WINNER of the A Mused Poetry Contest 5/14/2021

The results of this month’s contest are a titch late, due to the family all coming down with colds. Believe you me: nothing takes the amusement out of amusing poetry like not sleeping nor feeling well.

But, we’re here to talk about politics! Who, among the entrants, came up with the funniest campaign promises?

A Sitting Member, by Bruce Goodman
A vote for me is a vote for wit
The other candidates are a pile of nonsense.

I promise I will never quit
The other candidates are a pile of rubbish.

My policies will be a hit
The other candidates are a pile of drivel.

I will lower your taxes a bit
The other candidates are a pile of gobbledygook.

You might think I’m a git
The other candidates are a pile of malarkey.

Congratulations, Bruce! You are once again the funniest poet for the week!

Bruce won for some sort of reference to some sort of word that seems to be missing as part of this rhyme. Well done.

And, well done to the others! Read them over and decide if they’re worth the vote:

Brief Campaign Announcement, by Frank Hubeny
It doesn’t matter, blue or red.
Vote as you will, alive or dead.
We own what counts, both big and small.
We’ve voted for you after all.

Truth Over Facts, by Dumbestblogger
No one pays a dime
Peace will reign sublime
Children will be fine
We will fix the clime
And you’ll be happy

Campaign Disaster, by RuthEK
There once was a campaign disaster-

When she said “I’ve heard nasty chatter”

The politician turned red

And said with some dread

That’s chatter that just doesn’t matter

—–

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

Come back tomorrow for the next month’s prompt!

Bruce, here’s that ol’, inaccurate badge for you to use on your site. Congratulations!

©2021 The poets, and their respective works

The A Mused Poetry Contest 4/17/2021 – 5/14/2021

It’s past time for another A Mused Poetry Contest. I blame the management. And aliens.

  1. This month’s Theme is a political campaign slogan and/or speech. You’ve heard the usual promises, mud-slinging, and appeals to special interest groups -now, USE THEM.
  2. Gone are the days of the Lincoln/Douglas debates; keep your poem’s Length brief and snappy enough to… oh, man; you’ve already lost the audience.
  3. Rhyming is up to your campaign manager.
  4. This will be broadcast to general audiences, so keep the Rating clean -or, at least realize that some ****ing ****s will be censored.
  5. What’s most important? HUMOR! When do we want it? By next month!

You have till 10:00 a.m. MST next MONTH (May 14) to submit a poem.

Use the form, below, to keep your record clean until results are posted.

Otherwise, include your poem in the comments, link to it in the comments, or leave a note that you’ve written one and stuck it on your own site in the comments. You cannot just link back to my post because WordPress is stupid and I will not receive it.

—–

Photo by Aaron Kittredge on Pexels.com

—–

©2021 Chel Owens

WINNER of the A Mused Poetry Contest 3/16/2021

I almost didn’t make it today, but knew someone might be waiting on pins and needles to see just what sort of product one really should not purchase.

The winners who created the funniest commercial jingles are:

Untitled, by Bruce Goodman
Use our washing powder
To make chowder
It’ll clean up your guts
With no ifs or buts.

Camptown Ice-cream, by Doug Jacquier
What’s the best ice-cream in town?
Rhubarb, rhubarb.
Forget that fat old chocolate chip
Rhubarb, rhubarb
Make you run all night, make you run all day
When Mama says ‘what flavour?’, kids say everyday
Rhubarb, rhubarb!

Congratulations, Bruce and Doug! You are the funniest poets for the week!

I could not decide on a straight-out winner, so I blame my stomach for this decision. Who would agree to clean his guts with soap? What person wants to spoon rhubarb into her bowl? Craziness!

Now, please do not reach for the phone after hearing about the rest of these products:

Untitled, by Vishal D
Cute, cuddly Gremlins
Get your fluffy Gremlins
They will eat you up
with their warmth
And then look with
mischievous eyes
And sympathise with
your cries
Cute, cuddly Gremlins
Soft, furry Gremlins

Untitled, by Ian Kay
Lap cushions, lap cushions,
they don’t look half bad
put them on your fronts
if they make your backs mad!
(voiceover: matching colors and fabrics are available!)

