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

We-resolution

“The new year is here,” said Jack Sprat,
“And, it’s time that I trimmed the fat back.”
To the lawyers’ he capered;
He signed up some papers.
He’ll start the year off as a bach’.

Photo by Megapixelstock on Pexels.com

©️ 2020 Chel Owens

You could write a funny limerick about resolutions, too, for the A Mused Poetry Contest! Go ahead!

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Oh, man. The poems this week were the best/worst! I laughed so hard, then realized I had to pick a winner. Those who submitted a poem did so ‘well,’ I feel like I’m picking a favorite child.

Which, of course, every parent has. So, this week’s winner is:

Baa-baa inclusive sheep

by MagicQuill17

Baa, baa, black sheep,
(Or brown sheep,
or white sheep,
or Asian sheep,
because it’s important to be inclusive)
Have you any wool?
{Or cotton, for that matter
for the people living in tropical climates,
Plus just wool won’t do any good to those living in the Arctic
Or the Antarctic
Also, we need semi-cold fabrics
For temperate climates)

Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full!
(Or ma’am,
Or revered person who’s neither
Ma’am or sir)
One for the master,
(Or mistress,
Or genderqueer person,
Or bigender person,
Or agender person)
And one for the dame,
(Or sir,
Or Mx.
Or Ind.)

One for the little boy
(Or girl,
Or-better yet- child)

Who lives down the lane.
(Nothing politically incorrect here,
But do save a wool blanket for me, sheep
Because I have insomnia
From being too woke.)

—–

Congratulations, Anisha! You are the most terrible poet of the week!

This poem won for ruining itself with political correctness. A bold move; one that worked to bring it to first place against so many clever contenders. I especially liked how inclusively annoying Anisha was over and over.

And here are the rest of my favorites:

Ma said I wasn’t a good righter… Boy did I proof her wrong!

by Heather Bergen

Little Boo Creep,
Likes to kick Sheep,
But missed and kicked right beside them,
She kicked a stone,
And broke her own bone,
Now she sits on a tuffet.
Like a sad baby muppet,
Eating her actions all day.
Along came a farmer,
Who wanted to harm her.
But instead gave her sheep some more…Hay Diddle diddle
Boo Creep starts to fiddle,
The sheep have plenty of room.
The farmer was glad to see such a sight.
And randomly jumped to the
moonlight, so bright
One moon I see tonight
I wish I may,
I wish I might,
This awful rhyme,
Forget tonight.

🤦🏼‍♀️

—–

Harper, Turn The Espresso Machine On

by Joem18b

Harper, turn the espresso machine on,
Harper, turn the espresso machine on,
Harper, turn the espresso machine on,
We’ll all have a double latte.

Mackenzie, turn the espresso machine off again,
Mackenzie, turn the espresso machine off again,
Mackenzie, turn the espresso machine off again,
They’ve all gone away.

Plug in the toaster oven and make malted toast,
Put the croissants on to warm but don’t roast,
Plug in the toaster oven and make malted toast,
We’ll all have a double latte.

—–

Untitled piece

by Deb Whittam

Mary had a little lamb
Which went and got itself lost
Mary thought with a grunt
Damn thing just goes and sods off

Mary thought about the job
Of finding the little sheep
Decided it wasn’t worth the bother
She had others she could fleece

Mary went off to the casino
Wearing a bright red dress
Mary had a knack for cards
That had long been repressed

Mary made a killing
Which the casino didn’t appreciate
They went and found her lamb
Hoping they could set her straight

Mary took one look a little lamb-beau
Snorted with derision
She didn’t want the lamb back
Just kill it with precision

Mary’s words mortified all
They all grew alarmed
Mary didn’t really care
She had come forearmed

She took the loot, she took their money
And then Mary scrammed
She heard about some great cave
Owned by a guy called Aladdin

—–

Little Bo Peep, Unemployed

by Kristian

Little Bo Peep

Had lost her sheep,

But she knew just where to find them

They’d been taken away

The other day

For slaughter, so she no longer had to mind them.

—–

Untitled Nursery Rhyme

by Michael B. Fishman

Hickory dickory dock,
I got a hole in my sock.
I let it go and stubbed my toe
and fell on my old banjo.

Then Mary’s lamb came prancing by and took a look at me.
“Help!” I said but the lamb just turned and nibbled on my
forgotten peanut butter and onion panini.

