Tag Rhyming

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest 3/3/2022

Chel Owens 6 Comments

Dumbestblogger decided we needed a limerick about grain. Given such a difficult idea, who wrote the winning poem?

Tom’s Mistake

by Joanne Fisher

Tom thought the best way to have a great brain
was to consume a great deal of grain
so he drank a large amount of scotch
till walking along some tracks he did botch
managing to get run over by a train

—–

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

Who’d have thought a limerick about grain would be possible? Well! I enjoyed reading through all of these. I had a few favorites at the end; admittedly, my junior judges helped choose the winner. Joanne’s poem won for skipping a more traditional limerick format -in a clever, distracting way and for the humorous twist.

Read the rest for more cleverness:

Terrible Limerick – Grain

by Frank

There once was tiny wheat grain
all soaked in a wonderful rain.
He sprouted. Oh, dear!
Now he’s done it I fear.
He thanks God that he ain’t got a brain.

—–

(Unfortunately, I came up with a second stanza.)

by Frank

The grain in the dirt in the pot
praised God for the stuff that it’s got.
“I won’t worry away
on this cold wintry day.
Bodda bee! Bodda hye! Bodda bot!”

—–

SOBRIETY

by M.

My distaste for barley & rye
is why I hate blueberry pie
Dad offered a sip
But, I took more of a nip
then barfed blueberry pie in his eye

—–

Untitled

by Richmond Road

I limp because I’m in pain
I am sensitive. Let me explain.
It all has to do
With a lump in my shoe
It is sand. But only one grain.

—–

Field Of Dreams

by Obbverse

This new farmers lot was not a happy lot
Till crop rotation helped fill in the plot,
Come harvest, in a quiet green field
A bounty of seeds’n’buds is revealed-
So, wild oats adds little profit to the pot.

—–

RATastrophe

by Greg G

Da bins damn full of dem rats;
Dey filled it all up wid der shats.
Gone ruined da grain,
From hunger we ’ere slain,
Me should’ve procured dem damn cats

—–

Lady of Skye

by Bruce Goodman

There once was a lady of Skye
Who had a grain of sand in her eye.
She said, What the heck
I’ feeling quite feck-
less. I really wish I would die.

—–

Tasty

by Nope, Not Pam

Marjory and James were having a brawl
She’d made cinnamon tarts he didn’t like at all
She snuck them in his meal
But after the great reveal
Had to quickly sidestep the vomit freefall

—–

Brave Little Train

by Dumbestblogger

There once was a brave little train
Filled to the the brim with some grain
It jumped off the tracks
And sat in the rain
The grain has now all turned to hay

—–

This is terrible for many reasons, not least the subject matter

by TanGental

One consequence of the war in Ukraine
Will be a world shortage of its fabulous grain
Which is one reason to put the boot in
On that a***wipe Vladimir Putin
Again and again and again and again…

—–

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

Joanne: 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

Chel Owens 48 Comments

Welcome to the weekly Terrible Poetry Contest!

Read HERE to learn what terrible poetry means. It’s all there. Stop asking. And now that you’re a pro, here are this week’s specific instructions:

  1. Last week’s winner, Dumbestblogger, picked a limerick on the Theme of Grain. That’s right: a limerick about grain. Click here or here or here or here or here to see times we’ve done limericks. They’re one of my favorite forms and are fun!
    A limerick is five lines: AABBA, in anapestic meter.
  2. The Length is five lines.
  3. A traditional limerick Rhymes. Stay traditional, like 100% whole wheat.
  4. Make it terrible! I’m not certain how rotten grains can be, but have great faith in your ability regardless. If nothing else, we’ll be nourished by carbohydrates.
  5. Rating: PG-13 or cleaner. You do know what a limerick is, right?

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST IN TWO WEEKS: Thursday, March 3 to submit a poem. I have things this week, so we’re running the contest an extra week longer. Yay!

Use the form below if you want to be anonymous for a week.

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 week’s topic and type of poem.

—–

©2022 Chel Owens

Photo by Maddi Bazzocco on Unsplash -ignore the nuts

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest 2/17/2022

Chel Owens 13 Comments

Matt won, once again, for a terrible pantoum about embarrassment. He came up with a new contest for this past week: a cento on compassion. Who, of all our lovely entrants, came out as worst best?

