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 🙄

—–

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

—–

©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

—–

©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

The A Mused Poetry Contest 1/9/2021 – 2/5/2021 (AKA 9/1/21-5/2/21)

Life’s not been great for quite a few humans recently, myself included. If I were a mature, serene type, I’d likely suggest a mature, serene acceptance and a moving forward with healing. …I’m not really that type, though, so this month’s theme is:

  1. Snarky Rant. That’s right: a jaded, sarcastic, fed up, perhaps even nihilistic poem in an “I stick it to you, sucky events!” manner.
  2. The Length is your call. This is something you get to call the shots on, after all!
  3. Rhyming is also up to you.
  4. The Rating’s still PGish to keep general audiences happy, but there are always asterisks or near-fudges for situations like this.
  5. Despite the he** you may have endured, make us laugh. As we lay, prone, in the minefield of calamities, help us hold our bruised ribs in a knowing and painful release of the bad times we all relate to.

You have till 10:00 a.m. MST next MONTH (February 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. Let me know if your linkback does not show up because WordPress is having issues with that.

—–

Enjoy.

Photo by Joshua Mcknight from Pexels

—–

©2021 Chel Owens

WINNER of the A Mused Poetry Contest 12/11/2020

After traveling the vast wastes of my comments section and e-mail only to find a few more entries floating amongst a specific search in the Reader’s Feed, I nominate WordPress for some New Year’s Resolutions….

But, that’s not why we’re here! We’re here (unless you’re lost) to name the poet who wrote the most amusing limerick about resolutions! And that is:

Untitled, by Ruth Scribbles
The girl said, “Oh no! I refuse!”
You simply just want to bemuse
I vow I won’t change
I love being strange
My nose wants to sport two tattoos

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

Understandably, many took this opportunity to reflect on a serious year full of serious things. Of those attempting humor, I selected Ruth’s because her surprise ending left me snickering the most. Well done.

Maybe you’ll re-think your goals this year after reading all the entries:

Untitled, by Richmond Road
Is it time for this year’s resolution?
To atone for last year’s contribution?
My performance next year?
No better, I fear
I am lazy. Don’t expect a solution

Untitled, by Richmond Road
Here is this year’s resolution
We’re dismantling the constitution
You can’t run. You can’t hide
We have reached the low tide
Step aside. This is a revolution

Untitled, by Matt
There once was a fat guy named Matt
Who resolved to lose weight and that’s that
Shoved his cat aside, and to his wife he lied
that his cat food diet is what he takes in stride 😻

You say you want a resolution, we-e-ll, by Doug Jacquier
There is an old man from Australia
Whose wisdom will not falter or fail ya
New years is his forte
So list to his thought, ay?
‘Resolving is useless, inter alia’.

Untitled, by Frank Hubeny
Those demons look deeply demented.
Based on deeds, none of them have repented.
Resolutions to keep
Are not won on the cheap.
With such demons you’ll turn up tormented.

How I wish I could make resolutions
That would stick when they’re stuck in solutions
When solutions go weak
Resolutions will streak
At the cost of some nasty pollutions.

Every plan I attempt goes to pot.
Every dream I cook up has a spot.
Resolutions today
May resolve in some way,
But they’re not, though, the kind that I’ve got.

Untitled, by Willowdot
This year I can say without doubt.
Is defunct and driven us all up the spout.
The virus has plagued us
Upset and betrayed us
It’s enough to make us all pout.

So what will happen next year
Maybe more of the same I fear
So I vow to sleep
My council to keep
Until it’s time for 2022 to appear.

But have I resolutions you ask.
I will definitely be wearing a mask
I shall keep my distance
And leave nothing to chance
Keeping covid free will be my task.

So what’s in store for you
Is ignoring the rules what you’ll do.
Or will you like me
Cover, wash and flee
Steadfastly ignoring advice that’s not true.

So really at the end of the day
There’s not much more I can say.
The Vaccine is here
Hold out your arm dear
And let’s kick the old Covid away.

Untitled, by Tnkerr
There once was a girl with a toothpick
Who resolved to write nary a limerick
She gave a small laugh
And slipped into her bath
A nude poet who’s anacoluthic

A New Year’s Resolution, by Hobbo
Ecological, his resolution
Eliminate foul air pollution
He stopped eating beans
Cabbage or greens
An effective, but small, contribution.

The Dissolution Of Hope, by Geoff Le Pard
Annually we solemnly resolve
Our past crimes to try and absolve
Yet we suffer conniptions
When our plans become fictions
And all hopes of success dissolve

Re-resolved, by Obbverse
It’s time to repeat the same damned vow I swore
Like last year, and all too many years years before,
It’s my traditional annual end-of-year vow-
‘Next year I’ll be a better man than I am now,’
So many broken promises, still plenty more in store.

