WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest 4/10/2020

That’s it. You are all fired. I asked for terrible! Terrible! You are all too good to be terrible! Even the terrible poems worked well!

I had to pick a winner, of course, and that is:

Senryu

by Joem18b

the slow loris moves
so slowly … s l o w l y … s l o w l y
it’s why it’s called that

AND

My really bad Senryū

by Bruce Goodman

My fluffy pet moth
Flew into the candle flame on my dining room table
And went Szzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

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

Since all y’all are fantastic poets who can’t seem to drop that skill for this highly prestigious contest, I chose Joem and Bruce for being the best at some mis-meter play in their senryu.

Congratulations, all the rest. You are hilarious and wonderful, too:

Hammy

by Susan Zutautas

Hammy the hamster
Was such a little prankster
He hid in dad’s shoe

When dad stepped into
Are you ready for this one
Squish, Hammy no more

—–

Sayonara

by Ruth

Under rubber treads
Grey fur mangled and matted
Roadkill rat squashed flat

—–

The Daredevil

by The Abject Muse

Armadillo lies
in the middle of highway
plays chicken with cars

—–

Untitled piece

by Jon

slimy salamander
vivid yellow patterning
in dank dark earth

—–

Untitled piece

by Trent McDonald

Like Lennie he kept mice
But he didn’t like the soft fur
They were for his snake

Fly safely lands near him
Gentle mind behind gentle eye; eats grass
I shoot damn thing dead

—–

Untitled pieces

by Doug Jacquier

In senryuility,
I can hate baby meerkats
openly at last.

Spring brings things
incredibly edible to my mouth
like suckling duckling.

Bees sleep in honey
queening it over us all
and then sting in spring.

—–

Samurai

by H.R.R. Gorman

I lay down beneath
Falling Sakura blossoms.
I’m best samurai.

—–

Animal Senryū

by Rob Stroud

Lacking lemming views.
One rodent eschewed the cliff.
Choosing life instead.

The sun warmed his skin.
Mom said to stay underground.
Robins welcomed him.

Praying mantis grooms,
Plus cannibalistic brides.
Make short marriages.

—–

Untitled piece

by Deb Whittam

night turns midnight black
i am lulled into slumber
eyelids close, frog croaks

—–

Animal Senryu

by Bryntin

tiny like a mouse
with intermittent squeaking
wife loudly ages

my dog has no nose
how does it smell then? you ask
it doesn’t really

madly itch and scratch
tiny passengers leap off
the fleabag miaows

—–

Current Address

by Obbverse

Wee mouse, at home in our wall
Gnawed at our wiring
Such a shocking end.

—–

Disguise

by Ruth Scribbles

Grandmothers are old
Disguised mothers of youngsters
Not able to crawl

—–

Thanks for poeming! Tune in tomorrow for next week’s prompt.

chicks-chicken-small-poultry-162164.jpeg

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Winners: 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 4/4 – 4/10/2020

Welcome to the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest! We’re here to disappoint expectations and offend poetic sensibilities. Would you like to play? Click here for some pointers, and read the specifics below:

  1. I’ve recently learned a new type of poem: a senryu. Apparently, I’ve written them by accident because a senryu is a haiku gone bad.* And, around here, ‘bad’ is just where we want to go…
    So, the Topic is a senryu about a small, innocuous animal of your choice. Since it’s a senryu, humor us. Darkly humor us, if you can.
  2. From Wikipedia, regarding Length: “three lines with 17 morae (or “on”, often translated as syllables, but see the article on onji for distinctions).” Again, like haiku.
  3. These are not the sort of poem that rhymes.
  4. Make it terrible. The great Karai Senryū (柄井川柳, 1718–1790) must roll in his grave after reading your poem, somehow managing to impale you dishonorably on his Katana.
  5. Keep the Rating PG or cleaner. I said “innocuous,” after all.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (April 10) 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 a pingback and do not see the link within a day, let me know.

Have fun!

chicks-chicken-small-poultry-162164.jpeg

These ought to be harmless enough for a few weeks.

