The Terrible Poetry Contest 5/26/22

Welcome to the LAST biweekly Terrible Poetry Contest before summertime (here in the Northern Hemisphere)!

If you still aren’t sure what terrible poetry is or how to write it, read here. Now; on with the show:

  1. Last time, Not Pam‘s poem won! As such, she’s chosen the Theme and Form of this go-around to be a sonnet about soup.
    A sonnet is a fourteen-line poem written in iambic pentameter, with a rhyming pattern.
    Soup is the liquid version of solid food.
  2. Need to know the Length? It couldn’t be fourteen lines….
    (But if you go half that, we’ll count it as bonus points toward being terrible.)
  3. To Rhyme is what tradition says to.
  4. So, Terrible is what we all need. A soup or stew are what we all feed.
  5. Rating: PG or cleaner. What’s in your bowl?

You have till 8:00 a.m. MDT on Thursday, June 9 to submit a poem.

Use the form below if you want to be anonymous for a week. It hasn’t gone through unless you see a message saying it has.

For a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments. Please alert me if your pingback or poem does not show up within a day.

The winner gains bragging rights, a badge, and a grand prize I’m willing to mail if s/he is willing to be mailed*.

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Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com

©2022 Chel Owens

*Don’t worry. I never save addresses for nefarious purposes.

WINNER of the Terrible Poetry Contest 5/19/2022

What fun! Geoff won last contest and suggested we take the first line of a famous poem and rewrite the rest! So, at long last, which poet wrote the ‘best’ terribleness?

The Dentist and The Crocodile (Not Roald Dahl)

by Not Pam

The crocodile, with cunning smile, sat in the dentist’s chair.
He had a devious plan to broker, which would scare
… And he didn’t care.
He sought a partner in crime, one almost as shrewd as he,
It was all quite divine
Blood would be spilt, you see.
They had discussed it at length, while gnawing an old thigh bone
There was no planning left
It was time for them to go it alone
They crept down to the village, the dentist and the croc,
They had plans, they didn’t intend just to throw a rock
The town folk were in for a dire shock.
In the dead of night, the dentist tore their teeth free
While the croc scared them in a stupor, and you better believe me
Blood was spilt a plenty, it was quite something to see
But though the town folk were blood less, tooth less, lifeless, they didn’t cease to be
Their flesh turned into steel, and they went on a killing spree
Now there’s one thing on their diet, that croc and dentist better flee.

—–

Congratulations, Deb! You are the most terrible poet! Let me know the type of poem and theme for the next two weeks.

The entries were far too clever for me to dub any ‘terrible.’ I had to read through again, pick those who intentionally clichéd, or misspelled, or were just plain painful to read through. Not Pam’s piece beat out the competition for utilizing those elements. I mean –gnawing on an old thigh bone and blood less, tooth less, lifeless. Terrible!

Everyone else did a fantastic job, as I said. Read below to see for yourself:

“A Psalm of Life” stolen from Longfellow

by John W. Howell

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
That someone has used all the cream.
For an idiot so wonton makes for wonders,
Of why we let it on the team.

Coffee is real! Coffee is earnest!
And true black is not our goal;
Thief thou art, and best returnest,
That half and half in its bowl.

—–

Untitled

by Richmond Road

Mary had a little lamb
She had a goat as well
She had a cat, a dog, a skunk
(with it’s distinctive smell)
She had some tigers and some bears
She had some lions too
With elephants and a giraffe
She had a private zoo
She took them all to school one day
So that teachers could be met
She was a very charming girl
She was the teachers’ pet
But the teachers they became alarmed
To hear the lion roar
They ran into the classroom
And they locked the classroom door
To Mary this was hurtful
So she left in some dismay
She gathered up her animals
And led her flock away
She went in search of somewhere else
To let her creatures roam
And came upon another spot
Her Nan’s retirement home
She found a room where all looked bored
Called ‘Geriatric Care’
So she pushed her pets right through the door
And let them loose in there.