Untitled, by Sara
On the treadmill I walk, my flubber a-flapping
Think I would have lost some with all that Christmas wrapping
So, here I am,
Here it goes,
The chafing on my thighs as red as Rudolph’s nose

Untitled, by BS
A cat spoke up with meows
His resolutions he sealed with vows
To catch more mice
Would be nice
But all he got was cows

Untitled, by Bruce
My New Year’s resolution’s a vow,
Though some smell a rat or a cow.
It’s the one day a year
When I shed all my gear
And reluctantly get in the shower.

Untitled, by Rugby843
It is late in the year 2020
Of faulty leaders we have had plenty
C’mon 2021
Get the job done
So we have a new year entente

You’ll have to say it all the time you know, by Herb
The end of the year should be fun
And that year had its place in the sun
But it sends the mind reeling
The terrible feeling
of saying twenty-twenty won

Untitled, by Arthur Richardson
The trouble with trying to be humorous
is that senses of wit are quite numerous.
This nonsense solution,
with a rhymed resolution,
is a punchline that stays unassumerous.

Untitled, by Minzkhaitan
Winter chills and the virus development never stops me to look forward
Blanket of hope gives the warmth of the new tomorrow
Child in me gets excited to set the new plans upright before we takeoff from 2020 to 2021

Untitled, by Deb Whittam
A middle aged woman named Debbie,
Had gotten kind of heavy.
She resolved to lose weight,
Began running every day before eight
Now she has more aches than an old chevy.

—–

Photo by freestocks.org on Pexels.com

Now, resolve to return tomorrow for next month’s prompt.

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

©2021 The poets, and their respective works

The A Mused Poetry Contest 12/12/2020 – 1/8/2021

A new year’s creeping up on us, and I think it’s time for some limericks.

  1. This month’s Theme is Resolutions.
  2. The Length is however long you need for a standard limerick: five lines of AABBA, in anapestic meter.
  3. You’re going to have to Rhyme; that’s what AABBA means…
  4. The Rating’s PGish. Yes, I’m aware of how these poems usually go. Be creative.
  5. And, above all, make us laugh. I want your life coach to drop his Downward Dog in convulsions of hysteria on his organic bamboo exercise mat.

You have till 10:00 a.m. MST next MONTH (January 8) 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. Leave a comment if your link-back doesn’t show up by midnight of the day you create it.

—–

Happy New Year!

Photo by freestocks.org on Pexels.com

—–

©2020/2021 Chel Owens

WINNER of the A Mused Poetry Contest 12/11/2020

Whew! One month ago, readers were challenged to write an a-musing Christmas newsletter poem. Humor and terrible poetry abounded, and one stood out as the winner:

Mabilene’s Christmas newsletter, by Doug Jacquier
Merry Christmas to all of you’s,
time for our annual catch up and news
We know you always look forward to this
so everyone here sends a big kiss. XXX

Hubby Dwayne knows it was really dumb-crazy
but since the lockdown he’s been a bit hazy.
Wore a mask to the bank and passed the teller a note;
six months in prison, that’s all he wrote.

Our eldest, Billie-Jean, she’s doing so well,
especially since she learned how to write and to spell.
She’s a Social Influencer now, raking in the money.
Praise the Lord, it’s the land of milk and honey.

Our boy, Nathaniel, is the world’s greatest nerd;
want a new app and you just say the word.
His latest is a thing of digital beauty;
Sort of a cross between the Bible and Call of Duty.

Young Charlene, well, she tries really hard
she’ll never be a whizz-kid or any sort of bard;
but I have to tell you she’s making considerable progress
on her ultimate goal: Member of Congress.

Old Mabel, our dog, she keeps pumping out litters
despite her bouts with the mange and the skitters.
Last winter we sold one to a damned fool yuppie;
it’s now in dog heaven, that poor slush puppie.

I’ll sign off now and wish ‘Season’s Greetings’
(I don’t want to miss one of my AA meetings).
Love to you all and always remember
I’ll be back in your mailbox this time next December.

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

As usual, I had great difficulty selecting one poem to win. Doug’s was clever, like others; followed a funny theme, like others; and it rhymed, like others. I chose his because I snorted at “[s]ort of a cross between the Bible and Call of Duty” and the lines involving “yuppie” and “slush puppie.”