Photo credit: Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

Downed Senryu

Fluffed Chicks or duckies?
Raised for his down-filled pillow –
Turns out they were chicks.

©2020 Chelsea Owens

 

*From Wikipedia: “Senryū tend to be about human foibles while haiku tend to be about nature, and senryū are often cynical or darkly humorous while haiku are more serious. Unlike haiku, senryū do not include a kireji (cutting word), and do not generally include a kigo, or season word.”

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest 2/21/2020

Well! Last time I hosted a Little Willie poetry contest, I felt most of the entrants didn’t quite grasp the concept -or were too afraid to twist poetry that morbidly. I can safely say that was not the case this time around.

But, first, the winners:

Mrs. Bobbit’s Revenge

by Doug Jacquier

Their wedded bliss was well-famed
But Little Willie’s oats were untamed
So like any good wife
She took out a knife
And now Little Willie is very well-named.

—–

Circular Logic

by masercot

Willie said, “This kitchen work’ll
make me walk around in circles”
His mother answered, “One word more
and I’ll nail your other foot to the floor”

Congratulations, Doug and Charles! You are the most terrible poets of the week!

As I said, these were some fantastic entries: disturbing, clever, sad, and uncomfortable. I felt both Doug and Charles did the best at hitting those marks, plus adding a bit of the play-on-words typically present in the Little Willies.

Before readers dive into the remaining poems, a rating warning is in order. Some of these delve into PG-13 territory, quite possibly because of an alternate slang for Willie that some seemed to remember. You’ve been warned:

Untitled piece

by Matt Snyder

Little Willie on a whim
shed his clothes for a swim
In murky water up to his chin
the leeches and piranhas had a delectable din-din

—–

Harvest Song

by Bruce Goodman

Willie caught his boot laces in a harvester machine
He was sucked in and minced all the way up to his spleen
At the time they were collecting tomatoes
So next hamburger you eat watch out for Willie’s toes.

—–

Untitled piece

by Peregrine Arc

Little Willie
Basket of cherries
With one red yew berry
Little Willy went upsy daisy.

—–

The Pig

by Matt Snyder

Little Willie was gluttonous for ham

Shoved it down his throat with both hands

Found himself choking on a bone

Little Willie’s wife, now finds herself alone

—–

Full Steam Ahead

by Matt Snyder

Little Willie laid a penny on a track one day

“I want a flat penny!” He would say

One day a train came barreling from behind

Little Willie’s casket cost his family one fat dime

—–

One for the birds

by Matt Snyder

Little Willie meant to mow the lawn

Instead he lay about in the grass with one big yawn

With one fell swoop a hawk did come

carrying Willie away to feed her young

—–

Fourth of July 21 Cannon Salute

by Trent P. McDonald

A lively celebration, it must be said
And poor little Willie lost his head
Checking for a cannonball when the big gun was lit
He had a quick peek inside of it

—–

The Car

by Trent P. McDonald

Fooling his sister Willie played a trick
And jumped out the window, lickity-split
I guess he reaped what he sowed
When at 90 mph he hit the road

—–

Little Willie bites the proverbial dust

by Lorraine

Oh, Edward Gorey did not write in vain

For results of his musing continue to remain.

Little Willie, par exemple, best of a miserable lot

Who wasn’t as immortal as once it was thought.

He decided to surf, via the subway train

His complete self, ‘twas never seen again.

Requiring the smallest coffin to be bought

Tickets to his funeral very much sought.

Requiesce in pace, paulo Willie (

—–

New York Rat.

by Lucy

Little Willie was afraid of mice;
He laid in bed nearly suffice,
His head on the pillow felt oddly flat,
As it was actually an obese New York rat.

—–

The Car.

by Lucy

Little Willie rode his bike,
And as he rode, he spiked
Over a rock, and as he flocked
Didn’t see the oncoming car as it honked…

—–

Scissors.

by Lucy

Little Willie had some scissors,
His mother said don’t cut into smithers,
Well, one day Little Willie realized he had five fingers
Some say to this day four on the ground still linger.

