WINNER of the Terrible Poetry Contest 5/25/2023

What’s cheesier than a Vermont Cheddar? This month’s terrible poetry contest, of course! Matt, last time’s winner, suggested we write a limerick about the dairy product in question, and here are the winners:

Terror at the table

by DA Whittam

Vermont Cheddar Cheese was such a sleaze
Wheezed, seized, breezed, he’s enough to make one weak at the knees
Eyeing him disdainfully did nothing to ease
The fears his presence could not appease
Here, grab the skis and the keys, I’ll disappear into the trees.

—–

The Gambler

by seahorsecoffeeelektra79018

He was a good old egg who liked to gamble,
He never stopped talking, oh how he rambled.
One nasty night he lost his shirt. He got drunk.
He fell in the dirt. Now he’s a good old egg
Who’s somewhat broken and completely scrambled.

—–

Congratulations, DA and seahorsecoffeeelektra79018! You are the most terrible poets this month! We’re taking a summer sabbatical until September; but you’re both welcome to tell me a theme and form for next time, in the comments.

For the record, I’m going to sound like a broken record: all contestants did TERRIBLY. (I mean, that is the point of the contest, right?) I read over all the poems, snickered, read them again, snickered again, then could NOT decide who to crown as victor. DA and shce#’s contributions won by a hair -and, I realized, the same level of hair. I loved DA’s incessant rhyming and broken form; I loved sea’s broken form and mostly-rhyme. Plus, as was with all the submissions, they were terrible.

What a way to end (for now) on a high note! Enjoy reading:

Untitled

by TanGental

If I can no longer enjoy my cheese
Then would you put me at my ease:
Stop me crying,
Assist my dying:
Take my throat and give it a squeeze…

—–

Shredding The Cheddar

by Obbverse

I pondered on this tasteless topic blankly…
Because Vermont Cheddar stinks, and rankly,
There is the ripe question
Of long lingering indigestion,
I’d rather Brie or Philadelphia, frankly.

—–

Untitled

by Frank Hubeny

There once was a cheesy old cheddar
who never got under the weather. (pronounce this “wedder”)
Vermont Cheddar’s the name
of long-standing good fame
since tomorrow it tastes even better. (pronounce this “bedder”)

—–

Untitled

by Dumbestblogger

There once was a brave little cheddar
Who thought it was oh so much better
Than gouda or brie
Then it started to sneeze
For tickled it was with a feather

—–

Dairy in the air

by Michael B. Fishman

Her breath smelled like Vermont cheddar cheese,
so when she said, “Boy, won’t you come kiss me please.”
I just squeezed shut my sniffer
and dreamed of Aniston, you know, Jennifer,
and gave her lips a soft gentle squeeze.

—–

Untitled

by Ordinary Person

I’ve decided to give up cheese
especially Vermont Cheddar cheese
Why? What do you know about life?
Isn’t it full of strife?
I hate you Vermont Cheddar Cheese.

—–

A Stupid and Completely Fictious Story About Cheese, Jews, and Halachic Process

by Jewish Young Professional “JYP”

There once was a new kind of cheese
Where the protein was made out of peas.
The rabbis said, “No way!? (whey?)
Is this really okay?!?
To decide, we must use our rabbinic degrees.”

But the rabbis disliked intellectual work,
So they banned it, like they did Impossible Pork.
“We think banning is better –
Besides, this tastes like Vermont Cheddar,
And we prefer cheeses made in New York.”

Then came Shavuot holiday
Chief rabbi ate dairy all night and all day.
He produced so much gas
And hot air from his ass,
The chief rabbi up and floated away!

The rabbis said, “As much as we do not want,
To admit our Head Rabbi was intolerant
Of milk, lactose, and whey,
Guess we’ll say it’s ok
To eat that weird vegan cheese from Vermont!”

—–

Green Mountain Gold

by Greg

From Vermont came a cheddar, behold
Legend has it, one heck of a mold
Big cheese curd not forstall
The coming Woodchuck brawl.
For a chance to taste Green Mountain gold.

—–

Thank you, terrible poets. Maybe come back in September to see what the next prompt is!

Deb and seahorse: Here’s your slightly-inaccurate badge you can post as proof of your poetic mastery:

terrible-poetry-contest

©2023 The poets, and their respective poems.