My Story

by Dumbestblogger

This is my story, this my refrain
Will we find closure or circle the drain?
She got run over by a damned old train
I’m falling for you now, just like the rain
New heights I’m gaining every day

You upset the apple cart
And one man in his time plays many parts
The knave of Hearts, he stole the tarts,
And took them clean away.
G’bye, I’m going out to play!

(Credit to; Fanny Crosby, Wage War, Steve Goodman, Clint Black & Hayden Nicholas, Traditional, Ira Gershwin, William Shakespeare, Lewis Carroll, Shel Silverstein)

—–

Congratulations, ‘bestblogger! You are the most terrible poet of the week! Let me know the type of poem and theme for next week!

Picking a winner from the intentional mishmash of mishmashing proved tricky. Dumbestblogger’s work stood out to me for its lightheartedness and fun despite 2020-2021.

All the rest were clever and delightfully obscure in many cases:

TRY A LITTLE KINDNESS (Glen Campbell)

by Matt

Oaths of thy love, thy truth,thy constancy (W.Shakespeare)
Enthroned with him above the skies (J.Newton)
She wept,nor would be pacified (W.Wordsworth)
What is so real as the cry of a child? (S.Plath)
And here you come with a cup of tea (S.Plath)
Let’s do each day a kindly deed (R.Service)
But most thro’ midnight streets I hear (W.Blake)
Hi-Fi Rolling Stones Ray Charles Beatles (A.Ginsberg)

Fleetfooted quicksilver,God of transience (A.Ginsberg)
I told my wrath, my wrath did end (W.Blake)
We REAL cool (G.Brooks)
Does my sassiness upset you? (M.Angelou)
Well,son, I’ll tell you (L.Hughes)
Your love,and recompense the moon with mine (PB.Shelly)
Of meadow sweet and white anemone O.Wilde)

—–

A Cento Animico

by talesfromthemindofkristian

The Owl and the Pussycat went to see,
The Elephant (Though all of them were blind),
Like Love, unkindly passing by.
There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
A host of golden daffodils, they dance.
The reprieve papers are not signed, behind.
It was a poignant portrayal of the effects.
A collage of fragments of poetical objects.

“The Owl and the Pussycat” by Edward Lear, “The Blind Man And The Elephant” by John Godfrey Saxe, “The Way It Is,” by William Stafford, “I wandered lonely as a cloud,” by William Wordsworth, “Reprieve,” by Alison Prince

—–

Untitled

by Not Pam

The ceaseless dissonance of wrong
Was smitten with a startling sound
Of all the public places dear
Whenever you’re in trouble won’t you stand by me

The glad song falters to a wail
Should tumble and fall
At length I to the boy called out
For coppers I can dance or sing

“Whence comes,” I said, “This piteous moan?”
And darlin’, darlin’, stand by me, oh stand by me
Of peace with unselfish unconcern?
For gold-escape from locks and chains

By thy free grace unmerited
She checked herself in her distress
I’m on my knees. I beg of you
Oh stand by me, won’t you stand by me

Simon Armitage-“Give”
William Wordsworth-“Alice Fell, or Poverty”
John Greenleaf Whitter-“Divine Compassion”
Ben E. King-“Stand By Me”

—–

This world may end, not you and I. (Bee Gees)

by Frank Hubeny

Part 1: The Lover’s Petition
I’ve got to say it and it’s hard for me. (Bee Gees)
Lord, we don’t need another mountain. (Hal David)
Love should be everything or not at all. (Bee Gees)
Oh, listen, Lord, if you want to know. (Hal David)

Part 2: The Lord’s Response
My love is stronger than the universe. (Bee Gees)

—–

For Our Children

by Gr8BigFun

Suddenly there came a tapping, (1)
Out of the night that covers me. (2)
Who are these coming to the sacrifice, (3)
With throats unslaked, with black lips? (4)

We wear the mask that grins and lies, (5)
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light. (6)
Though it be darkness there, (7)
Some say the world will end in fire. (8)

No man is an island, (9)
And all the men and women merely players. (10)
We passed the school where children played, (11)
And that has made all the difference. (12)