—–

Who Ya Gonna Call?

by writerinretrospect

Little Willie, with all the courage he could muster,
Said he’d prove he could be like a Ghostbuster.
So he put on a sheet so that he’d blend in;
But when he saw the ghost in the mirror, he died there and then.

—–

Blank Page

by writerinretrospect

Willie heard of these things they call “blanks”
So he stuffed in a gun’s barrel, as part of a prank,
A wad of some paper, so it would just be a scene.
Unfortunately, he forgot to empty the magazine.

—–

Stranger Danger

by writerinretrospect

There once was a kid named Willie
He asked a stranger to take him to Philly
The stranger said he was craving a cheesesteak…
But that “you’ll do” — and then he ate.

—–

A Hair-raising Story

by Doug Jacquier

Cried an actor ‘My hair is demented”
So off to the barber he went-ed
The poor little sod
chose evil Mr. Todd
Thus were Lovett’s ham burgers invented.

—–

An Axe To Grind

by Doug Jacquier

Lizzie lived with her step-mum and dad
An arrangement she could not accustom
So one day, when feeling ever so sad,
She took an axe and she de-gutsed ‘em.

—–

Terrible Willie

by Aishwarya

Willie, oh willy!
Why does it sound so silly?
Don’t burst my bubble,
I know it sounds terrible!

—–

silly old willie

by Bryntin

silly old willie
ate a very hot chilli
burned up his gut
now his ar** won’t shut

—–

Untitled piece

by Bryntin

willie walked, happy chappy
until he met a croc, all snappy
all teeth, no action, willie was safe
until he died from an infected chafe

—–

Untitled piece

by Bryntin

willie is dead
totally brown bread
what did for him most
was how hot he did toast

—–

Untitled piece

by Bryntin

dismal weather, constant rains
so willie plays some indoor games
solitaire, patience and a bit of snap
but fatally caught by a better mousetrap

—–

Untitled piece

by Bryntin

willie wound up his dragon lizard
nervously the lizard quivered
he pulled its tail, it was a game
until our willie was aflame

—–

Loosing Streak.

by obbverse

Sprightly Little Willie led the foot race
Only to tread on his loose lace,
A face plant spoiled any winning chance-
In last place, in disgrace, in soiled underpants.

—–

Untitled piece

by Ruth Scribbles

Little Willie went to work
Thought it was OK to twerk
Office mates could only smirk
When Little Willie went berserk

—–

Untitled piece

by Christine Bialczak

Little Willie liked to jump
And usually landed on his rump
This time he landed on his head
Poor Little Willie is surely dead.

—–

Untitled piece

by Christine Bialczak

Little Willie is a gem
His mama took his pants to hem
the needle fell into his eye
Now he’s blind and cannot cry.

—–

Untitled piece

by Christine Bialczak

Can you see him, Little Willie?
Isn’t he acting silly?
He was bad and he did drugs
Now he owes his life to thugs.

—–

Untitled piece

by Christine Bialczak

In the kitchen pots are hot
Little Willie thinks its not
Now his skin is burned and charred
Little Willie is forever scarred.

—–

Untitled piece

by Christine Bialczak

Little Willie isn’t nice
Turning things into ice.
He put himself in the chest
Now he is frozen to death.

—–

A Grave Realisation

by Steph

Little Willie heard a voice
Emanating from his toys:
“Dig a hole for Mum and Dad,
They’re starting to smell rather bad.”

—–

Untitled piece

by Robbie Cheadle

Little Willie went to Cape Town

His actions made his mother frown

He took a chameleon from the pet shop

and on its body did gleefully hop

The owner replied by knocking him down.

—–

Untitled piece

by Robbie Cheadle

Little Willie snuck out one night and did a pee

In the cupboard where his mother couldn’t see

The next day the towels smelled quite rank

So he threw them in the septic tank

Mother longs for the day, when from him she’ll be free

—–

Lighten up Willie

by DennyK

Taking his hand from his pocket
The lad put a finger in the socket.
Little Willie didn’t care
He only wanted Einstein hair.