Untitled, by Richmond Road
Are your children of an age
That’s driving you insane?
Doing things you used to do
Things you can’t explain?
Reacting to those hormones
That you wish that you still had
Taking an eternity
To traverse a passing fad?
The solution is so simple
Let us take them off your hands
Don’t let them anymore disturb
Your sweet retirement plans
Let us do the dirty work
Let us make the golden rules
Enrol your little darlings
In our exclusive boarding schools

($100,000 per annum. No questions asked. Or answered)

The newest free range breakfast food, by Doug Jacquier
Hungry, need a fix?
Weedy Bix!
Just eat five or six
Weedy Bix!
eating green’s so easy
Weedy Bix!
Weedy, weedy, Weedy Bix.

Da doo rum gum, by Doug Jacquier
When you’re at a party and the bar is dry
Chew new Booze Gum, chew new Booze Gum
You’ll be feeling tipsy in the blink of an eye
Chew new Booze Gum, chew new Booze Gum
Comes in gin, rum, whiskey and rye
Chew new Booze Bum, chew new Booze Gum

Untitled, by Frank Hubeny
Lazy daisy, gender hazy,
riot gear to drive you crazy.

Kitty-cobra, by Trent McDonald
Are you a dull bore
And make kitty snore
Buying for your cat
A stupid rubber rat
Or you think for fun
Sprinkle some catnip and you’re done?

Get some come-hithers
And buy the toy that slithers!
A mechanical snake
It doesn’t look fake!
Is the toy that’s fitten
To give your kitten!

Kitty-cobra, Kitty-cobra
Will the fun never end?
Kitty-cobra, Kitty-cobra
Your cat’s new best friend!

A Timekeeping Bargain, by Hobbo
A pain in the crotch
Life, where does it go?
With our time travel watch
You can go fast, or slow.

Set it to your own pace,
Even temporary stop.
The deluxe, will retrace,
So your clogs never pop.

Non Voyage, by Obbverse
‘Before you book that holiday apartment,
A message from the State Department-
Forget stayin’ in Paree, forgo Rome,
Let’s not fly, let’s stay home’

Madam, your passport has expired,
New detailed documentation is required,
We now demand, after your vacation
Proof positive of a Covid vaccination.

‘Before you take that holiday apartment
Please listen to the State Department,
Pass on Paris, nix to Rome
Don’t spread your wings, stay home.’

Before you’re welcome back from overseas
W’ll check you out for that spread disease,
We can’t just freely stamp that new passport,
Why risk making a happy holiday your last resort?

No Clue, by Ruth Scribbles
She wanted a jingle of sale 🏷
For things that would send you to jail 🙃
My brain could not think 🧠
Of what would not stink 💩
And this is my try just to fail 🙄

—–

Photo by Ketut Subiyanto on Pexels.com

Come back tomorrow for the next month’s prompt!

And, Bruce and Doug, here’s a badge for you to use on your site. Congratulations!

©2021 The poets, and their respective works

The A Mused Poetry Contest 3/16/2021 – 4/16/2021

It’s definitely time for another A Mused Poetry Contest. I hope you’ve been honing your poetic skills for this one…

  1. The Theme is a catchy jingle for a product that really should not be sold to the general public.
  2. Commercials pay by air time used, so keep your Length short, sweet, and repeat-able.
  3. Rhyming is optional, but recommended. The most memorable ditties usually do.
  4. This isn’t PPV, so aim for a Rating of TV-PG or cleaner.
  5. The most important angle here, chairmen of the board, is humor. What makes our audience laugh? What will make them snort up their diet soft drink all over their luxury sofa and soil that designer pair of celebrity-endorsed trousers? Hmmm?

You have till 10:00 a.m. MST next MONTH (April 16) to submit a poem. I’ll try to remember, this time.