Footnotes:
1) The Raven – Edgar Allen Poe / 2) Invictus – William Ernest Henley / 3) Ode to a Grecian Urn – John Keats / 4) The Rime of the Ancient Mariner – Samuel Taylor Coleridge / 5) We Wear the Mask – Paul Laurence Dunbar / 6) Dover Beach – Matthew Arnold / 7) There is another sky – Emily Dickenson / 8) Fire and Ice – Robert Frost / 9) No Man is an Island – John Donne / 10) All the World’s a Stage – William Shakespeare / 11) Because I could not stop for Death – Emily Dickenson / 12) The Road Not Taken – Robert Frost

—–

A Great Reaping

by Obbverse

I wandered lonely as a cloud … (William Wordsworth)
In Flanders field the poppies blow, (John McCabe)
When all at once I saw a crowd (Willy Wordy)
Between the crosses, row on row. (Johnny Mac)

Continuous as the stars that shine, (Willy Wordy)
In Flanders fields the poppies blow, (Johnny Mac)
They stretched in never ending line… (Willy Wordy)
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow. (Johnny Mac)

—–

Thank you, everyone! Come back tomorrow to learn next week’s prompt.

Ian: Here’s the honorary badge you can post as proof of your poetic mastery:

terrible-poetry-contest

©2022 The poets, and their respective poems.

The Terrible Poetry Contest

Chel Owens 17 Comments

Welcome to the weekly Terrible Poetry Contest!

Here. is all the information you need to write a terrible poem. Seriously. Or, just copy off the internet but put the endings of stanzas at the beginnings.

Becaaaaause… here are this week’s specifics:

  1. Theme? Last week’s winner, Matt, picked a cento style poem about being compassionate. Matt explains that “At its most basic level, the cento is a poem comprised of lines and phrases from other previously written poems. Many centos …use the work of multiple poets. But there are some that focus on just one specific poet. The cento can be a sort of ode to the poet and/or poets featured. Or it can be satire.”
  2. Length is up to the poet. (That’s YOU.)
  3. Rhyme if it feels right.
  4. Make it terrible! -You know, so long as you think others will find it terrible as well.
  5. Rating: PG or cleaner. Think of the children!

Still confused about a cento poem? Wikipedia says, “A cento is a poetical work wholly composed of verses or passages taken from other authors, especially the Greek poet Homer and the Roman poet Virgil, disposed in a new form or order.”

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Thursday (February 17) to submit a poem.

Use the form below if you want to be anonymous for a week.

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 week’s topic and type of poem.

Pixabay

—–

©2022 Chel Owens

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest 2/10/2022

Chel Owens 18 Comments

TanGental‘s own Geoff Le Pard introduced us to a Pantoum this week. To help us save face, he also suggested we write on embarrassment.

So! Who typed the most embarrassing pantoum?

THAT ONE AFTERNOON AT WORK I WILL NEVER FORGET

by Matt Snyder

Darn, I forgot my belt.
I sure was feeling svelte.
As I was walking down the hall and stood by the darkroom, pew the sulfur I did smelt.
Shucks, just then my pants fell, the embarrassment I surely felt.

I sure was, feeling svelte.
Then my world was upside down, with the card I was dealt.
Shucks, just then my pants fell, the embarrassment I surely felt!!
My female coworkers pointing and laughing, like a bucket of water thrown at me, I was the Witch that Dorothy did melt!

Then, my world, was upside down with the card I was dealt.
As I was walking down the hall and stood by the darkroom, pew the sulfur I did smelt!
My female coworkers pointing and laughing, like a bucket of water thrown at me, I was the Witch that Dorothy did melt!
Darn, I FORGOT MY BELT!!!!!!!!!

—–

Congratulations, Matt! You are once again the most terrible poet of the week! Let me know the type of poem and theme for next week!

The judge had fun trying this poetic form. The pantoum crafts an interesting poem for the poet and I noticed this made few of the poems actually terrible. Matt’s won for breaking the syllable meter with his long sentences. His word choice and topic weren’t bad, either. Well -they were bad, but they weren’t …nevermind.