Frosting, by DA Whittam

Contract,
Lengthen, cyclic persuasion
Gorging on random thoughts
Crystalizing perspective, before
Spin, spin, spinning
Sun dappled leaves
A wilderness of
Technicolour wings
Softly unfurl, reveal
A homage to vividness
In metamorphosis
Butterflies

D R E A M

Eyelids flutter
Flash of colour
The mirror reflects
The abyss of her reality
Painted red lips
Brash with uncertainty
Lacking vibrancy of butterfly wings
She watches, waiting
For the other to take flight
Envy insidiously creeping into her mind
She is bound in the rich tapestry
Of a creation which does not absolve

©DA Whittam
Visual Verse, Vol. 9, Chapter 4

LIMERICK! -for the Terrible Poetry Contest

There once was a poem, started thus;
Without thought, snacks, or fuss.
The poet, with ease
Never even mentioned Vermont cheese,
Yet wrote it for the Terrible Poetry contest. (Oh. Um -forgot to rhyme-) “Us!”

©2023 Chel Owens

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Seriously. Terrible-poeming isn’t as difficult as you think. Write something up and enter this month’s contest. You have till Thursday of this week (loosely). Then, we won’t be holding the contest again till September.

Mommy, dear

Mommy, dear, why do you cry
at the toast
the eggs
the strawb’ry jam
(I may have spilled across your bed)?

Look, dear Mom, at this great card
I made in school
with all the cray’ns
(stuffed in my pack)
forgot, till now.

But-
Mommy, dear, I love you so!
through tears
a sniff
a strawb’ry hug;

you smile and say, “I know.”

Photo by Brett Sayles on Pexels.com

©2023 Chel Owens

The Terrible Poetry Contest 5/4/2023

Hello, there. Welcome to the Terrible Poetry Contest for May, 2023. This will be the last contest before the host (presumably) resumes operations in September.

Haven’t heard about our esteemed ‘competition’ before? Read this post. We’re out to make-fun, but also have fun!

M won March’s contest. Here are the parameters he named for this month:

  1. Theme and Form
    Rest easy, guys. We’re doing a limerick about Vermont Cheddar Cheese.
    We’ve done limericks before, many times. A description of the form can be found at this link.
  2. Length
    Unlike cheddar, a limerick doesn’t take long. It’s five lines in anapestic trimeter.
  3. Rhyme?
    Cheese with ease, and rhyme the lines of AABBA this time.
  4. Terrible?
    Aging is an art, one applied best to solid dairy products one spreads on crackers. Terrible poetry, not so much. Make yours as tasteless as you’d like.
  5. Rating
    M didn’t say one, but I’m guessing he’s fine with anything. Anything, you hear? It is a limerick, after all…

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST on Thursday, May 25 to submit a poem.

Use the form below if you want to be anonymous until I post the results. The form hasn’t saved what you submitted unless you see a message saying it has.

Or, for a cheesier 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 pick of next contest’s theme and form.

—–

Image by Blossom Blackwell from Pixabay. There’s probably Vermont Cheddar on that plate.

©2023 Chel Owens

WINNER of the Terrible Poetry Contest 3/31/2023

Contestants needed to write a triolet about cultural appropriation, thanks to Ordinary Person‘s pick for March’s terrible poetry theme. After all that work to deliver, here’s the winning poem:

CAT IS FARCE/racist face…

by M

Meow Face, funny face, red face, yellow face, black face😽
All of me, paw me😼
Found humor, in human race as I embrace
Meow Face, funny face, red face, yellow face, black face😽
Mad face, glad face, sad face stare you down with my debase face 😾
Arrogance I guarantee
Meow Face, funny face, red face, yellow face, black face😽
All of me, paw me😼

—–

Congratulations, M! You are the most terrible poet this month! Let me know what theme and form we’re to use next time (which will be the last before my usual summer sabbatical).

In fact, congratulations to all. The triolet form was tricky to write terribly within. It’s a tribute to your skill that no poem stood out to me; I read through several times and grew increasingly pickier in order to name a winner. M’s entry took a clever direction in coming from your ever-adorable online cat.

Believe you me, these are all worth reading:

How many cultures can I offend today? Hmm, let me try…

by Trent P. McDonald

Do you like my new kerchief?
Made by a Buddhist, Rasta Hippy
African rhythms by colonial thief
Do you like my new kerchief?
Native dances, grizzly bear teeth
Hindu symbols appear quite trippy
Do you like my new kerchief?
Made by a Buddhist, Rasta Hippy

—–

A farnarkerling good adventure

by Doug Jacquier

Amidst general farnarkerling,
a fair maiden did set her sights
on a ring a’sparkling,
amidst general farnarkerling.
Full of feckless fancy flights that sometimes sounded barkling,
she swore to tie the knot with a man in tights.
Amidst general farnarkerling,
a fair maiden did set her sights.

Lo, this handsome Visigoth,
known as Necro Mancy,
and to him she vowed to plight her troth.
Lo, this handsome Visigoth,
She checked he was not of the cloth
and found he was a prince so fancy
Lo, this handsome Visigoth,
known as Necro Mancy.