Use the form, below, to remain anonymous until results are posted.

Otherwise, include your poem in the comments, link to it in the comments, or leave a note that you’ve written one and stuck it on your own site in the comments. You cannot simply link back to my post because WordPress is stupid and I will not receive it.

—–

I’ve set the date
Now I can’t wait.
Write us a poem,
Then you’ll feel great!

Try to make your commercial more interesting than whatever they just watched.
Photo by Ketut Subiyanto on Pexels.com

—–

©2021 Chel Owens

Time in a Radio

“The shadow knows…” cassette-crackles our road trip-bound car, forced upon us by ancient parents. I can’t wait for

“That was Mars, The Bringer of War…” intones the always-calm classical voice, soothing from my bedside speaker. I’ll never change to

“Help! I need somebody…” Another sort of Classic, crooning comfort. “Here comes your ghost again,” cannot be replaced by

“Video killed the radio star…” my teenage mouth moves along. Why kill art; why listen to anything but

“The shadow” bzzt “Mars” bzzt “Diamonds and rust” bzzt “Ohhhh; radio star! Radio staharar!” bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Dial broken, static cleared; I play them all.

©2020 Chel Owens

Reminisced for Carrot Ranch‘s prompt: a story that includes something heard on the radio.

September 10, 2020, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story that includes something heard on the radio. It can be from any station or era. What is heard? A song, announcement, ad? Think of how radion connects people and places. Go where the prompt leads!

Respond by September 15, 2020. 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.

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

You all might be in the wrong career, because these terrible commercial jingles were so hilarious they were almost too good to win!

But, of course we need a winner! And that is:

Untitled piece

by Matt Snyder

If you got an awful case of halitosis
From devouring Garlic and limburger
And dang your breath is atrocious
Then have a chew
On our wintry minty gum called Goo
And know that you did stink
Its not just some psychosis.
Goo Gum available in cherry, watermelon, orange and blue

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

It’s credit to everyone’s creativity and awfulness (that verged on great skill) that I read through all the poems several times. Matt’s stuck out for its changing meter and messed-up rhyming patterns, as well as a bit of help from its topic.

‘Twas a close contest, though. See what I mean:

Untitled piece

by Trent P. McDonald

Smoke the cig that’s the best
Go ahead and forget the rest!
It’s your life we try to fit
Even though we shorten it by a little bit
Everyone will know you are cool
(While we kill and rob you like a fool)
A great product that tastes like dung
And destroys every cell of your lung!
So go ahead and take a toke
Of our great name brand smoke!

—–

Buy our cat food

by Bruce Goodman

Cat food! Cat food! Buy our Cat food!
Be a cool dude and buy our Cat food!
I don’t want to be rude
But other brands of Cat food
Aren’t as goo-ed.

It’s more than they could wish
When you put it in their Cat food dish.
So fill those hungry tummies
With Cat food that’s yummy.

Cat food! Cat food! Buy our Cat food!
Be a cool dude and buy our Cat food!

When you’ve finished feeding those hungry boys
Let’s hope there’s something left over for the Cat.

—–

Untitled piece

by Geoff LePard

We can stick it up our noses
We can rub it on our gums
We can sprinkle it like sugar
And lick it with our tongues

It’s dusty white and naughty
It doesn’t carry tax
It’s far less calorific
Than your average Pepsi Max.

The moral of this ditty
Is when you go for broke
Ignore all other stimulants
And stick with good old Coke

—–

Plant the Seed

by Annette Rochelle Aben

Enjoy a healthy cleansing poo
When you eat the seed of ancient Peru
It was used to grow hair on heads of terra cotta
Now, people eat it to help them poop a lotta
You can find it in most stores throughout North America
This tiny little powerhouse known as CHIA!
(Cleans you out without emptying out your wallet)

©2020 Annette Rochelle Aben

—–

Fast Food, Fast Fat

by Peregrine Arc

Oh what’s the best solution to a dietary convolution?
Why the things that make your taste buds scream!
Designed by evolution to make your constitution stronger than any in this here institution.
It’s fats, oils and salts, delivered in abundance by your friend and pal, Ray Kroc!
Come on over, you’ll get addicted to the sugar;
Twenty years of your life–taken!–and diabetes is what we’ll serve ya!
So come on down and oh, have a bite
It’s the devil’s way of having a res-pite.