I couldn’t believe it, the lamb wouldn’t help, that lousy, fleecy
snob.
So I crawled over slowly and with my hands turned that lamb into a
kebab.

Then Mary came a-running in, “Oh I loved that lamb a lot.”
She cried and cried and with the back of her hand wiped away a gob of snot.

That made me sick, that gooey drool, wet boogers on the back of her wrist
and I wondered for a minute if she ever gave her boyfriend a sloppy wet bugger-y kiss.

She probably did. That poor old fella, I hope he carries a hanky,
and not just any hanky but one as big as my light blue naptime blanky.

That’s my story and now I’m tired and I’ve still got a hole in my sock
and guess what?
I just saw a cloud
drift past wearing
a raincoat and I said
to the cloud,

“Hey what are you wearing under your raincoat and the cloud said,
“Thunderwear”.

And I said,
“You’re lighter than air”.

And the cloud said, “You’re a poet.”

And I said, “But a terrible one.”

And the cloud said, “Well I didn’t want to say anything, but–”

And we both smiled.

And the cloud floated away
with a promise to
come on back another day

and Mary started washing her face, washing her face, washing
her face on this cold and frosty morning. And then she started
to dance around a Mulberry bush and I called her Mulberry Mary.

—–

Grumpy Humpty

by Bruce Goodman

Humpty Dumpty sat on the fence
And the top wire was barbed and went right through his pants.
All the king’s nurses with skills so superior
Refused to bandage up Humpty’s posterior.

—–

Untitled piece

by Ruth Scribbles

There Was a Young Lady Who Lived in a Sandal

She had so many toes it really was a scandal

She wrapped them all up with tape and some gauze

After cutting them off without any cause.

—–

Itsy Bitsy

by Matt Snyder

Itsy bitsy, no, it’s a great big freakin’ spider

It’s just there stuck with all its legs against our wall

I let out a greatly enormous incredibly loud scream

Hoping and praying it don’t fall

And then it began to rain

The pitter patter of the drops

Against the window pane

Sorry, I was distracted

Itsy bitsy great big freakin’ spider

Never to be seen again

—–

Nip and tuck

by Violet Lentz

There was once a princess from Poughkeepsie,
Who went in for a li’l nip and tuck, see?
Instead of lifting her breast
they lowered the rest
Now her boobies are where her knees, should be.

—–

Untitled piece

by Gary

Row, row, row your brexit
Gently wants to make me scream
Terribly, terribly, terribly, terribly
Life is but a dirty scheme
Bankers, fill, fill fill your boots
Gently wrecking our kids dreams
Horribly, horribly, horribly, horribly
Life is ruled by corrupt regimes
Row, row, row your lies
Gently down the pan
Stupidly, stupidly, stupidly, stupidly
Life is run by an ignorant racist madman
Hedge funds , screw, screw screw your world
Gently throw the climate down the garbage can
Corruptly, corruptly, corruptly, corruptly
Life is a dream if you are the bogeyman

—–

Sing a Song of Christmas ( or Four and Twenty Relatives)

by LWBUT

Sing a song of Christmas,
A stocking full of gifts.
Parents folding wrapping paper,
Taking it in shifts.

Children demanding i-Phones,
Lego kits and Apps;
Money is no object,
At least while the credit lasts.

The relatives are coming
Quick! Lock the door!
There’s only eight of them
But they eat like there’s twenty four!

Too much ham, turkey and stuffing
Pudding up to here.
Wine and beer flowed in a torrent,
Overdone it again this year.

Take the lights and decorations down,
Stuff ’em in a box;
Then find a nice, dark, quiet place,
with a bottle of Jack Daniels and a strip of ten Stilnox.

—–

Thank you all so much! You’ve done Mother Goose a horrible service today!

Come back tomorrow morning for next week’s prompt.

charles-2vfwTakDTIo-unsplash

MagicQuill17: 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

Welcome to the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest #47!

Are you confused about how to terribly poem? I’ve got you covered with a basic overview, here. Mostly, I seek the complete destruction of a poem’s construction over the revulsion of the subject.