—–

Fiery Ice

by Frank Hubeny

Some say the world will end in fire.
That sounds nice.
For veggies burning ever higher
It’s best to use a roaring fire.
Beans I hear you should fry twice
Though why one would I would debate.
Crispy, fully charred is nice
And now I wait
For fresh-burnt rice.

—–

For Whom the Wave Rolls
Not by John Donne!!

by Trent

No man is an island,
At least I hope.
A body may float a while,
Though drift afar.
If some clod be washed away by the sea,
He might sink.
As well as a big boulder would.
Then again, as I said before, he just might float
Though a floating body is no island.
Each man’s death diminishes me,
If he sinks or floats.
Therefore, stay away from the sea
For whom does the wave roll?
It rolls for thee.

—–

SONNET LXVI
(First line by Pablo Neruda)

by M

(I do not love you except because I love you)
because if I love you, then I love that I love you ?
Because love is what is considered
the opposite of hate & I’d hate to deeply hate you with the hatred of hate that you can only find within what is deemed love!
The love of hate of the hate that I love is my soul desire,such a fool for love & hate.

—–

The Unshaven

by Obbverse

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
After many a gin sunken I’m found slumpen ‘pon the floor
Dryly heaving, stomach clenching, regretting my night out wenching,
‘Tis all quite gut-wrenching, but I’ve known of its ilk before,
Muttered I, ‘I’ll go out and get pi- pie-eyed no more,’
Mutedly, for my skull be ever sore.

Ah, painfully, in a head yet tender I remember, ’twas quite the bender;
E’en as each clang of pain in my brain rings down to its sodden core
Uneasily recalling that I and that barfly signora put away a plethora
Of gin, oodles of Boodles resulted in a sinful night worthy of Gomorrah,
Now that fair maid lies sleepily sated, a beauty without flaw,
Yet I shudder at her ev’ry snore.

Oh, the pain- teeth gritting, hard hitting, never quitting, head splitting,
In the mirror, pale and pallid, I see the sorriest wretch you ever saw,
The red rimmed eyes a ‘gleaming, the mind silently screaming,
A drunk with a liver past redeeming, ’twill need a miracle to restore,
But I’ll drag myself back to that familiar door-
I’ve slammed it behind me a time or two afore-
And retake the AA Pledge once more.

—–

The Second Coming (It’s Huge)

by Doug Jacquier

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The Tweeter cannot be on Twitter;
Things fall apart; all his calls are on hold;
So Truth Social is launched upon the world,
The brain-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of intelligence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate conspiracy.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Biggest Ever Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image (it’s huge) out of Mar-A-Lago
Troubles my sight: somewhere from the swamps of Florida
A shape with a Teletubby body and the fake-tanned head of a man,
A gaze blank and clueless, like a bum,
Is moving its slow thighs, (it’s huge) while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant Democrats.
The darkness drops again; and now I know
That after twenty months of rally speech
Rises again the nightmare from the FoxNews cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round again,
Slouches towards Washington to eat Dorritos and drink Diet Coke?

—–

Stomping My Woods in My Round This Morning

by Greg’s Blog

Whose woods these are I think I know
Their place is on the golf course though
He Rory‘s up a Tiger tail
In anger bent and gave a throw

My little cart may think it Strange
To watch him stomp around insane
Swearing, cursing and Spiething nails
Please end this round and end the Payne

My caddy’s head begins to shake
As if to say it’s a mistake
Rolled up cuff, the language Fowler
As he waded into the lake…

At the next tee, I’m Jacked to see
If I can hit the green in three
And now my woods wrapped ’round a tree
And now my woods wrapped ’round a tree

—–

Photo by Mike on Pexels.com

Thank you, everyone! Come back to learn the next two weeks’ prompt.

Deb Pam: Here’s your badge you can post as proof of your poetic mastery:

terrible-poetry-contest

©2022 The poets, and their respective poems.

The Terrible Poetry Contest 5/5/22

Welcome (welcome! welcome!) to the biweekly Terrible Poetry Contest!

