IT’S BEEN A TRIP
I CAN’T COMPLAIN
WE’VE BROKEN HIPS
AND SWOLLEN VEINS
THROUGH CATARACTS
I SEE YOUR FACE
YOU’VE GOT MY BACK
SO HAS MY BRACE
WHENE’ER YOU SNORE
AT TEN PAST LUNCH
I LOVE YOU MORE
THAN THIS OLD HUNCH
AND SO I SHOUT
SO ALL MAY HEAR
(‘CAUSE BATT’RIES’ OUT)
I LOVE YOU, DEAR.
©2020 Chel Owens
Don’t forget to submit a poem for the A Mused Poetry Contest!
How do I love thee? I don’t think you want to know… What you will want to know is whom to avoid this V-Day when considering requesting a sonnet.
For, this week’s winners of the most terrible poetry are:
by Shake’s peer (aka Doug Jacquier)
I did but see her glassy-eyed, astride
her pied ride as she wended to her home,
sighing in her saddle set to the side,
clutching her cask of wine to her bos-ome.
Full sore my lovesick heart (and other parts) swell’d
as Cupid’s arrow shrived my mortal soul
and I resolved to plight my troth once held
by the Fair Youth at my watering hole.
Dark Lady, I fulsome cried, be my bride
and let us to Lethe flee and there be wed.
She fix-ed me full-faced but gimlet-eyed
and intoned words that ‘minded of the dead.
“Marry, not marry, for I’m wed to Sid
but your other needs, whatsay twenty quid?”
–and–
Girl let me be your sponge mop
just squeeze me and I’m ready to pop
full of moist love for you
I know you feel the same way too
Let me be your sponge mop
I’ll absorb your tears once they drop
I know you often have to cry
when you’re finished, just squeeze me dry
So let me be your sponge mop
and after we’re done, I’ll still be your sop
but just don’t leave me to dry in your bucket too long
just wet me sometimes, and I’ll spring back to life on song
—–
Congratulations, Doug and Joanne! You are the most terrible poets of the week!
The rest of the contestants, save one that is too sweet to be terrible, were so very very close to all being named winners. Yes, I’ve chickened out and done that before. I finally decided to give Doug’s poem the recognition it deserves; not only did he sonnet, but he took it to the form and the language. Joanne -well… Joanne, that was too terrible to ignore.
I laughed and laughed and cringed at the rest. Read, and enjoy:
by Abject Muse
Sometimes…
Love is like a dirty sock.
You smell it a mile away
stealthily hiding beneath a rock.
But you turn it over anyway
to find bugs and maggots crawling ’round
but you don’t mind the stinky bouquet
because it’s love you finally found.
Other times…
Love is like a thug
jumping on you in the dark
beating the crap out of your heart
and leaves you smiling in a pool of blood.
Wondering what will happen next?
You get a nasty screw-you text.
And Then Sometimes…
Love can feel just right
until the day you realize
you were blinded by the phony light
of truths turned into stinking lies.
You feel foolish and oh, so dumb!
And then your heart fades to numb.
—–
by Deb Whittam
I love you like a bee loves beer
I love you like red wine loves white carpet
I love you in so many ways
Even when you have the audacity to sneer.
I love you like a wedding and diarrhea
I love you like two years old and hearing aids
I love you in so many ways
Though I may seem obsessive I swear there’s nothing to fear.
Ok yes I strangled a wife back long ago
But she was not what she seemed
And yes I pushed one off a cliff
But she just wouldn’t stop with the cheer
And anyway it is you I love now
So bite back those tears
Of joy and come here
I ran this bath just for you my dear.
—–
How doth the blush of dawn speak of passion
The celestial glow turning all to bright pink
The shade of your bare behind in fashion
Turns my mind to lust…, I mean love, yeah love, I think
My blood pressure rises with that ornery star, the sun
Is it your fair face in that morning glow bursting my heart
Or is it that I forgot my medicine that makes my blood pressure undone?
Uhm, yeah, your face, uhm, really, your face makes the racing of my heart start
Maple syrup on pancakes is not as sweet as thy
(I love bacon too, but is it a compliment to compare you?)