Here are the specifics:

  1. At the excellent suggestion of Deb Whittam, our Topic is fractured nursery rhymes. Since I’ve done this category before, the rule is that you must take an existing nursery rhyme as your base.
    Mess up Mary’s lamb. Make Jack and Jill lose their heads; literally. Turn Little Jack Horner’s plum into a shark.
  2. The Length is determined by the rhyme you choose. No, you needn’t do every stanza of “Old Mother Hubbard.” It’s up to you.
  3. In terms of Rhyming, that is also dependent on the one you choose. All the ones I’ve read rhyme, so you can count on doing the same.
  4. Please, young writers, Make it terrible! Mother Goose will spontaneously molt at the very mention of your name and children everywhere will be permanently scarred for six months.
  5. The target audience is children, so a G-Rating is necessary.

You have till 9:00 a.m. MST next Friday (October 18) 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. Please also comment if you post to your site, since WordPress’ pingbacks are not reliable.

Have fun!

charles-2vfwtakdtio-unsplash.jpg

Photo credit: Charles 🇵🇭

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Mother Goose ain’t got nothing on this week’s terrible poetry contest, yet another event where I found myself torn between at least five entries.

What’s the fun of a contest without a designated winner, though? And that winner is ….Violet Lentz.

Mary McGrath

by Violet Lentz

I once knew a girl
Named Mary McGrath
Who’d do anything
To avoid taking a bath

She’d run and she’d hide
She’d slip and she’d slither
Till her father was fit
And her mom in a dither

A brown crust it settled
Between the cracks in her toes
Wax dried in her ears
And snots in her nose.

Her hair a birds nest
Even fleas would avoid
Her breath so atrocious
Even dogs were annoyed

This went on for years
Her games and her ploys
Till one day she grew up
and discovered boys!

Well that changed it all
Today she couldn’t be neater
All plaited and pressed
And she smell so much sweeter!

Congratulations, Violet! You are the most terrible poet of the week!

As I first read through everyone’s terrible, horrible, no good, very bad entries; I thought to give a tie to two who trashed everything our inner child held dear. Ultimately, however, I decided to turn to The Rules.

When I introduced the contest last week, I specifically said, “This week… I wish to be more about a clever take and subject than about a rotten execution.” I therefore changed my judging glasses out for a pair that looked for rhymes that could be of the nursery sort, though hopefully no parent would ever recite them to his child.

Violet’s fit the bill, which is no surprise considering how very talented a poet she is.

Not to be outdone, of course, are all the rest. I laughed, I cried, I groaned; and I felt terrible for not being able to award so talented a crowd first place all around.

Don’t believe me? Read for yourself and see:

Hush Now

by Donna Matthews

Hush now my cantankerous one
Have you lost all your fun?
You’re as enjoyable as the flu
Your attitude smelling like poo
Relax and chill out
Or get the hell out.

Hush now moody and blue
Or else, begone and say adieu
Go on and get lost
before you get tossed
Better improve your mood
Or you’re gonna be screwed

Hush now my beautiful one
I’m tired and more than done
Now really…I mean you no harm
Come here into my arms
Ain’t nobody got time for this
Now be sweet and give me a kiss

—–

Untitled piece

by Greygirlieandme

Jack and Jill
Looked at the hill.
Where there was a well.
For Mary’s little lamb needs water.
Jack said well
It’s the task from hell
And Jill said ‘Yes it is, sort of.

Mary’s lamb is always thirsty,
She’s fed up of its antics.
It follows her everywhere she goes,
She’s got an ovine stalker.

Jack huffed and puffed
When Mary cried and Jill
Had a temper tantrum.
He got an idea
Of what life is like
With two premenstrual women.

He cursed the lamb,
Damn you lamb.
Damn you sheep.
You haunt me in my sleep.

Mary and Jill
Skipped up the hill.
They said ‘Typical man
To not water the lamb,
Or see the site’s potential.
As long as you could get planning consent.
Which is really hard.
We’ll have to see the council.

Mary and Jill
Now live on the hill.
Their restaurant’s famous
For lamb navarin.

Jack ran away
To discover himself.
‘Golly, I’m gay,
Hip, hip hooray,
I can wear that turqoise eyeliner.
And they all lived happily, after
Seeing a family counsellor.

—–

Untitled piece

by jena c. henry

Jack Spratt and his wife
Could eat no Keto
Whole 30 or Paleo
No more ‘licking the plate clean’ life.

“My fair lady! Let’s practice self-care.”
“Ok” said Jack’s wife, “I’m for cardio.”
So they marched up the hill- go!
And then ringed around the rosie there.