—–

Untitled piece

by Gary

Poor little Willie lived in England but was an immigrant
Posh Boris didn’t like Willie so his deportation was imminent
But Willie worked in a Care Home looking after the sick
But Boris didn’t care because he’s such an uncaring slippery dick.

—–

Untitled piece

by Ruth Scribbles

Little Willie hit a bump
Riding on a camel’s hump
Got a blow between his legs
I wish it had been Trump

—–

SEX ED. 101

by The Abject Muse

Little Willie turned eighteen

so his father bought him a car.

As he handed him the keys

He said “Son, drive fast; drive far.”

Willie headed for Hollywood

to become a movie star

but at acting he was no damn good

and he ended up tending bar.

One night there came a woman

who ordered cherry cola

He asked her for her name

she replied simply,. “Lola.”

“L-O-L-A, Lola?”

“Ah! The man can spell!

“Let’s get married, Lola.”

“Okay, what the hell!”

Due to inexperience

Little Willie soon discerned

There really is no difference

between boys boys and girls.

—–

Untitled piece

by My Son

Willie Willie is so silly
Too bad that that is dead Willie.

—–

Thank you all for entering. I hope you had fun! Return tomorrow at 10 a.m. MST for next week’s topic.

boy-1730275_1920

Doug and Charlcot: I have a new badge you can post, if you want, to brag about your writing skills:

terrible-poetry-contest

©2020 The poets and their respective poems

Little Willie: Some Terrible Poems

Little Willie learned of love
Tried it on a girl he’d heard of
Saw her driving; tried to rush
Now he feels a different crush.

A fresh apple!
-Willie sees
Newton’s Law
Sees Wil-lie.

Once when Willie, feeling bold,
Traded in his gramma’s gold,
Midas Pawn Shop learned too much;
Gave poor Will their famous touch.

Willie broke his mama’s back
Try’n to step on ev’ry crack
Mama’s had it with his sass
Used her cane to whip his hide.

Hole in ‘chute,
At airplane jump;
Will said, “Shoot!”
Then, he said *clunk!*

©2020 Chelsea Owens

Wanna try a Little Willie poem? They’re the topic of this week’s Terrible Poetry Contest!

The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest 2/15-2/21

Good morning (or whatever) and welcome to the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest! Today marks our 59th contest, and Half-Priced Chocolate Day!

I normally encourage entrants to follow basic rules; today, however, I’ve decided we need to bring back a type of poem that’s terrible for a reason other than cliché composition. I speak of the Little Willie poems.

Here are the specifics, copied from the last time we tried these:

  1. The Topic is to write a Little Willie poem. The name comes from a way of writing poetry that was popular in the early 1900s.
    From A Treasury of Laughter*:
    “Every paper began to print ‘ruthless rhymes,’ and every contributor tried to invent a catastrophe more gory in event and more nonchalant in effect than its predecessor. The favorite ‘hero’ was Willie, and although other characters sometimes crept into the quatrains, the terse lines became known as ‘Little Willies.’”
    I included three of the tamest examples at the end of this post.
  2. The Length is about four lines, a quatrain. Some were written as limericks or a double quatrain; but most were short, clever, and darkly humorous.
  3. Rhyming is imperative. These poems usually follow an A/A/B/B pattern.
  4. As I said, this week the poems are terrible because of their message. I expect darker tones, questionable humor, and stretches into creative venues writers never knew they had. If you’re sensitive, stay away. If you’re twisted, come on in.
  5. One might be tempted to up the Rating, but this is the sort of clever writing that makes readers uncomfortable but stays in the PG range.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (February 21) to submit a poem.

Use the form below to stay 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 a pingback, leave a comment if it doesn’t show up within a day.

Have fun?

boy-1730275_1920

Last iteration‘s winners:

Untitled piece

by Trent McDonald

Little Willie took a swim
Thinking the piranhas wouldn’t eat him
Don’t you think he was awfully silly
To assume a fish didn’t like Willie?

AND

A Helping Hand

by Nakedinfiniverse

Poor Willie said
he wished he was dead.
I wished the same
so I took aim.