No taste from the nectar of your honey lips and I will die
(Or am I thinking of coffee, without which I can’t make do?)
My heart is a sailor to take fair warning
Of you arriving bright red in this stormy morning
—–
My love is like a prickly pear
Stuck inside my underwear
Its bittersweet pain reminds me
this love was not meant to be.
Yet on we go, the sting ignored
until we both got really bored.
And so one day, we parted ways
in spite of sometimes happy days.
As for that old prickly pear,
It’s no longer in my underwear.
That nasty sting forever gone
just like my love, forever wrong.
—–
by Ruth
I love milk chocolate, smooth and creamy thick
Could eat a houseful, yummy brick by brick
Till gorged by cocoa, melty-warm and slick
Pure liquefied indulgence makes me sick…
—–
My love for you is like pickles, my dear
You’re like a giant pickle yourself.
Wrinkled, vinegary, tart and you make my mouth pucker
But frogs, my dear–consider
Will never croak our love ballads out the way you do
Birds fall out of the sky, dead at your winsome, cat crying tones.
Screams! My love for you is but a ballad of curled beards
Curled like your toes made of mahogany wood
Oh my dear, I sigh in love
Like a dill pickle.
—–
by Bryntin
my ears assailed, your comments so cruel
in my head I can question my own name
its not the satnav who you overrule
you get jealous of the voice they call jane
and so you may explore the world my love
bravely taking strange roads in our motor
me never knowing the heading, sort of
to the sounds of my poetry quota
for you I recite some favourite keats
or try some sonnets from the bard shakespeare
let it travel, sent with love twixt the seats
if it deters you from slapping my ear
we smile, home, I dare not to sabotage
car, at last, nice and warm in the garage
—–
Do I love thee, you really want to know?
Like those idyllic, serene summer days,
when I see your face I begin to glow,
for in truth your face looks like mayonnaise.
As I stare deeply at your sleeping eyes
I wonder just what the hell I’m doing.
I think about my friends, those lucky guys
and wonder if another wife I shouldn’t be pursuing.
I can’t write you a sonnet. I can’t even kiss you. Specifically speaking: no serenely stormy split second spit-sticking smack on the shoulder. Nay, you naughty nonsignificant, knotty-nosed, norepinephrine-needing nudnik. Never no nibbles upon thine neck.
Forsooth (for anyone if soothe isn’t available) free me from this foul fraudulence.
Alas, you stir and turn your black orbs, dripping with eye boogers and brimming with heated demonic lust to mine. Those haunted eyes that lured me to seemingly eternal wedded
bliss.
You part your pulpy lips, an invitation to one innocent sensual deep kiss
as sweet as molasses
Lost, I ignored what was amiss
and I find myself once again in . . .
. . . an abyss.
We part.
You smile.
I smile.
Your morning breath –
– ugh . . .
Good morning, my love.
Happy Valentine’s Day, my treasure.
Sleep well?
(No, not next to you) Next to you is there any other way?
My prince.
How I do love thee…
###
Note: this is not based on a true story.
—–
My love is like a bike ride on a beach
The wheels sink down in sand and I get wedged
I’ll ne’er arrive where you picnic out of reach
I feel so dumb and underprivileged.
If I had walked towards you and not biked
I’d be with you on the beach eating stuff out of your picnic hamper
Chicken drumsticks is what I would have liked
But stuck in sand means to you I cannot scamper.
The tide is drawing in, the waves are crashing
Soon my bike will sink below the surf.
Obviously my love will take a thrashing
And I’ll lose the thing I most desire on earf.
Alas I’m drowning in the sea, my Honey,
And you think getting my bike stuck in sand is funny.
—–
by Nitin
Will you not accept my love dear Bruce?
I doubt I offer Frankincense, myrrh or gold
But excuse me! Allow me to be bold!
Don’t I give you olive oil massages and spruce
You up, when you attend meetings?
Don’t I grease those aching joints with love?
And all I get is tomato soup from the stove!
Excuse me! I stay up all night to write you season’s greetings!
Now, I might not write Goodman gore but I’m not dumb
I know you use this clown
Just for his party nose and bum
Damn it! what rhymes with clown!