The handsome prince, with heart a’loudly pounding,
now without her he could not forebore
so sent to her a messenger with a sounding,
the handsome prince, with heart a’loudly pounding.
He waited for her reply, with his teeth a’grounding
and the very ground he did paw,
the handsome prince, with heart a’loudly pounding,
now without her he could not forebore.

The maiden shed a seemly tear or two
then gave herself to Necro Mancy.
And they did quaff a beer or two and
the maiden shed a seemly tear or two.
Necro did down a scotch and more than just a few
and then spoke in tongues all romancey
The maiden shed a seemly tear or two
then gave herself to Necro Mancy.

—–

Offended For Offendedness Sake

by Frank Hubeny

I didn’t grab your culture, dear.
I simply ate your tasty rice.
In spite of how it might appear
I didn’t grab your culture, dear.
So, stop the whining. Drop the sneer.
Forget I said the rice was nice.
I didn’t grab your culture, dear.
I simply ate your tasty rice.

—–

Give And Take Take Take

by Obbverse

Us colonists gave so much to the First Nations
And yet they remain ungrateful for all this?
We came, we saw, we made evaluations,
Us colonials gave so much to the First Nations,
Trinkets, reservations, blankets, flu, free inoculations,
Scarlet fever, filter tips, firearms, fire-water, syphilis,
Us colonists gave so much to the first nations
And yet they remain ungrateful for all of this?

—–

Road Warrior

by Obbverse

I’m no longer a loyal Harley-Davidson fan,
I’m appropriating a big red Indian Chief,*
My l’il Low Rider don’t befit a big ol’ American,
I’m no longer a loyal Harley-Davidson fan-
Found my big numb behind no longer can
Hardly sit on its seat without Prep H relief,
I’m no longer a loyal Harley-Davidson fan,
I’m appropriating a big red Indian Chief.

* Yes, that is the name of a model in the Indian lineup. Brav- bold choice.

—–

incomprehensible

by Ruth Klein

Speak now, or forever hold your peace
The preacher shouted at them
They said a triolet not a niece
Speak now, or forever hold your peace
iambi who? Does it cook in grease
amphibriaric drum the dumb drum
Speak now, or forever hold your peace
The preacher shouted at them

—–

Home of the Braves

by Greg Glazebrook

Aah wah aah wah wah a warriors hum,
Back and forth the tomahawk chop.
Warpaint, feather headdress, and drum,
Aah wah aah wah wah a warriors hum,
From what century did you come?
Ratta tat tat tat, make it stop!
Aah wah aah wah wah a warriors hum,
Back and forth the tomahawk chop.

—–

©Chel Owens. Created using MidJourney.

Thank you, terrible poets. back in May to see what the next prompt is!

M: Here’s your slightly-inaccurate badge you can post as proof of your poetic mastery:

terrible-poetry-contest

©2023 The poets, and their respective poems.

Cultural Appropriation Sounds Appropriate for Some Terrible Poetry

Hip

You see I’m not a native; yeah
I’ll try anything
But I’m still degradative; ja
You see I’m not a native; yeah
I’m über connotative; da
I’ll wear everything
You see I’m not a native; yeah
I’ll try anything.

Photo by Clem Onojeghuo on Pexels.com

—–

Clueless

She wears mah kilt; she drinks green tea.
He tries hopak; says, “Holi krishna!”
They all shake hands; pop ojigi.
She wears mah kilt; she drinks green tea.
He hears adhan; Kashrut‘s his eats.
They rain-dance, and then read the mishna.
She wears mah kilt; she drinks green tea.
He tries hopak; says, “Holi krishna!”

Photo by Ketut Subiyanto on Pexels.com

©2023 Chel Owens

These weren’t that terrible and I know you can do better. Think up something that can pass for a poem and turn it in! The Deadline is March 30th.

Echoes, Shadows, Whispers, and Dreams

Echoes are all that resound down these halls;
Echoes of voices still young, still young.
They’re laughing or talking or screaming –
Or still.
But only sometime, long ago.

Shadows are all that still walk ‘cross these floors;
Shadows of children come late, come late.
They’re flashing to catch up their friends, else
Catch up.
But only sometime, long ago.

Whispers are all that still push dangling swings;
Whispers of glee-songs in play, in play.
They’re jumping and pumping and flying
Away.
But only sometime, long ago.

Where are the echoes, the shadows, and whispers?
Only in dreams, long ago.

©2023 Chel Owens

Photo by Wendelin Jacober on Pexels.com

Inspired by Carrot Ranch‘s prompt:

March 13, 2023, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about a place where children once played. It can be a field, a playground, or any place that attracted children to play. But now it is empty. Abandoned. Go where the prompt leads!