If you need more excellent stories of embarrassment, here are the remaining poems:

I had wet my Kickers

by willowdot21

There I was petrified
By the radiator refusing to budge
Poor little me only five
I had wet my knickers

By the radiator refusing to budge
The Nuns cajoled my peers nudged
I had wet my kickers
My dress was marked my face was red.

The Nuns cajoled my peers nudged
I stood firm I would not budge
My dress was marked my face was red.
I was ashamed, wished I was dead

I stood firm I would not budge
Until sister Josephine pulled me away.
I was ashamed, wished I was dead .
The embarrassment lives on still in my head!

Until Sister Josephine pulled me away
I thought that I could cope
The embarrassment lives on inside my head
There I was petrified.

—–

Embarrassment

by Ruth

Embarrassment sears hot on my face
Skin throbbing bright in deep red flush
Awkwardness lit up in gaudy neon lights
Drawing attention like a burning beacon…

Skin throbbing bright in deep red flush
All eyes turn on my squirming discomfort
Drawing attention like a burning beacon
Highlighting my humiliated soul…

All eyes turn on my squirming discomfort
Awkwardness lit up in gaudy neon lights
Highlighting my humiliated soul
Embarrassment sears hot on my face…

—–

Untitled

by Not Pam

I’ve had my share of embarrassment
I remember when I was six
My family went to see Star Wars
I ran out of the toilet undies round ankles.

I remember when I was six
Brother and cousin up to their tricks
I ran out of the toilet undies round ankles
They rolled jaffa’s down the aisle without a care

Brother and cousin up to their tricks
My family went to see Star Wars
They rolled jaffa’s down the aisle without a care
I’ve had my share of embarrassment

—–

Bust A Move

by Obbverse

After I’d turned to her for one lousy dance
I was left gasping, so long and red of face,
Away she stepped, after high-arched glance
With effortless entitled aristocratic grace.

I was left, gasping, so long and red of face,
Sorrowfully I watched her pertly depart
With effortless entitled aristocratic grace
Stilettos driving deep into my bitter heart.

Sorrowfully I watched her pertly depart,
She’d put me back in my place and class,
Stilettos driving deep into my bitter heart
When she slipped and fell flat on her ass.

She’d put me back in my place and class
But as the titters began to grow apace
When she slipped and fell flat on her ass
I was left gasping, SO long, and red of face.

—–

Embarrassing frustrating experiences with effective argumentation

by Frank Hubeny

“The earth is blue! The earth is black!”
“No, it ain’t! No, it ain’t!”
“The earth is round and pancake flat!”
“No, it ain’t! No, it ain’t!”

“No, it ain’t! No, it ain’t”
“The earth is round and pancake flat!”
“No, it ain’t! No, it ain’t!”
“The earth is blue! The earth is black!

—————–

It ain’t.

It is.

It ain’t. It ain’t. It ain’t. IT AIN’T!

It is. It is. It…(swat).

—–

Thank you, you amazing poets, you! Come back tomorrow to learn next week’s prompt.

Matt: Here’s the honorary badge you can post as proof of your poetic mastery:

terrible-poetry-contest

©2022 The poets, and their respective poems.

The Terrible Poetry Contest

Chel Owens 18 Comments

Welcome to the weekly Terrible Poetry Contest!

Terrible poetry isn’t that difficult. If you want to know the best way to go about it, read HERE. If you don’t care, you’ve already skimmed over this paragraph and butterflies will take over the world someday.

So, here are the specifics:

  1. Last week’s winner, Geoff, has decided on the Topic of embarrassment, written as a pantoum. According to poets.org, “The pantoum is a poem of any length, composed of four-line stanzas in which the second and fourth lines of each stanza serve as the first and third lines of the next stanza. The last line of a pantoum is often the same as the first.” (See below, for a visual outline.)
  2. It sounds like the Length must be at least two stanzas. Where you go from there is up to you and your junior high crush.
  3. Rhyming is optional.
  4. Like any good embarrassing story, make it terrible! Make us squirm in our chairs at the over-applied makeup and out-of-style outfit you wore to the wrong night of your crush’s birthday party when her overprotective father opened the door and then you were the reason she got grounded for a month so she never spoke to you again but you just ran into her at the grocery store… Literally. Your car insurance has now gone up.
  5. Rating: PG-13 or cleaner.
© University of Waterloo

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Thursday (February 10) to submit a poem.