But these are lines of love still
Written while I sit on Bruce Goodman’s windowsill (is the table next to the window the sill?)
– Binky
—–
Roses are red
The pain in my head
Makes me giddy
Chocolate can’t compete
My stomach is churning with butterflies
I love you to the toilet and back
Will you be mine?
—–
by Gary
Missing the warmth of your dear sweet love
Valentines goes on which annoys me, kind of
Feeling unloved as our romance is no more
Will get as many cards as a grumpy Wild Boar
No red roses for me sat on my sofa for one
No lovers wine to drink as I’m suffering a dry run
Can’t even have chocolate as I’m currently dairy free
So sat here writing of love with a bloody black tea
Trying to find ways to avoid pigging Valentines Day
Maybe games of solitaire and a stinging nettle bouquet
Mr Grouchy sat here with love sadly deserting me
Nursing a snotty nose and an annoying sore old knee
So Valentines is coming and I’m enduring all those red rose adverts
Well excuse me if I say to me it’s all a huge pile of steaming turds.
—–
by Lucy
My love, as the still light shines on your lice
Ah, I smell the onions matted on your breath.
What else? Your nose hairs are threads to soon slice,
And when I leave I thank god I didn’t retch.
My beloved, a shore of love passes through me
When I do catch whiff of your gastro winds,
They move like the barnacles on your knees
Oh, as I stroke the maggots off your skin!
Your eyes are red as a blowfly’s
Your ears are clouded with wax opaque spots
Your lips hoofed with your special spoiled meat pie
Beloved, you smell worse than Death’s trots.
As I lie in bed and think, lord what else?
My chest rises in warbling warmth and I melt.
—–
by Punam
My beloved, I curse the day I said yes to you,
It was my prerogative, no doubt
It could have been sooner my beau
I so fell in love with your pout!
I am sick and tired of your explosive anger
Your wearisome stubbornness and defiance
To your alien ways I am no foreigner
Honey, what would I be without this alliance!
How do you think we will manage with your income meagre
Your stupid scruples you follow inexcusably
My love, to sacrifice for you I am always eager
I love how you still acquit yourself admirably!
You are the inspiration for this third class verse,
My love for you colours my vision for better or worse!
—–
by Ivy
I wait for the night to hear your voice,
every day to see your face.
Your charm’s got a hold on me,
even when you are not around.
Your voice makes me feel you right next to me.
You make the distance seem an arm’s length away.
I may not tell you how I feel,
Fear of losing you has weighed in on my fragile mind.
I’m a coward to my feelings,
Alone wandering in my thoughts of you.
My mind knows you more than my lips,
The tip of my pen more than my words.
My thoughts run rampant on you.
They halt on interventions.
They halt when my mind gets busy.
My mind stays stagnant at your smile.
My heart would want you nearby.
Only to love you,
Only to take care of you,
Never to leave you.
If I could only tell you,
How much you colored my world.
How much you made for long for you
How much I’d dream of falling into your arms
—–
Thank you all for the painful laughs! Come back tomorrow around 10 a.m. MST for next week’s topic.
Doug and Joanne: D. Wallace Peach created this graphic that you can use (if you want) for a badge of honor as the winner:
Yes, Doug, I’m working on a new graphic. Still.
©2020 The poets and their respective poems
I’m a bit late in posting this, but I wanted to write my final love poem of the (last) week to my favorite holiday in February, Half-Price Chocolate Day (February 15).
I also write this in response to Carrot Ranch‘s weekly writing prompt.*
Excuse me, ma’am, I know it’s bright,
My coming here at break of light;
Yet, may I guess you’re here to mark
Down hearts and cards within this cart?
‘Yes,’ you say? You’ve made my day!
-But, wait! What of the wall this way?
The bags and boxes here, you know,
Are why I woke up, braved the snow.
They’re why, my diet I’ll ignore;
Why, really, I came to this store;
And why, no joke, my world still turns
For what my beating heart still yearns:
My meaning, purpose, lifetime vice
Is V Day choc’late, sold half price.