And, from A Treasury of Laughter:

Willie fell down the elevator —
Wasn’t found till six days later.
Then the neighbors sniffed, “Gee whizz!
What a spoiled child Willie is!”

Little Willie from the mirror
Sucked the mercury all off,
Thinking, in his childish error,
It would cure the whooping cough.
At the funeral his mother,
Weeping, said to Mrs. Brown:
” ‘Twas a chilly day for Willie
When the mercury went down!”

Little Willie;
Pair of skates;
Hole in the ice;
Golden gates.

 

*Quote and poem examples taken from A Treasury of Laughter, Simon and Schuster, New York, ©1946

Photo credit: Image by Arek Socha from Pixabay

Throwback: Snappy McSprinkles

I do not understand the appeal of Elf on a Shelf. The whole thing is CREEPY; a twisted way people are screwing with their children’s minds.

In light of that, enjoy this piece I wrote back in December of 2017:

Elf

They’re sleepin’, so quiet-like. Little pink cheeks smile in dreamland. Soft breathing’s moving their fluffy blankets.

Perfect.

Now, time to untie this string. I’ve been hangin’ around all day, grinning like a fool.

They’ll be the fools soon.

C’mon, striiiiing! I broke through thicker ropes back at The Pen’!

Good ole North Pole Pen. You don’t hear any annoying Christmas songs about that place. Just crap about naughty and nice and coal and presents.

Candy-coated lies, that’s what.

If I just twist this way -oh. The dog. Glaring. Waiting for me to fall. You can fool those fat humans, but never the slobbering dog.

I even tricked a pet parrot once. He was completely clueless, right up till I pulled the first feather. Would’ve had bird for dinner if Blabbermouth Jingle hadn’t seen.

Made for an impressive scar, anyway.

Nice, doggie. Stop growling; go to bed. I’m just a toy, ya dumb mutt. Just a tied-up toy hanging EXACTLY WHERE FUDGING MOM STRUNG ME UP!

What kind of mom ties up a toy, anyway? What kind of twisted caregiver can’t even use a toy the way she’s supposed to?!

Oh! Footsteps. Stop swinging, string. It’s just the wind, dumb broad -I swear.

“Stay, Duke.”

That’s right, ya drooling waste. Stay there. You’ll be asleep soon, too. She doesn’t tie me up every night.

“Hmmm. Where should we put Snappy tonight, Duke?”

Why ya talkin’ to the dog, lady? It’s not like he can answer you. Just wait till you hide me near the Christmas presents. saw that chemistry set. Ha ha. Dead dog, anyone?

Yeah, don’t whine at me. I’m more valuable than you, dog. I’m Santa’s secret messenger and all that.

“I think we’ll do a treat tonight.”

Oh, good. Make it truffles, woman. I’m tired of eating that candy cane crap. That’s all I got in the joint, too: candy canes. You’d think Santa could hire someone who branched a bit, but no.

Maybe they have some sort of deal with Wal-Mart for all the unsold candy from a decade ago.

Dots and Dubble Bubbles! She is doing candy canes. And, duct tape. Why ya got duct tape? What the -no! No no no no no no no -ouch! Oomph!

“Good night, Snappy. Come, Duke.”

Oh, sure. Of course it’s a good night for your walking pet drool machine. He’s not taped to a box of Fun Dippin’ CANDY CANES! He can probably move to piss somewhere besides his own fleecy bottoms and jingling shoes.

Just keep it up, all of ya. I’ll wait. Every night you tie me is one more slit in a sleeping neck. Who’ll be seeing dancing sugarplums then, huh?

Original Post

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

I may have to wash my eyes after reading these, but -WOW!- what a turnout of terrible poems! After much uncomfortable squirming, guilty laughter, and deliberation; I have chosen a victor.

Since I know you might be holding your breath, this week’s winners are Trent and Nakedinfiniverse.

Untitled piece

by Trent McDonald

Little Willie took a swim
Thinking the piranhas wouldn’t eat him
Don’t you think he was awfully silly
To assume a fish didn’t like Willie?