—–

Untitled piece

by Makeshiftdriver

You don’t got time to waste
So we better just cut to the chase
Get a load of our spackling paste!
Hey!

Fill a hole or fix your wall
It’s a wonder you don’t just use it all
On a hole that you punched in your hall-
Way!

So grab some spackling paste today!
Okay!

—–

Untitled piece

by Trent P. McDonald

When Mother
Talks to Jupiter
Or one of its moons

And you see your brother
Out back
Answering the loons

Show them you care
Dress them in style

We hold them dear
With fabric by the mile

Don’t go for half
Nelson’s is best!

Tailors of craft
Fuller than the rest

So when another
family member
Croons

From the cover
Of uranium enriched
Dunes

Don’t throw them in a sack-ette
Put them in a Nelson’s
Full Straight Jacket!

—–

Vanish

by Gary

For that time when the runner has gone thud
And his clothes are covered in filthy mud
When soap and water won’t do the job
And that runner doesn’t want to look a slob
In need of rescue after that mossy wall
Which hero are you going to call?
With just 5 scoops your colours will banish
But that mud will be gone thanks to VANISH.

—–

Fine Print Is For Schmucks

by H.R.R. Gorman

If you wanna know the future
It’ll cost you just a kidney!
We predict you’ll trust our sutures
So pick up those phones and dial
Bob’s Psychics and Organ Donors!

—–

Life ain’t fair

by Martyn

Disaster strikes, the dragons breath, has melted all the snow,
The Christmas tree was turned to ash, but why we just don’t know.
People now seem scared of him, they hide under the table.
he cooks the “pud” and they all clap, you can’t believe this fable.
John Lewis though, don’t really care, they’re advert looks quite funny.
Excitable Edgar might win hearts. it’s the store that gets the money.

—–

Thank you so much for your contributions!! Come back tomorrow around 10 a.m. MST for next week’s theme.

victoria-kubiaki-yeFJNtA3604-unsplash

Matt: D. Wallace Peach created this graphic that you can use (if you want) for a badge of honor as the winner:

©2020 The respective authors, and their poems

The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Welcome back! I hope you’ve all used your break in the least productive ways possible and that your poetry will suffer accordingly. This is, after all, the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest #53!

It’s been awhile, so maybe brush up on what’s expected, here. Writing bad poetry is an art, much like crafting mud pies with broken fingers.

Here are the specifics for this week:

  1. Let’s start off with a fun Topic: commercial jingles. Pick a product and *wow* us with an awful little diddy.
  2. Most commercials have a short runtime, so keep the Length fairly short as well.
  3. Do you need to Rhyme? No, but catchy tales bring in more sales.
  4. Look, chum: just Make it terrible. Make your audience sit up, take notice, and frantically push the Mute button until the horror passes.
  5. This needs to be appropriate for General Audiences. Write accordingly.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (January 10, 2020) 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 linkback but don’t see the notification in the comments within 24 hours.

Have fun!

victoria-kubiaki-yeFJNtA3604-unsplash.jpg

Photo credit:
Victória Kubiaki

Hallowe’en Serial: Final Night

Continued from #6.

*Bhrmmmm* *Bhrmmmm* buzzed the phone. Carol kept glancing at its screen to see if Miss Ziegenbusch had picked up yet.

She even knew where the woman lived, as Carol also did the job of Payroll Clerk and Human Resources Department. She did everything except attend pointless meetings, glad-hand clients, and look pretty at the front desk.

Hiring the current secretary, the woman she was now trying to reach, had not actually been Carol’s decision. Nor had retaining her.