They met Humpty Dumpty, and tried
yolk-a on the wall, oh no!
Along came a downward doggo
And sat down beside her, fried.

Organic clothes would be fantastic!
Said Jack, “Baa baa Black Sheep do
You have any wool?”
“No sir. No sir. Just recycled fibers of plastic.”

Jack’s wife decided to meditate
And live alone in a shoe.
Jack didn’t know what to do.
So he said, “That’s the way the bough breaks.”

—–

Untitled piece

by Bruce Goodman

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.
That looks very uncomfortable, said Little Bo Peep.
Believe me, said Humpty Dumpty,
It’s not half as bad as sitting on Little Miss Muffet’s tuffet.

You, said Mother Goose, should keep
Wee Willie Winkie under control.
So also says Bruce.

—–

There was an old man

by RhScribbles

There was an old man
Who lived in a boot
He had so many relatives
That he didn’t give a wit
As to whether he lived
Or died as a smelly old coot

He picked his nose and
Chewed his cud
He went to bed in the mud
He awoke with a cough
And said, “that’s enough”
He bought a newspaper
And went on a caper
He had to sell his boot
Cause he had no loot

All that was left was
To scream and hoot
Hooting and tooting
As a jolly old soul
He became the
Walmart Santa Claus

—–

The old woman who lived in a shoe

by Julia

(with apologies to Sylvia Plath, from whom I stole the first verse, which fit so perfectly — no pun intended!)

You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

And that was before all these toes came along,
These children, like toes, like the notes of a song
Multiplying like rabbits, my food to divide
Until broth without bread was all I’d provide.
Then I sent them to bed, though I knew I was wrong.

Yes, I whipped them, quite soundly, it’s true.
But what would you do, were it you in this shoe?
In this shoe thirty years, give or take one or two?
Say what you will, I know just what you’d do
You’d do the same thing, were it you in this shoe.

—–

There was an old woman who lived in a boot

by Molly Stevens

There was an old woman
Who lived in a boot.
She had a lot of children
But they didn’t give a hoot.

In their defense
She was quite contrary,
With a curl smack dab in the middle
Of her forehead.

She sat alone
Day after day
Eating her curds
And slurping her whey.

When out on the lawn
There arose such a clatter,
She sprang from her tuffet
To see what was the matter.

In her haste to explore
She swallowed a fly.
Why, oh why?
Did she swallow that fly?

She feared she’d die!

She called Little Jack Horner
The local MD.
He said, “I’m plumb out of ideas,
You’d best go to the ED.”

She’d no way to get there
One shoe off and the other shoe on,
Diddle diddle dumpling
She called her son, John.

John told her to wait for him
Sitting on a wall,
But possessing poor balance
The old woman had a great fall.

A walrus and a carpenter
Walked by and saw her plight,
“I don’t know what happened
But she doesn’t seem quite right.”

While thinking things could not be worse
For the woman who was comatose,
Down came a blackbird
And pecked off her nose.

“The time has come,” the walrus said,
“To talk of many things,
But first to stay above suspicion
I suggest we trot along home again.”

I wish there were a happy ending
But alas the woman died.
Let this be a lesson,
Don’t swallow a fly!

—–

Itsy Bitsy Spider – Mediocre Rap Version

by H.R.R. Gorman

Sleep is for the weak
SON
So listen to these ill tweaks
To the story of the real OG.

Itsy bitsy spider
In the house.

Climb up that waterspout.
Going up clean aluminum,
Ain’t touching that nasty grout.

But here comes the rain!
Aluminum’s too slick now!
Give them a world of PAIN!

Gonna bust a cap
In the weatherman
Lying to me bout this crap.

How am I gonna spin a web
When it’s wet outside?
Let me call up buddy Jeb!

Ring Ring
Ring Ring
Ring Ring

“Hello? Nuclear Fire you say?
That’s the way I like it –
Radiation everyday!”

Dry up that pipe and climb
Reach the top of the drain
And rejoice with sick rhyme.

Word.