Everyone starts out terrible; some poets never move on from there! This ‘contest’ is about embracing the bad, letting go of inhibitions, and poking fun of those stodgy writers who can’t see the farce for the poetries. I’ve typed up a map in case you’re still lost. For the rest of you, here are the specifics:

  1. Geoff Le Pard’s poem won last time‘s contest, so he’s set our Theme and Form:
    Take the first line of a famous poem and then rewrite the rest as [the poet] see(s) fit. Bonus points if [you] use the original meter and rhyming scheme.
  2. I believe the Length is entirely up to you.
  3. Rhyme? If you feel inclined.
  4. Don’t take it from me. Take it from Maya Angelou, Edgar Allen Poe, Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson, Walt Whitman, John Keats, Sylvia Plath, William Blake, William Wordsworth, and the immortal Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz. Seriously; take it from them and make it terrible.
  5. Rating: PG or cleaner.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MDT on Thursday, May 19 to submit a poem.

Use the form below if you want to be anonymous for a week. It hasn’t gone through unless you see a message saying it has.

For a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments. Please alert me if your pingback or poem does not show up within a day.

The winner gains bragging rights, a badge, and the option to choose the next iteration’s topic and type of poem.

Photo by Mike on Pexels.com

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©2022 Chel Owens

WINNER of the Terrible Poetry Contest 4/28/2022

Frank won last time; he suggested we write a common four-line meter in a nursery rhyme. Sounds simple enough, right? But… who did it the best and is the winner of this contest?

Nursery Rhymes For A Post Pandemic Utopia

by TanGental

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
When a man with appal-
-ing taste in novelty knitwear
Pushed him off and told him
To sit on his own wall.

Little Miss Muffet
Sat on a spider.
She said, ‘Tuffet-chic is so last century.’
The spider declined to comment.

Jack and Jill
Went up the hill.
Everyone said,
‘It’ll be downhill from here.’

Little Jack Horner
Sat in the corner.
Plotting…

Jack Spratt would eat no fat,
His wife said, ‘You’re a prat, Jack.’

Mary, Mary
Wasn’t that contrary.
She just liked saying her name twice.
Like Bond, James Bond.

The Grand Ol’ Duke of York
Is so called because he spends several grand
Buying silence.

Ring a ring A Roses
To place your next order
For that important person
Who you’ve pissed off.

London Bridge is falling down
Due to sheer weight of traffic.

Georgie Porgy
Is unlikely to get bail this time.

—–

Congratulations, Geoff! You are the most terrible poet! Let me know the type of poem and theme for the next two weeks.

I LOVED the poems this time around! The ‘nursery rhymes’ were so amusing; one of my sons read over my shoulder and kept snickering. Geoff’s poem used many elements others’ did: a few references to other rhymes, unexpected endings, and some current events. He narrowly beat out at least two others with his take on “Georgie Porgy.”

I won’t deprive you of reading the others any longer:

Untitled

by John W. Howell

Frankie is a little trim,
Who never wears clean clothes.
All the piggies follow him
Wherever Frankie goes.

On the way to school one day,
He stopped to smell a flower.
The piggies looked at each to say,
Let’s all do a boy devour.

—–

Chris Gets A Hand

by Obbverse

Will, he had a little slap,
Rock reeled back from the blow,
Will wouldn’t say ‘Chris, shut your trap;’
To no more Oscars Will he go.

—–

Jack And Ill Will

by Obbverse

It was ON
‘Tween Amber and John
Their freak-show biz deal Deppinitely over.

After many years,
Crossed words, crocodile tears
Their lawyers settled, finally in the clover.

—–

Sing a Super Confusing Song of The Old Money

by trentpmcd

Sing a song of sixpence
A pocket full of change
Money has no meaning
In such a tiny range

There were four and twenty black birds
Is that two whole shilling?
Can we just please switch to decimal?
I’m more than willing!

The king was in the counting house
Looking quite confused
Six is a half a shilling, or a fortieth of a pound
Is this stupid system still used?