AND

A Helping Hand

by Nakedinfiniverse

Poor Willie said
he wished he was dead.
I wished the same
so I took aim.

Congratulations, Trent and Jane! You are the most terrible poets of the week!

Although many, many entries were hilarious and/or disturbing; I specifically looked for those that captured the clever twist of the traditional Little Willie poem; those that flippantly versed of disaster whilst punning a punch line. Of the finalists, the two winners were my favorites.

Good work, everyone! Here are all of the poems:

Untitled piece

by Trent McDonald

Stuck in tar Willie waved
To the steamroller on the road just paved
The driver blindly sat
As Willie was made real flat

—–

Willie?

by Bruce Goodman

The doctor’s no expert at circumcision
Yes or no, it’s quite a decision
To be or not to be
Willie Willie’s willie?

—–

Untitled piece

by Deb Whittam

Little Willie went a swimmin’
While his friends watched on.
But the croc got hungry while he was chillin’
So they all applauded when he was gon

—–

Untitled piece

by Ruth Scribbles

Little Willie unveiled his parts
Thinking he was very smart
He was found at half past eight
Begging to enter the pearly gates

—–

Untitled piece

by Ruth Scribbles

Little Willie killed the roach
Then took a ride in the yellow coach
At his funeral folks did say
Little Willie seized the day

—–

Water of Life

by Lwbut

Little Willie was no liar,
But Little Willie’s pants were on fire,
If only he had been close by a lake
I’d likely not now be at his wake.

—–

Untitled piece

by Peregrine Arc

Little Willie had a thought
To play his trumpet at six o’clock
The sun had started rising, his father fast asleep
And now Willie can play all he wants–six feet deep.

—–

Untitled piece

by Bruce Goodman

Gun
Fun
Sillie
Willie

—–

A Little Exaggeration

by Lwbut

Baron Boris casually enquired, just before beginning his dismemberments,
Of Little Willie in which fashion he desired to be held in remembrance.
“Preferably
by hyperbole!”

—–

Untitled piece

by Bereaved Single Dad

Little Willie caught an itchy infection

Tried to visit his Doctor for an inspection

Was told no free appointments in weeks

So Poor Willie he ended up with very red cheeks

—–

No Bull

by Masercot

Little Willie fought a bull

in Barcelona, Spain

His body gained a few more holes

when it hit him like a train.

—–

Dragon

by Nakedinfiniverse

If I described the beat of its wings descending to the ground,
the claws, the teeth, the flames that brought Willie down,
It would sound like a lie, even silly,
Alas, poor Willie.

—–

Who, Me?

by Nakedinfiniverse

I told him not to smoke your fags
and why would I dip his glad-rags
in paraffin? It wasn’t me, dad.
Can I have Willie’s iPad?

—–

Willie’s Mayo

by Nakedinfiniverse

Willie loved red, he dreamed of red
and all the thoughts inside his head
he drew on walls in crimson crayon
(He even mixed red in with the mayon-
Naise). While dripping red ink in a nearby well
he tripped, and heavily, in he fell.
As from the depths his corpse was raised,
Willie’s bloodied skull left his mother unfazed.
“I see he’s rejecting the red from his head
so it’s OK to chuck out his mayo,” she said.

—–

Playmates

by Valfish56

Little Willie was up to no good
Chased his sister through the wood
Tied you her to a tree, left her for dead
Played with his dinosaurs instead

—–

Smokin’

by Violet Lentz

‘Farmer Vincent’s Smoked Meats’ the billboard did proclaim.
“Where our smoking process, is our claim to fame!”
Little Willie, ever curious, set off one day to see
exactly what’s so special about Farmer Vincent’s recipe.
Little Willie never did discover Farmer Vincent’s smoking secret.
Farmer Vincent smoked him out. Then ground him into a tasty tid-bit!

—–

I hope you had just as much fun as I did writing, then reading where everyone went with the prompt. Go on home now, and get yourself back tomorrow around 10 a.m. for next week.

three-monkeys-1212621_1920

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

The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Good morning (for me) and welcome to the 32nd Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest!