*Carrot Ranch’s official rules:
February 14, 2019, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about valentines. It can be Valentine’s Day, the exchange, love for another, romance, or friendship. Have a heart and go where the prompt leads!
Respond by February 19, 2019. Use the comment section [on the site] to share, read and be social. You may leave a link, pingback or story in the comments. If you want to be published in the weekly collection, please use the form. Rules & Guidelines.
Photo Credit:
Pixabay
In celebration of an upcoming commercial holiday and to help inspire others to enter The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest, I will write a love poem every day this week.
Never able to be serious, this poem is dedicated to the megalith that is Costco:
Whenever I run out of bread,
Or cheese, or eggs, or e’en a bed;
Or when it’s time I must acquire
A brand new set (or two) of tires;
Or, hanging there, a frozen goat;
A lamb, a fridge, some pants, a coat;
There’s only one place I may go
Where membership card I must show
And cheese and choc’late samples flow
And impulse buys include cargo:
My own, enormous love, Costco.
In celebration of an upcoming commercial holiday and to help inspire others to enter The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest, I will write a love poem every day this week.
I also write today’s tale in response to Carrot Ranch‘s weekly writing prompt.*
A simple man, though good and kind
Went walking down the sidewalk line
And saw a simple womankind.
He thought, She looks, to me, quite fine.
Meanwhilst, she glanced in mirrored shrine;
Of café window, ‘neath a sign
And told herself she was quite pline;
Till, seeing, side and just behind
Our simple man, in quite the bind.
Then, from his cellphone, played a chime:
‘Twas evening of Day Valentine.
She smiled, asked, “Have you the time?”
He smiled, too; said, “Not yet nine.
“Would you,” he paused, “Want to be mine
“For supper, now it’s time to dine?”
*Carrot Ranch’s official rules:
February 7, 2019, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that includes a sign. It can be a posted sign, a universal sign, a wonder. Go where the prompt leads.
Respond by February 12, 2019. Use the comment section below to share, read and be social. You may leave a link, pingback or story in the comments. If you want to be published in the weekly collection, please use the form on the website. Rules & Guidelines.
Photo Credit:
Jez Timms
In celebration of an upcoming commercial holiday and to help inspire others to enter The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest, I will write a love poem every day this week.
As morning became afternoon became evening and I hadn’t a topic to soliloquize, I finally settled on dedicating the following Tanka to black clothing:
Winter’s unkind touch
Paints my flabby skin folds on
Turning smiles down.
When, uplifted, my heart joys
Once clothed in slimming blackness.
Photo Credit:
Mohammad Metri
In celebration of an upcoming commercial holiday and to help inspire others to enter The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest, I will write a love poem every day this week.
This evening, I address a piece of my inner being I lost one fateful, painful day: my appendix.
While those, intact, may shout and strain
And boast of their unscarrèd frame,
I cradle thee, my abdomen –
Less able to fight pathogens.
‘What, what?!’ say friends, in some concern,
‘Methought t’appendix was to spurn.
Surely, ‘mongst the var’yous ‘itis
The worst is appendicitis.’
True; surgeons call you, ‘trivial;’
The textbooks say, ‘vestigial.’
Yet, something tells me, in my gut
You’ve purpose; we just know not what.
And so, my years-departed friend,
Though you so nearly caused my end,
I’ll mourn my loss; I’ll cry, betimes
Whilst I eat more of active enzymes.
Photo Credit:
rawpixel
In celebration of an upcoming commercial holiday and to help inspire others to enter The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest, I will write a love poem every day this week.
Today’s romantic sonnet is dedicated to one of my favorite new-age gadgets, the backup safety monitor (and camera) on my minivan.
Toyota changed my driving life fore’er
Espec’ally when I’m trav’ling in reverse.
For, as I move to R with shifting gear,
A sonnet comes to m’absent mind, rehearsed:
Oh, beeping song I hear, upon my dash,
Oh, sudden sight I see, within your cam’:
A person’s there, appearing in a flash
As if he could not see a minivan.
What wouldst I do, how would walking man fare
Without you, backup safety monitor?
Would we be singing poems of love and care
Or hail an ambulance and coroner?
In short; without thee, I would feel confined
To living life, always looking behind.
