
I’m just looking to have me a baby.”

—–

He’s generally a really nice gent
She’s honest and won’t misrepresent.
One fine day they wed
then rushed home and into bed
now they’re counting the days ‘till their blessed event.

—–

The Neon Nose

by Susan

I’ve a birthmark upon nose

and in the dark it glows

I want to remove it

but the doctors say screw it

for when my nose runs I’ll know where it goes!

—–

TBD (terrible birth diatribe)

by Ruth Scribbles

When Chelsea decided to write
She thought “ah me thinks they should fight”
She birth-ed this mess
Named terrible poetic-ick-ness
It’s all just a blather and blight

—–

Borne

by Violet Lentz

Borne more of angst than understanding
Employing methods, far off from upstanding
The young anarchists ploy
Was to seek and destroy
Whilst obtaining all they were demanding

The first threw himself on the tile
At Walmart, in the Christmas toy aisle
He screamed and he pitched
Held his breath till he twitched
As his mother did her best to smile

The second locked himself in the loo
And screamed out, “There’s nothing you can do!
I will not wear that Tee!
Kids will make fun of me!”
Till his mother, her demand she withdrew

Now sister thought herself a bit slicker
She’d not fight mom, instead she’d just trick her
Off to study she’d go
And little would mother know
Till she came home awash in malt liquor!

—–

Untitled piece

by Gary

Boris Johnson was asked how many kids he has fathered
It wasn’t a surprise when the posh fart spectacularly dithered
Rich entitled Eton Boy has had fingers in many pies
Trouble is that people are starting to see through his web of lies
He may well have the last laugh by making us all Brexit buggered

—–

Untitled piece

by The Bag Lady

There once was a pregnant lady

Not happy to birth more babies

A control split the seam

Now she’s just acting mean

Too bad for the coming baby.

No more children said to her hubby

He insists on getting more huggy

So now she is groaning

With birth pain she’s moaning

And here comes a baby so chubby.

—–

Whoops

by Richmond Road

By day she’s disarmingly mild
At night unexpectedly wild
Unpredictability frisky
Ill advisedly risky
So now she’s expecting a child

—–

Thank you all, so much!! I will not be posting a new prompt tomorrow. Please come back at the first of the year (2020) for the next one.

nick-fewings-kmLUcvhqhSo-unsplash

Giselle, Bruce, and Michael: D. Wallace Peach created this graphic that you can use (if you want) for a badge of honor as the winner:

©2019, the respective authors and their poem(s)

The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest: Anniversary Edition

Greetings to all: newcomers, oldcomers, midcomers! Welcome to the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest #52. For those familiar with math, this means we are at ONE YEAR of terrible poetry.

paul-m-0ALhqKA4XTc-unsplash.jpg

For those still needing some direction on what terrible poetry is, I’ve written a basic outline here. Got it? Great! Let’s move on.

Here are the specifics for this week:

  1. Topic: Birth. Childbirth’s a bit high on my mind, or the birthday of this contest, or …go where the prompt takes you.
    For kicks, let’s also do a limerick.
  2. The traditional Length of a limerick is five lines: AABBA, in anapestic meter.
  3. Limericks totally Rhyme. See the line above this one for direction.
  4. Make it terrible! Seriously; that’s the point of the whole contest.
  5. Keep the Rating PG/PG-13ish (or cleaner).

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (November 22) to submit a poem.

Use the form below if you want to be anonymous for a week.

If not, and for a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments. If you use pingbacks by including a link on your blog, leave a comment if that link doesn’t show up within a day.

Have fun!

 

 

nick-fewings-kmLUcvhqhSo-unsplash.jpg

Photo credit: Paul M
Nick Fewings

Happy Second Blogiversary!

I’d like to interrupt everyone’s regularly-scheduled program to acknowledge my blog’s second birthday. It’s growing up so fast!

2 Years Blogging

Two years ago; I timidly typed, edited, edited, edited, edited, and edited my first blog post. The idea behind it came from a dream. I stressed so much about what people would think and how many awards I would garner from its publication…

I also set a goal to publish a blog post every day. To get myself going, I re-posted thoughts and stories I’d originally written for Facebook.

After a few months, I broke out and started swimming on my own. Everything I type is original and formed solely for the blog these days. If not, I note otherwise.

I’d like to thank Charli of Carrot Ranch, Geoff of TanGental, James of The Bipolar Writer Collaborative Mental Health Blog, Stephen and Fionnuala of Fractured Faith Blog, Nitin of Fighting the Dying Light, P’Arc of Peregrine Arc, and Frank of Frank Prem Poetry for giving me opportunities to share my writings to their sites. You helped me feel my creations might be valuable.

I would also be remiss in not acknowledging all of the friends and fellow writers I have made since beginning. You know who you are, especially since I know I’d miss specifically naming a few due to Pregnancy Brain. Thank you for e-mails, complimentary messages, sarcastic comments, and camaraderie.

And (unless I forgot anyone else), thank you to my real-life friends who actually read what I write and don’t shun me publicly. You’re the best.

One Year!

We’d like to interrupt your regularly-scheduled programming for this small announcement: Today is my one year anniversary of blogging!!!!!

For 365 days I met my goal of writing a post EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.

I consider this my true blogiversary, since this site was my first dive into the wonderful world of bloggerhood. At first, I thought I’d post on here and no one would see. Over time I’d work up to writing so frequently and so well that talent agents would contact me and I’d be the undiscovered superstar that childhood bullies and bad-grade English teachers would regret ever doubting.

Instead, I’ve connected with a much better thing: other people who also share a love for writing, a tendency toward mental illness, or simply a quirky perspective I understand. The potential for stardom may still be out there, but have to find it. I have to do a lot more work than show up at my computer an hour before midnight, blearily trying to think of a rhyme for Engrish.

If you’re still with me, I also need to announce another announcement. I will no longer write every day. Frankly, the stress has been high with things like, say, four active children and housekeeping and a side job and breathing in and out. Yes, I will regularly post; no, it shan’t be daily.

Thank you so much to The Academy and such, but most so to my family for surviving and supporting and to ALL OF YOU reading my words right now, before now, and in the future.