“Hello?” said the phone. Carol’s car wobbled in its lane as she fumbled to answer.

“Hello?” –What was her name again?– “Um, Shelly?”

“It’s Cindy. Who’s this?”

“Cindy.” Right. “This is Carol Carter. Um, from work.”

…. “Oh.” …. “Uh, this isn’t the best time right now, Carol-”

For some reason, Carol felt she needed to be completely honest. “I’m being chased by something!”

She heard a gasp, then, “You are? Wait -is it that werewolf thing?”

Carol took a turn gasping. “How did you know?”

“Out of curiosity,” Cindy asked, “Has your radio also been playing songs based on what’s happening?”

Carol felt she was seeing herself from far away. Someone else was driving her car at dangerous speeds down the highway. Someone else was holding a cell phone with a grip like a vise. Someone else, surely, was doing all of these things at …she checked the clock on the dash…

At midnight. It was now Halloween.

“Carol?” Cindy’s voice called from the phone.

“I- I’m here,” Carol answered, pressing her phone closer to her ear.

Cindy sighed. “I thought so. Hey, I’m sorry for any bad feelings between us; but I really need to tell you something -something big.”

Carol wasn’t sure what Cindy could define as ‘big’ after her other revelations. “O…kay?”

“Um,” Cindy began. “You know that werewolf thing?”

As if on cue, Carol heard the tell-tale, Owooooooooo! She realized it had come through the phone, from Cindy’s end. “Cindy?!” she asked, in a panic.

“Oh shit.” Cindy said. “Um, sorry for swearing. I gotta go. …Basement…”

“Cindy?!”

“Yeah…?” Her breathing was more rapid. Carol could hear a door slam and hard steps on echoing stairs.

“What was the ‘big’ thing about the werewolf?”

Cindy paused. A cupboard from her end creaked, then Carol heard the unmistakable sound of a large gun being cocked. “Carol,” Cindy said, “That werewolf is Carl C. Carter. Your husband. I gotta go.”

And Carol was left alone, with the dead sound of a disconnected phone.

Hallowe’en Serial, 6th Night

Continued from #5.

Carol’s sharp, hasty turn brought her inches from a semi-truck approaching in the opposite lane. Its blaring-horn *Mruuuuuwwwmph!* trailed off behind her as she continued down the road at breakneck speed.

*Oh the werewolf, oh the werewolf / Comes a-stepping along* ♪

Her eyes flitted to the radio; back to the road. Werewolf? she thought. And, How in the heck does the radio know?

♫ *…Once I saw him in the moonlight, when the bats were a flying….* ♪

She chanced another look in the rearview mirror, yet could not see anything. The road was dark and ill-populated. She’d chosen to head East, away from the storm and towards the highway. She hoped to outrun the werewolf -or whatever it was- or at least discourage its following her.

The song stopped and “Thriller” began playing. “I’ve already heard that one,” she muttered, and switched to a new station.

“We’re here with Sergeant Riding to get the latest on this breaking story…” a businesslike female voice said. Carol’s hand, which had been hovering over the controls, slowly drifted back.

“Well,” a gruff male voice began, “We can’t say for sure what’s going on. We’ve had a lot of different reports. What we can say is that everyone ought to stay inside until we have a lead on this case.”

“Sergeant,” the female voice again. “Are you saying we’re on lockdown?”

The man laughed a short, humorless snort. “Now, we’re not trying to scare anybody. It’s more the advice that, if you want to stay safe, you’ll stay inside right now. Oh, and get your pets in real quick, too.”

“We-e-e-ell, I’m sure that’s all we have time for now.” The female reporter sounded worried to Carol. “Be sure to tune in next time for -Eeeeeeeaaaahhhh!”

*Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee*

Carol sat in shock. She was hurtling down a city road at 50 mph, but still felt numb. Slowly, she reached up and pushed Power Off on the dead radio station. She didn’t know where to go or who to contact; it sounded like the whole world was going crazy.

Slowing enough to multi-task, she pulled her phone to within visual range.