Use the form below if you want to be anonymous for a week.

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 week’s topic and type of poem.

Photo by Anna Shvets from Pexels

—–

©2022 Chel Owens

The Terrible Poetry Contest

Chel Owens 27 Comments

Welcome to the weekly Terrible Poetry Contest!

People may be confused about what makes a poem terrible. I’ve written a very handy guide that walks you through an example. It’s HERE and I recommend spending the two minutes it takes to read it.

Terrible poems are meant to contain too much angst, too many (or too few) adjectives, pretension, meter that doesn’t match, obvious copyright infringement, vague references to nature, the least-interesting descriptors, or boring prose instead of moving verse.

Got it? Good, ’cause last week’s winner, Matt, has set the rules for this week:

  1. Topic: The family pet, written Golden Shovel Style. Here are the rules for the Golden Shovel: Take a line (or lines) from a poem you admire. Use each word in the line (or lines) as an end word in your poem. Keep the end words in order. Give credit to the poet who originally wrote the line (or lines). The new poem does not have to be about the same subject as the poem that offers the end words.
  2. The Length is up to you.
  3. As far as I can tell, Rhyming is up to you, too.
  4. Whatever, man, just make it terrible! Dredge up Fido’s memories and remains through the worst eulogy printed on Purina Puppy Chow. Set the still-living Princess Catarina howling in indignance. Send Horace the hamster spinning with rage.
  5. Let’s keep the Rating: PG or cleaner. How risqué do your animals get?

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Thursday (February 3) to submit a poem.

Use the form below if you want to be anonymous for a week.

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 week’s topic and type of poem.

Photo by Andrew S on Unsplash

—–

©2022 Chel Owens

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest 1/27/2022

Chel Owens 22 Comments

But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is a terrible sonnet about a period/historical romance for a terrible contest.

And the winner of said contest is:

Bizarre Lover Triangle Er Square

by Matt Snyder

I love them it’s plain to see
Watson well is another story ya know
They love me at 221 B Baker Street
Watson has a mind I equally adore

But Em and her Cousin Cee* soothe me
Watson has the biggest heart
But Em & Cee make my head feel free
Then he was shot and I had to think clear

“For I knew his depth of Loyalty & Love”**
But Em and her cousin Cee consume me
Yet I still prayed for his recovery to the Lord above
“His hard eyes dimmed, his lips they shook”**

Watson, oh Watson my Love who I do adore…
But Em and her Cousin Cee I adore far more, so take your sorry ass full of yourself, think you are better than me, want all the credit for cases clearly solved by yours truly, out the door!

*Morphine & Cocaine
**Paraphrased from the writings of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

—–

Congratulations, Matt! You are the most terrible poet of the week! In case you didn’t see, now you get to pick the type of poem and theme for next week!

I had a very, very difficult time choosing one winner from the carefully crafted poems. I finally narrowed it down to my favorite eight, had them demonstrate a talent, then chose the one that looked worst in a bathing suit. In all honesty, these were terribly clever and Matt’s barely squeaked by because he repeated sections enough to irritate me.

Go ahead; read through all of the entries and see if you’ve still the stomach for romance:

Bathing Beauty Blue

by Frank Hubeny

The sky is blue. The grass is shifty green.
The kingdom is on autopilot now
and David has some time to look. She’s seen.
He questions should he, could he, and then how?

Bathsheba’s bathing on her warm rooftop.
She wonders if the king can see her there.
The beast can’t make its wagging tail stop.
It fears they’ll go and cool off somewhere.

He has a wife too many, he’d admit.
She has a husband also after all.
He wonders how to grasp the horns of it.
The beast is charging for an early fall.

The sky is green. The grass is baby blue.
Uriah’s coming home tomorrow, too.

—–

Our Love Canst Wait Not

by Obbverse

My love is a beauty, blue eyes, golden tresses,
In thy sapphire orbs shines a loving light,
I, her slave, my soul she solely posses,
The flames in my heart burn pure and bright.

For thy visage, my love knows no earthly bounds,
When ere I espy thy ruby lips, thy rose kissed cheeks
In mine chest my beating heart palpably pounds,
Is this the bless’d love of which Cupid speaks?