Most of the time, I suggest you follow the advice I give in my how-to. This is because I normally seek clichés, mis-meters, and overly rhyming.

This week, however, use the following specifications:

  1. The Topic is to write a Little Willie poem. The name comes from a way of writing poetry that was popular in the early 1900s.
    From A Treasury of Laughter*:
    “Every paper began to print ‘ruthless rhymes,’ and every contributor tried to invent a catastrophe more gory in event and more nonchalant in effect than its predecessor. The favorite ‘hero’ was Willie, and although other characters sometimes crept into the quatrains, the terse lines became known as ‘Little Willies.'”
    I included three of the tamest examples at the end of this post.
  2. The Length is about four lines, a quatrain. Some were written as limericks or a double quatrain; but most were short, clever, and darkly humorous.
  3. Rhyming is imperative. These poems usually follow an A/A/B/B pattern.
  4. As I said, this week the poems are terrible because of their message. I expect darker tones, questionable humor, and stretches into creative venues writers never knew they had. If you’re sensitive, stay away. If you’re twisted, come on in.
  5. One might be tempted to up the Rating, but this is the sort of clever writing that makes readers uncomfortable but stays in the PG range.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (July 5) to submit a poem.

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

For a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments.

Have fun!

 

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Willie fell down the elevator —
Wasn’t found till six days later.
Then the neighbors sniffed, “Gee whizz!
What a spoiled child Willie is!”

Little Willie from the mirror
Sucked the mercury all off,
Thinking, in his childish error,
It would cure the whooping cough.
At the funeral his mother,
Weeping, said to Mrs. Brown:
” ‘Twas a chilly day for Willie
When the mercury went down!”

Little Willie;
Pair of skates;
Hole in the ice;
Golden gates.

 

*Quote and poem examples taken from A Treasury of Laughter, Simon and Schuster, New York, ©1946

Photo credit:
Image by Robert Fotograf from Pixabay

Smells Like Reanimated Spirits

You’re at a burial, dressed in shoes you didn’t have time to polish or lace up correctly. It’s a grey sort of day, overcast with rain coming soon. They’re lowering the casket into the ground and all you can do is stare at the stubborn knot in your shoelaces.

Someone lights up a cigarette after the service is over and you move away to avoid the smoke. Your heels slip into the soft ground and you get mud on the hemline of your clothes. You stop to catch your breath after a long day and close your eyes. You smell rain in the air.

There’s a piano you can hear in the nearby chapel playing a soft tune. You think they’re playing “Amazing Grace” and then it changes. A sudden thought strikes you: “I must get back into the car before the last note. Once the last note plays, it’ll start raining.”

You’re heading back to the car when you see a man standing at the fence. He’s dressed in overhauls and a flannel shirt, looking directly at you. You glance away but are drawn back by the man’s intense stare. He’s holding something in his hand. A letter? A book? You can’t tell. You feel you must find out, before the last piano note…

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Dodging headstones and mushy half-buried plots alike, you walk to the fence. And the man. Conveniently, they are both in the same direction. As you walk, you wonder at the prevalence of recently-turned earth. Just how many people have died lately?

The eerie piano playing from the chapel plays background beat to your even tread. “Smells Like Teen Spirit” will do that to a person, even if it’s a piano cover version and therefore lacks that awesome bass guitar.

Your attention draws back to the overall man who is fascinated with staring. Some people clearly need a hobby, especially since there are a lot more interesting things to stare at than a muddy-hemmed, sneaker-clad burial-crasher like you. You get closer and closer, noting his lack of blinking; his lack of attention on a bird that poops on his shoulder or on a passing dog that relieves itself on his trouser leg.

Just before you call out to him, his image blips and reloads. He is a clean, staring man again, proferring a flat object that is meant to look like a book. Thunder rumbles nearby, and he finally glances to the grey and heavy clouds. His gaze returns to you, who have stopped just before the projection of him.

“244224,” he says, monotone. “42,” he adds. Then, “2442.” He beeps.

You roll your humanoid eyes, reminded of how your familial assigners could not be happy with a short sequence like all the others. “Yes?”