She had never, ever in her life used her phone while driving, a minor point of contention between her and her missing husband. But she was already finding herself breaking all sorts of personal and written laws in the face of potential death and dismemberment.

Scrolling carefully down her Contacts list, she tried to think of who she could call on a night like this. Anyone she was close to would not be awake to answer, nor would believe such a ridiculous story as she would tell if he or she answered.

“Gardener, Lawrence, Schwartz, Warner… Ziegenbusch.” At literally the end of her list, she paused over the last last name. Was she really desperate enough to try her nemesis, the front desk secretary?

Taking a deep breath, she pressed her finger on the Call icon. And waited.

Continued and ended at #7.

Hallowe’en Serial, 5th Night

Continued from #4.

Like any sane woman with a few self-defense classes under her belt, Carol panicked. “Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” she screamed and flailed around helplessly. Fortunately for her, her left elbow bumped the Door Lock button mid-flail.

She heard the lock engage in the driver’s door just as the owner of the glowing eyes suddenly threw itself at her window. “Eeeeeeeeeeaaaaaahg!” she screamed again, and fell over the middle console to get away. Teeth, tongue, dark fur, manic red eyes, and long, long claws scrabbled at the window. The claws were the worst; each *Screeeee!* leaving a line behind and surely weakening the surface.

Carol looked around her small car, wishing for anything that might help her. The most lethal object she saw was a pen. She didn’t keep so much as a snow scraper handy in the front seat, believing all tools belonged in the trunk.

*Critch* went the window-glass, just as she spotted the garage door opener. A hasty getaway was her only chance, storm or no. She stretched up and pressed it, a brief relief touching her panic as the door to outside lifted.

Her attacker paused, distracted. She was surprised to notice he appeared to have remains of clothing on his …person. Carol squinted and could make out a few torn, striped strips, buttons, a cuff; maybe what once was a pair of khakis. The feral animal turned back to look at her; its brow lowered into a scowl. Carol could hear it growling as she saw its lip curl up in a malicious grin.

The creature squatted, then leapt. She heard a *thump* above her and watched its back legs and bushy tail thrashing through the driver’s side window a half-second before she realized what it was doing. “Eeek!” she squeaked out as the horrific face appeared in the passenger side, upside-down. She watched the whole of its body fall across the window, then was treated to the same desperate scrabbling on the starboard side. The attacks were more forced, more rapid this time. The car rocked on its suspensions; the glass creaked and cracked.

Before she had time to talk herself out of it, Carol slid back into the driver’s seat and started the engine. ♪ *…they don’t know -When / its coming,  / oh when / but its coming* ♫… crooned the radio. She put the car into Reverse and gunned it as she never had in her entire life.

♫ *Keep the car running* ♫

The poor sedan lurched and whined, hopping down the driveway in short, lame bursts. She smelt burning. The car was old, but hadn’t shown any signs of failure recently. She looked up and saw the hairy creature rising from where it had fallen in her hasty escape. Why couldn’t she go?! And then she saw the parking brake.

Without hesitation, she released it with a *Clunk*. The car shot backwards and collided into and up the opposite curb before she eased off the accelerator. Switching to Drive, she tore away down the street. She dared not look back, even to see if the garage door was still open.

♪ *And they don’t know / When it’s coming, oh when is it coming? / Keep the car running / Keep the car running / Keep the car running* ♫

The storm was closer; lightning illuminated the houses just a block away from her street and rain and wind buffeted her battered car. Just as she thought to slow down for the approaching stop sign, she heard a long, loud, Owooooooooooo!

Her eyes found the rearview mirror against her will. A flash of lightning showed a dark shape running down the street after her; hunger glinting in its red eyes and white fangs.

Traffic laws would have to wait. Quickly checking for oncoming cars as she drove, she ignored the stop and squealed a turn out onto the main road. Her sole thought was to get as far away from the man-creature as possible. She hoped no police were out, and not because she worried for her spotless driving record.

Continued at #6.