My love, know your love I treasure o’er all others,
Understand I’ll love thee till my dying day,
Pray I meet the approval of thy understanding mother
Then shall we send out our invitations without delay?

My dove, of our love doth thy father remain unknowing?
Best marry soonest, dearest, lest our love start showing.

—–

Perfect Couplings

by TanGental

History is littered with perfect lovers
Like Ant and Cleo and Yoko and John.
But are these blokes and their significant others
Really as solid as they make out in song?
Did Emma’s beauty make Nelson one eyed?
And did Anne B lose her head to King Hal?
Or to Jose, ‘Not tonight,’ did Nappy cry?
Or Bogie tell Lauren, ‘You act like a gal’?
I really do question if they were so perfect
Or whether they were beset with doubts,
Because life tells me most pairs have defects
And each of her screams may be met with his shouts.
No, truly there’s only ever been one biggie.
Those enduring lovers: Kermit and Miss Piggy.

—–

Jane Austen’s Heroines

by Ruth

With perfect language, carefully polite
Jane Austen’s heroines all hold their own
Societal conventions bind them tight –
Behave as ought or reputation’s flown.
In modest clothing, virginal, demure
Sweet innocence, with countenance so chaste
Correctly dressed they sit, erect and pure
All model females of the human race.
But underneath blood flows through passioned veins
Romantic love remains their heart’s desire
They will not settle for a lesser gain
Good friendships set their marriage beds on fire…
With sweaty limbs entwined in crumpled sheets
Jane Austen’s heroines find life complete…

—–

Dare I compare you to a hippopotamus?

by Bruce Goodman

Dare I compare you to a hippopotamus?
You know you’re overweight and find it difficult
To wear nice clothes that fit and aren’t preposterous.
It’s really not your fault; it’s how you’re built.

You call me your giraffe because I’m thin.
I try to eat a lot but nothing works.’
I walk on legs that look like skinny pins.
You laugh at me, and yes! your laughter irks.

But what a pair we are! The butt of jokes!
The fatty and the skinny grocery shopping!
One short, one tall, a pair, a gal and bloke,
The hippo and giraffe, one lean, one whopping.

And yet you are my love, my day, my night,
My sun, my moon, my stars, my world, my light.

—–

Wild Ride: A Tragic Romance Sonnet

by Greg

My handmaid’s fingers, all torn up and raw,
with one final tug, she’ll tie off the bow.
My corset so tight, a breath I can’t draw,
I’ll slip on the dress, I’m ready to go.

Off we descend from the castle above,
tonight he’ll be waiting down by the stream.
Driver don’t kill us before I know love,
to meet my fair prince beneath the moon’s beam.

The horses barreling out of control.
Into the air then crashing back down,
the carriage breaks free as we start to roll,
a ruckus so loud we woke half the town.

Terror in his eyes and a terrible squeal,
my poor prince laid down beneath the front wheel.

—–

Mistaken Identity?

by joylennick

An ‘old’ lady (certificate states I’m eighty-three.)
Eighty-three? That can’t be me…
I don’t smell of moth-balls, or click my teeth,
don’t have arthritus, or bunioned feet.
A waft of ? perfume…Chanel No. 5,
I’m eager and curious – glad I’m alive.
And when the music rings out,
I’m there with a jive.

But, first thing in the morning
do I spring out of bed?
No, I regretfully admit, I sidle instead.
And how long takes my ‘toilettte?’
I – ummm – vaguely mumble…
it takes quite a while
for me to assumble.

Forgive spontaneous poem. Couldn’t resist. (I’m now nearly 90. Help!)

When music rings out,

A waft of ? perfume

—–

Thank you to everyone!!

Matt: Here’s the honorary badge you can post as proof of your poetic mastery (I’ll fix the URL one of these days):

terrible-poetry-contest

©2022 The poets, and their respective poems.

The Terrible Poetry Contest

Chel Owens 34 Comments

Welcome, one and all, to the weekly Terrible Poetry Contest!

What in the heck is terrible poetry? You could ask half the internet or even half the published poets out there. You could look over the first explanation I ever gave, here. Or, you could sneeze into a hanky and add anachronistic adjectives.