The queen was in the parlour
Eating milk and honey
I guess in the promised land
You don’t worry about money

The maid was in the garden
With the Jack of Hearts
Oh, wait minute
Isn’t that how a Bob Dylan song starts?

From here it gets even more surreal
An a land with a never setting sun
But at least Britain moved to a system decimal
Back in 1971!

—–

Blackout

by Not Pam

iPhone, iPad, iWatch, and iDon’tKnow
iWatch, but iDon’tKnow
iPhone, iPad, iWatch, and iDon’tKnow
iWatch, but iDon’tKnow
And Facebook, and Twitter, and Instagram, and TikTok
iPhone, iPad, iwatch and iDon’tKnow
iWatch, but iDon’tKnow

Hickory Dickory Spock
Exhale, and take stock
It’s a blackout
No need to shout
Hickory Dickory Spock

Hickory Dickory Spock
Watch Grandma mock
As you forlornly wail
The power must prevail
No gadgets? What a horrid shock.

—–

Untitled

by Frank Hubeny

Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall.
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the King’s horses and all the King’s men
Had breakfast that morning.

—–

The day

by Michael B. Fishman

The day is bright as cooked brown rice,
the winds as calm as tea.
The birds alight on edelweiss
and
because I haven’t eaten in some time
well, wouldn’t you know,
I’m as hungry as could be.

I ate my rice with ketchup.
I ate my rice with beans.
I ate my rice while looking at a map of Manila,
the capital of the Philippines.

I’ve never been to the Philippines,
I’ve never been to Indonesia.
But wait! I could have been, and I don’t know,
because I could have, ‘ya know, amnesia.

My kitty lies over my other kitty,
He does it for all of us to see
My kitty just got off my other kitty.
I hope they don’t have a baby.

—–

Bought the Farm

by Greg’s Blog

Sadie rushed out to the barn,
A whip with her cowgirl charm,
The animals arranged,
An ending deranged,
Now Sadie’s done bought the farm.

—–

Fad Diet

by Greg’s Blog

Fat Larry began a fad diet,
With an eye for sweet apple pies,
He followed the plan to the letter,
And promptly when up one size.
Undeterred he continued to eat,
For the losses he’d soon realize,
Until a peek in the mirror did show,
The pie had gone straight to his thighs.

—–

Photo by Pixabay.

Thank you, everyone! Come back to learn the next two weeks’ prompt.

Mr. Le Pard: Here’s your badge you can post as proof of your poetic mastery:

terrible-poetry-contest

©2022 The poets, and their respective poems.

The Terrible Poetry Contest 4/14/22

Hello and welcome to the biweekly Terrible Poetry Contest!

Don’t know what ‘terrible poetry’ is? Of course you do! Think of the best poet you know; I can guarantee that s/he wrote a terrible poem. Odds are, it was about teen angst. See? -not so difficult. Now, pick up that keyboard, read through my guide, and start poeming!

Here are the specifics:

  1. We need a Theme and Form. Frank won last time, and says: I would recommend the type of poem being at least one stanza of four lines of common meter. That would be something like “Mary Had A Little Lamb” but there are many variations of the rhyme and meter that would be recognized as common meter. The theme would be to parody some nursery rhyme or start from scratch and write an entirely new one.
  2. Length: at least one stanza of four lines of common meter.
  3. Baa baa, black sheep; should we try to Rhyme? Yes, sir; yes, sir; every other line.
  4. Mother Goose says make it terrible! You’d better do it, before Jack Horner gets in that corner and eats all your curds and your whey!
  5. Rating: G or cleaner. Ask me not why, or the children may cry.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MDT on Thursday, April 28 to submit a poem.

Use the form below if you want to be anonymous for a week. It hasn’t gone through unless you see a message saying it has.

For a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments. Please alert me if your pingback or poem does not show up within a day.

The winner gains bragging rights, a badge, and the option to choose the next iteration’s topic and type of poem.

Photo by Pixabay.

—–

©2022 Chel Owens