Truly, all the others are a hilarious read as well:

Untitled, by Dumbestblogger
The dog died
Our RV broke down
We spent two weeks in Vegas
Retirement is fun

Untitled, by Trent McDonald
Hello
Friends and Foe
A few words
For you to know
It was a year of plenty
This 2020
It started slow,
But our fortunes continued to grow!
In March we sold TeePee
Each roll, ten and fifty!
In April a boom
Of selling lessons on Zoom
In May, for a price
We sent people to places quite nice
Each month we made more and more
Suckering both the rich and the poor
Cashing in on Covid fears
And rumors made in election years
Our fortunes soared
As people hid, quite bored
Trusting their luck
Sending us buck after buck
So you may moan
About being alone
About work being closed
And say the world is hosed
But I disagree
It was a great year, at least for me!
So in my holiday note
This year I’m gonna to gloat
For I am on the good list
For making money hand over fist
And sleep on bags of gold
From all of the garbage I sold
But don’t crawl to me
Looking for a present
Under your tree
I said I was smart
Not that I have a heart
There’ll be no money sent
Begged borrowed or lent
But don’t take it so hard
I did send you this card!
Merry Christmas (at least for me 😉 )!

The things that brought laughter this year, by Bruce
Aunt Mavis got covid and died.
The pot plant I got for my birthday died.
The cat died.
The canary died.
The kid’s interest in school died.
The eldest daughter’s marriage fell apart and died.
The car died.
We feel so out of place here where we live. I know that sounds dumb
But we’re thinking of moving to New York where we won’t stick out like a sore thumb.

Anus Horribilis – a bum year, by Geoff
Well 2020’s been one hell of a year
Though as you see it deserves one cheer.
In January our eldest lad
Decided to become a dad.
His wife however wasn’t happy
And strangled him with a unwashed nappy.
While we were dealing with that little trauma
Debbie our girl had her own drama.
She thought she’d do home repairs
But impaled herself on the stairs.
We entered March rather nervy
When we heard Aunt Joan had viral scurvy.
If that wasn’t bad enough,
Uncle Martin choked on snuff.
In April Grandpa called a meeting
To say ‘I’m gay’ though any joy was fleeting
As Grandma Susan showed her ire
By setting the old boy on fire.
May and June, they were grim
When cousin Mervin dissolved his twin
And my dear papa fared far worse
When too much beer caused his spleen to burst.
The months from July to September
Weren’t the sort you’d want to remember:
I broke a leg, Jane had conniptions
While Tiny Tom ate the kittens.
October promised to be better
We were given an Irish Setter
But sadly I must report
The bloody dog saw me in court:
Apparently I’m responsible
When he ripped out the postman’s tonsils.
I was bailed through November
Which brings us to December
Christmas looms;
We’re fighting the gloom.
I know many dear souls have passed away
And it will be quiet come Christmas Day.
But let’s try, shall we, to take the positives.
At least I’m not feeding my bloody relatives…

Christmas Catch All Ya’ll Up, by Obbverse
Hi guys, it’s time to keep ya’ll in the know,
With the festivities near we’ve horns to blow,
Folks keep sayin’ ‘times is hard, the ‘conomy’s shot’
But we’re happy as clams ’cause we got the lot.

My Jimbo’s gone up yet another pay grade-
He must’ve sold every pickup truck Jeep ever made,
The twins is gettin’ schooled and they’s top o’ the class,
We’re hopin,’ with luck, they’ll dredge up a C and pass!

Our Cody won the Jumbo Bear at the tri-county fair,
Took out them three ducks with two rounds to spare,
At the bake off my apple pie took out first prize as well;
The only blue ribbon you’ll see on this Southern belle.

Our Jolene’s playing Mother Mary in the nativity play,
Their damn Rodeo ain’t playing Joseph if I have my way,
No mistletoe kisses a’tween Jo Hatfield and Rodeo McCoy-
I sez ‘Jolene, you don’t have no truck with that bad boy.’

But then that dang new preacher had to up’n speak
‘Let’s try to forgive and forget, turn the other cheek,’
If I believed that liberal trash I’d be a’wineing at Mass-
This Southern Baptist knows Rodeo’s coveting Jolene’s ass.

Still, I must say they look good together, they act pretty tight,
They’ve practised at the Church Hall religiously every night,
Now Jo is a shining star as Mother Mary, positively glowing,
We’re praying, when Christmas comes Jo won’t be showing.

Christmas Newsletter, by Frank Hubeny
Larry’s Earth is on the Moon.
Greg’s might be on Mars.
Lulu’s livid with the news.
Sue shoots shooting stars.