—–

Untitled piece

by Fractured Faith Blog

Little Bo Beep
Lost her sheep
They were all butchered in the abbatoir
And sold for meat.
By a clown….
With a chainsaw.
Fin

—–

Untitled piece

by D. Wallace Peach

Old Pres Donald had a wall
I owe IOU
And from the top he saw a cactus
I owe IOU
With a billion here and a billion there
Here a debt there a debt
Everywhere some deficit
I owe IOU

Old Pres Donald had a germ
I owe IOU
And no health care we all got sick
I owe IOU
With a cough cough here and a hack hack there
Here a phlegm, there a phlegm
Everywhere some green phlegm
I owe IOU

Old Pres Donald had a tax cut
I owe IOU
And no one got it but the rich
I owe IOU
With a bill bill here and bill bill there
Here a notice, there a notice
Everywhere a payment’s due
I owe IOU

Old Pres Donald had a personality disorder
I owe IOU
Can’t sympathize or tell the truth
I owe IOU
With a lie lie here and a lie lie there
Here a Putin, there a Putin
Everywhere a favorite Russian
I owe IOU

—–

Untitled piece

by Michael B. Fishman

Frankie holds his undies out, mom takes them with a frown.
Her nose is wrinkled, her eyes are closed, a reaction to the brown.

“Why, Frankie, dear these pants do smell oh my, what did you do?”

“I’m sorry mom I just bent down and out came some tiny poo.”

Tiny’s right, Frank’s mommie thinks, they look like baby ants.
Or maybe, she laughs, like something dropped from Captain Underpants.

—–

Untitled piece

by Michael B. Fishman

Frankie stepped down off the curb he didn’t look left or right.
A speeding driver came down the street and drove right through the light.
People shouted out to Frankie; many more folks screamed
But Frankie was listening to a baseball broadcast and wound up getting creamed.

Frankie got run over.
There wasn’t much left over.
Sort of like a cherry turnover
(only with blood and bones and torn and wrinkled skin instead of cherries)

They used a mop to clean up Frankie, the driver went away in chains
And all that was left at the end of the day was a bit of Frankie’s brains.
So when you cross the street my friends be sure to look both ways
unless you want to wind up as a blob of bloody mayonnaise.

—–

Now we’ll have to get an artist on board to help illustrate these.

In the meantime, tune in tomorrow. I am SO SO so excited for next week’s prompt!

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Violet: 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

Who’s ready for some terrible poetry? I know I am!

Welcome to The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest, the twelfth iteration. I am super stoked for this week’s topic.

**IMPORTANT NOTE** I usually tell everyone to read, “How To Write Terrible Poetry” so’s you know what I’m looking for. This week, however, I wish to be more about a clever take and subject than about a rotten execution.

  1. Topic: Nursery Rhymes.
  2. Length? Let’s do a stanza or two, or three. We don’t need all 16 rounds of “Old Mother Hubbard,” for Peter Pumpkin Eater’s sake.
  3. This prompt is a special one.
    If you, the poet, wish to satirize an existing nursery rhyme; that is reasonable.
    If you, the poet, wish to vaguely reference an existing nursery rhyme; I am okay with your decision.
    If you, the poet, wish to go to No Man’s Land of poetry and leave us wondering if you even knew the prompt; more power to you.
  4. Whatever you decide, make us hurt while we’re laughing.
    Make Georgie Porgie want to cry with mirth. Give Jack and Jill a poetic thrill. Give those blind mice something to smile about.
  5. In terms of appropriateness, keep it PG- or G-rated. These are originally written for children, after all.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (February 8, 2019) to submit a poem.

Post your poem or a link to it in the comments, or fill out the included form. I read them all and judge as impartially as I may.

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In the meantime and just for fun, here are a couple of poems the very busy but very talented Irish Procrastinator wrote last year:

Doggies

A doggie is lovely

It wags and it barks

It just wants a cuddle

And walks in the park

But the worst thing of all

(And everyone looks)

Is when it sits down

And does a big poop.

—–

Just Eat Some Toast Instead

I knew a girl

Who loved to eat boogers

At breakfast and lunch

She dug in her hooter

She wouldn’t eat fruit

And she wouldn’t eat bread

This girl just loved

To eat bogeys instead

One day while digging

Deep up in her nose

Her finger got stuck!

Her mummy said ‘blow!’

She huffed and she puffed

Her mummy said ‘more!’

She blew it so hard

Her nose flew out the door!

Lucky for her

Her mummy had glue

She stuck it back on

And nobody knew

So if you don’t want

To lose bits of your head

Take my advice

Use a tissue instead.

I keep telling her she needs to write modern children’s nursery rhymes, so we’ll hold out hope for when that happens.

 

Photo Credit:
Charles 🇵🇭