Ready to roll?

  1. Topic: A sonnet about a period/historical romance. Sonnets are love poems. Period romances are love stories that take place in the past, and somehow still work even though the lovers lacked toothpaste.
  2. Length: A sonnet. You’ve fourteen lines of a specific rhyming pattern (see below) of three quatrains followed by a couplet. The sort of people who run terrible poetry contests are not sticklers for rules, however, so you can get away with one paragraph that might rhyme.
  3. Rhyming: Yes. The first and third lines of each quatrain are supposed to rhyme, plus the final couplet. Near-rhymes or too many rhymes are an easy way to terrible-ify a poem.
  4. Simply make it terrible! Send Shakespeare shivering. Wake Wordsworth! Kick Keats into Conniptions. Send your lover such awful endearments that he or she wonders if you’ve fallen off the balcony a few too many times.
  5. Rating: PG or cleaner. Inappropriate behavior didn’t exist in the past, after all!
From WikiHow

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Thursday (January 27) to submit a poem.

Use the form below if you want to be anonymous for a week.

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 week’s topic and type of poem.

From Pixabay

—–

©2022 Chel Owens

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest 12/21/2021

Chel Owens 49 Comments

Your family may need to add these new holiday favorites to their Christmas playlist, because it’s time to announce the winner of the Terrible Poetry Contest.

And that is:

Ye Hairy Gentlemen

by Greg Glazebrook

On the twelfth day of Christmas
She’ll drive a holly stake through your heart…

Cut, cut, I think we’d be safer taking this in a different direction?

doG blessed ye hairy gentlemen
You’ll be warm on this very day
Remember that the rest of us
Will be frozen until May
With razor blades we’ll come for you
And shave it all away
O shavings of back hair and Bengay

We’ll stuff the clipping into bags
And ship them on their way
To far-off Nike sweatshops
In Hong Kong and Bombay
Where they’ll stitch them all together
With labels that say “Made in U.S.A.”
O tidings from Tài Sǔn and Ganmay

And when those man-hair sweaters
Arrive upon our shores
We’ll click on over to Amazon
And buy them by the scores
We’ll wrap them up for Christmas gifts
And cold, we’ll be no more
O tidings of comfort and joy
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy

Damn these things are scratchy,
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night…

—–

Congratulations, Greg! You are the most terrible poet of this holiday season!

I sat and hummed through every terrible entry. As is usual, I had a difficult time choosing just one. In the end, Greg’s parody won me over with its creativity, its terribleness, and its cleverness. I can’t say I’ve ever heard a carol about man-hair sweaters.

Now, turn off that Mariah Carrey and tune in to what these other, excellent songwriters came up with:

Poopy Christmas

by Bruce Goodman

The news it came out in the first year of Biden
The cupboards were bare and the truckers were hiding
Jen Psaki declared, “Let them eat buns”
To which the President added a whole lot of ums.

Christmas hell oh Christmas hell
Sing a Christmas Gloria
Bringing crumbs to all the world
But peace to those with gender dysphoria.

—–

Deck the House

by trentpmcd

Deck the house with big bright lights
Falalalala, lalalala
People will drive miles to see these sights!
Falalalala, lalalala
Now turn on reactor three
Falala, lalala, la-la-la
A billion megawatts just for me!
falalalala-la-la, la-la-la
***
Visible from Betelgeuse
Falalalala, lalalala
A thousand years of electric use
Falalalala, lalalala
I show off just once a year
Falala, lalala, la-la-la
With a trillion lights of holiday cheer!
falalalala-la-la, la-la-la

—–

OH WHAT A HOLY NIGHT

by Matt Snyder

Oh Holy night
Late December back in 5 B.C.
Circular things in the sky are bright you see?
Oh Holy night
In the manger was born what’s his name?
Ya know the Spanish kid, no I don’t mean the goat…the kid
Hey-Suess yeah him, this Holy night
Why is it taking so long to see the light?
OH ho ho ho holy night
I’ve fallen and I can’t get up
I think I sprained my knee-eeees
Oh right, on time
What a sweet baby, oh what a holy night
Oh? I said his name wrong!
Oh hear……Everyone shouting
Yout idiot, you tool!
You need to go back to biblical school
Oy Vey! What a night!

