Foremost, we see
The facts of birds, bees
Make some youth feel free.
Aftmost, we find
The parties, purblind
Say -sight was in hind.
©2022 Chel Owens
That’s all I got, Madame Pensitivity. If you want to try her Three Things Challenge #844, click the link.
Welcome to the second Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest. I am your hostess, Chelsea Owens.
Please, please read my wonderful blog post, How To Write Terrible Poetry, then note the following rules:
- The topic is sour grapes.
- It’s shorter than the last contest. Keep your poem below 150 words but above 5. That means anywhere from 6-149 words.
- To rhyme, or not this thyme? Again, up to you.
- And remember: the poem needs to be terrible. I want your high school poetry club teacher to pat you on the back for how many ways you failed to write the word ‘love’ or ‘agony.’ (Please do not literally use ‘love’ and ‘agony’ 50 times, assuming it’s a requirement.)
- Keep it PG-Rated.
Think you can do it? You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (November 23, 2018) to submit. Write it early ’cause I don’t want to see anyone coming here instead of to their family’s house for Thanksgiving.
Post your poem or the specific link to it in the comments.
Welcome to the very first Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest. I am your host, Chelsea Owens.
Your first contest has the following rules:
- The topic is elective surgery.
- It’s short. Keep your poem below 200 words but above 4. That means anywhere from 5-199 words.
- To rhyme, or not this day? Up to you.
- And remember: the poem needs to be awful. I want to cringe. I want to scrub my eyes and go lick something to clear my artistic palate. -though, G-Rated.
Think you can do it? You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (November 16, 2018) to submit. Post your poem or the specific link to it in the comments.
I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I want to start a poetry writing prompt contest thing on my site.
Yes, I still intend to randomly have a caption contest as well. -In fact, I had intended for that one to be monthly or quarterly, but got a bit sidetracked in keeping my children alive over the summer.
On to the poetry:
Every week, I will announce a topic and parameters. People may enter by posting their entire poem in the comments, or a post-specific link. I will read through the entries and pick my favorite. Said favorite is the winner and gets his/her post listing his/her poem and announcing that he or she is The Grand Poet Master of the Week.
The best part?
This will always be a contest for the very worst poetry you can write. *Ahem* And G-Rated. I’m not gonna want to tread through some of my reader’s minds (you know who you are)….
So…. Every Saturday at 8 a.m. MST (UTC-7, though UTC-6 during Daylight Savings), I will post the rules and prompt. Every Friday of the following week at 8 a.m. I will announce who won. You’ll have that week to write something.
Are you game? I am. Tune in tomorrow and let’s have some fun!
If the world were not there
no hand pushing back
If the world let you grow
unfettered and free
Reaching, spreading, stretching
Just the bend and twist
of your mind
lift of your feet
buoyancy of your dreams
Tendrils of beanstalk proportions
If the world let go…
In answer to Frank Prem‘s magnificent poem, which way.
If I had a hundred mathematically-large-enough
I’d cram the strings together
in a woven vest and rise higher
through rain-gilded cloudscape.
I’d subsist on vapors, or maybe on sunrise ambrosia –
till atmospheric pressure (or somesuch scientific phenomenon)
popped just one
Then I’d drop more rapidly than I rose:
the most obsequious, impotent adherent to Gravity and his unalterable law.
But really, I have to admit
-as I revisit clouds and ambrosia rays and treetops drawing nearer-
I was never free
I am right back where I started,
amidst 99 deflated spheres of red.
Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Challenge.