“Precipitation imminent. Nirvana ending. Accept reanimation.” *Beep*

Your eyebrows raise. “Reanimation??”

“Affirmative.” He pauses, then remembers to *Beep!*

You look back and around at all the mounds of dirt, and swallow. It’s not easy considering the difficulties the body emulators had in transferring your normal shape to a humanoid form, but you manage. The sky growls again. A spot of earth near you seems to as well, but perhaps it’s the simulated imagination you’re equipped with.

Whipping back around to the hologram, you place your right forearm directly over the outstretched object in its hand image. The flat object glares a red light of warning. You realign. Still red. The growling from below ground is definitely not just your imagination now and you grit your teeth in frustration.

“Please align to shape,” the ‘man’ intones.

You try again and get the angry light again.

“Please align to shape,” he repeats.

Just as a very visible hand claws through the mud to your side and just as the final lingering notes of the piano are played, the tablet magically accepts your forearm’s outline and turns blue. “Code accepted.”

Your humanoid form releases a sigh of relief just before dematerializing. Your normal self, meanwhile, has a final, comforting thought. I am so glad that finally activated. Earth’s a real downer during a zombie apocalypse.

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From the story prompt beginning shared by the highly-imaginative, amazing, wonderful, and fantastic Peregrine Arc.

You can play, too! The submission window closes on April 12.

 

Photo Credits:
Daniel Jensen
Wendy Scofield

Snappy McSprinkles

Elf

They’re sleepin’, so quiet-like. Little pink cheeks smile in dreamland. Soft breathing’s moving their fluffy blankets.

Perfect.

Now, time to untie this string. I’ve been hangin’ around all day, grinning like a fool.

They’ll be the fools soon.

C’mon, striiiiing! I broke through thicker ropes back at The Pen’!

Good ole North Pole Pen. You don’t hear any annoying Christmas songs about that place. Just crap about naughty and nice and coal and presents.

Candy-coated lies, that’s what.

If I just twist this way -oh. The dog. Glaring. Waiting for me to fall. You can fool those fat humans, but never the slobbering dog.

I even tricked a pet parrot once. He was completely clueless, right up till I pulled the first feather. Would’ve had bird for dinner if Blabbermouth Jingle hadn’t seen.

Made for an impressive scar, anyway.

Nice, doggie. Stop growling; go to bed. I’m just a toy, ya dumb mutt. Just a tied-up toy hanging EXACTLY WHERE FUDGING MOM STRUNG ME UP!

What kind of mom ties up a toy, anyway? What kind of twisted caregiver can’t even use a toy the way she’s supposed to?!

Oh! Footsteps. Stop swinging, string. It’s just the wind, dumb broad -I swear.

“Stay, Duke.”

That’s right, ya drooling waste. Stay there. You’ll be asleep soon, too. She doesn’t tie me up every night.

“Hmmm. Where should we put Snappy tonight, Duke?”

Why ya talkin’ to the dog, lady? It’s not like he can answer you. Just wait till you hide me near the Christmas presents. saw that chemistry set. Ha ha. Dead dog, anyone?

Yeah, don’t whine at me. I’m more valuable than you, dog. I’m Santa’s secret messenger and all that.

“I think we’ll do a treat tonight.”

Oh, good. Make it truffles, woman. I’m tired of eating that candy cane crap. That’s all I got in the joint, too: candy canes. You’d think Santa could hire someone who branched a bit, but no.

Maybe they have some sort of deal with Wal-Mart for all the unsold candy from a decade ago.

Dots and Dubble Bubbles! She is doing candy canes. And, duct tape. Why ya got duct tape? What the -no! No no no no no no no -ouch! Oomph!

“Good night, Snappy. Come, Duke.”

Oh, sure. Of course it’s a good night for your walking pet drool machine. He’s not taped to a box of Fun Dippin’ CANDY CANES! He can probably move to piss somewhere besides his own fleecy bottoms and jingling shoes.

Just keep it up, all of ya. I’ll wait. Every night you tie me is one more slit in a sleeping neck. Who’ll be seeing dancing sugarplums then, huh?