I’m the final one who’s sane.
At least, I can pretend.
I have no time to rush away,
So Merry Christmas, friend!

The Christmas Email 🎄, by Willowdot
T’was the night before Christmas, I’m peeling the sprouts,
I’ll regret it tomorrow of that I’ve no doubts.
I’ve spent hours wrapping pressies for under the tree.
Everyones socially distancing so it’s up to me.
This year’s been a bummer so I thought let’s spread the joy
(cough) Here’s our news which is bound to annoy.
Let’s start with grandpa well he’s loosing the plot
he’s been stalking the estate quite a lot.
Since they said he can drive no more,
he been acting like a bear with a head that’s sore!
Hubby has been busy washing hands and making masks
when people get too close he takes them to task.
Jerome, Cathy and Hermione are fine,
in and out of school all the time.
Fighting over computer, laptop and tablet …all of them mine!
We’ve all had to isolate at different times ,
we’ve done as we’re told to avoid fines!
We’re all sick of watching the neighbours breaking the rules.
How will we ever be rid of this Covid surrounded by fools.
The chickens stopped laying last week,
the hamsters are missing we’ve not heard a squeak.
We’ve had our fair share of hospitals and Ambulances too.
But to fair in lockdown there’s not much to do!
My goodness is that the time,
I must get this sent then open the wine.
Merry Christmas to you and you bubble,
let’s hope 2021 is less trouble.
The Vaccine is coming we’ll all grow two heads..I don’t really care, in 100years we’ll all be dead!

The Christmas Newsletter, by Hobbo
So, if by chance you meet
And concern is in her voice
Our living on the street
Is environmental choice

Untitled, by Deb Whittam
Ho, ho, ho, it’s Christmas yet again,
But in line with new protocols,
I’m implementing social distancing.

Split shifts on the Christmas line,
One and a half reindeers apart please,
Hey Elf one, was that a sneeze?

And ensure you use hand sanitizer,
Yes Dasher, on arrival and after breaks,
It’s vital, for heavens sakes.

And Elves no sharing tools, no sharing anything,
And if you’re feeling ill at all,
Please don’t come in and please toss tissues in the bin.

What?  Recompense for lost shifts?
Please, who do you think I am?
If you want to negotiate, Santa just ain’t in.

Untitled, by Ruth Scribbles
Dearest ones!

Sublime greetings to you and yous
Our CASTLE is fab, how is your zoo?

Hasn’t 2020 been the best?
We are special and blessed!

We have accomplished so many wonderful things.

Our gloriously framed masterpieces
Adorn the walls of our arboretum

Our new website for virtual viewing
We are not bragging, it’s full of cooing
(httd://weWouldNeverBrag.kiss)

While our paintings were drying,
We each learned a language.
Now we have zoom pals,
What an advantage!

We are just awesome
Our talents just blossomed

I wrote my memoir. Jim started the podcast “we are the greatest.”

We have enjoyed our together time-
Isolation, is the best!

We learned to be perfectly positively toxic.

I, for one, will be sorry to see 2020 go!

Love,
from our castle to your shack,

Ruth and Jim

Untitled, by Brutus Richmond
Another Christmas coming
And thanks, I’m doing fine
No cards are in the mail
Santa’s gone online
There’ll be no ho, ho, hoing
They’ll be no reindeer tasks
I won’t hear Christmas carols
The choir are wearing masks
There’ll be no get togethers
Forget about your rights
A blessed social distancing
Preventing family fights
For me it’s bar and humbug
On just another day
A shocking year is finishing
Another on its way
So that’s my Christmas greeting
For whatever that is worth
But I pray for all your happiness
I pray for peace on earth

—–

Photo by freestocks.org on Pexels.com

If that doesn’t send you off in the right holiday mood, I don’t know what will! Return, tomorrow, for next month’s prompt.

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

©2020 The poets, and their respective works

The Jones Family Newsletter, poetic edition

Ohhhhh, you better not doubt
You better not sigh
You better not pout
When you see all our truths –
The Jones Fam’ly is writing a poem!

We’ve written this list
We’re sure it’s concise
To make you all pissed that we’re writing these facts –
The Jones Fam’ly is sending a poem!

Steve sees no end to dividends;
Sue’s sponsors all love her;
The twins won State, the dog eats steak;
Oh, the upper class concurs:

The Joneses are out
Out, out of the sky
We’ve got some real clout
And we’ve got a few honest claims –
Our family just sent you a poem!

There’s still time to enter the A Mused Poetry Contest. The deadline is this Friday!

©2020 Chel Owens

Photo by Taryn Elliott on Pexels.com