—–

Untitled piece
To “Happy Christmas, war is over” by John Lennon and Yoko Ono

by Hobbo

And so, a Jolly Christmas for all shades of LGBTQIA
Which it will be all day long
(Covid is over if you wear a mask)
For the straights and the not-so-straights
(If you want sprouts, just ask.)

A super-duper Christmas
with mulled wine and warm, cloudy beer
If you see three wise men looking lost
The Star pub is over here.

—–

THE LITTLE DRUMMER BOY AND HIS HELL HOUNDS

by Definitely Not Pam

Come they told him,
Have some rumma rum rum.

There’s no good to do,
Let’s have some funna fun fun.

Bring your hell hounds along
For a runa run run

We’ll set them on the king
It’s sure to stunna stun stun
Ruma stun stun
Funna stun stun

He’ll get diahorea
Stinky bumma bum bum
When we come

Rums rum rum,
Opps funna fun fun
Runna run run
Opps stunna stun stun
Bumma bum bum
Dunna dun dun
Rumma fun run stun opps dun

Oh what fun
Tiggles my tumma tum tum
I’m just poor Hades,
Oh humma hum hum

What gift for him?
Thruma thrum thrum thrum
It’s gotta be good for the King’s
Tumma tum tum

I know I’ll play for him
Strumma strum stum
Thruma thrum thrum
Numma numb numb

Oh you look scared
Opps gumma gumma gum
The hell hounds like the scent of fear
What a humma hum hum

I’ll play my drum for you
Don’t look so glumma glum glum
I’ll play thrash metal for you
Oh slumma slum slum
Glumma glum glum
Humma hum hum

Oh don’t freak out
It’s not a scruma scrum scrum
It’s just me, the hellhounds and my drum

Come they told him
Have some more rumma rum rum
You’ll wish you were never born
You better learn to runna run run

It’s just me, the hellhounds and my drum
It’s just me, the hellhounds and my drum
It’s just me, the hellhounds and my drum
Isn’t this so much fun

©NopeNot Pam

—–

Untitled Piece
Wham’s “Last Christmas”

by Geoff LePard

Last Christmas
You let go a fart
Full of rot and decay, I near passed away
This year
Your disgusting rear
Has been truly exceptional…

—–

It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Mechula.*

by Obbverse

(OK, let the old chestnuts get a’roasted. Michael Bublé, you’re up.)

It’s beginning to look like I’m insolvent,
Where’d my cash flow go?
Down to my last 5 and 10, my credits maxed out again,
Oh, the painful amount of IOUs I owe.

I’m beginning to wish I’d not seen loan shark Carmine,
Now all hell will start,
And da brass knuckles he will bring will make my head fair ring,
Then he’ll rip out my heart.

A pair o’ brutes in ill-fitting suits with pistols that shoot,
It’s Carmine’s repo-hit men,
Dey say ‘Carmine wants to talk, let’s take a walk.’
But I daren’t say ‘willkommen,’
I’m not mad nor dumb or fool enough to open this door again.

It’s beginning to look like I won’t make Christmas,
My debts Carmine won’t ignore,
What an ugly sight it is to see some thug pounding heavily
On my barred and bolted door.

*Bankruptcy, Yiddish.

—–

Grandchild Was Invaded By an iPhone

by Ruth Klein

my grandchild was invaded by her iphone
walking home from school, would you believe?
you can say that iphones don’t possess one
and as for me and grandpa, we do grieve

she’d been watching too much youtube
and we’d begged her- please, stop, please
so addicted to the boob tube
that she began to bow down on her knees

everyone now sing…..

—–

Sale! The Yearly Christmas Call
Sung to the tune of “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing”

by D. Wallace Peach

Sale! The yearly Christmas call
Shoppers flocking to the mall
Carts careen through crowded aisles
Cash and credit reconciled

Frantic all ye lists are waving
Budgets set already caving
Wrap those presents for the tree
Run out of tape, oh woe is me
Wrap those presents for the tree
I need tape, oh woe is me

Feed the crew from out of town
Baking cookies past sundown
Table’s set and goose is done
Spilled the gravy, so much fun

Dinner’s gone in seconds flat
Cooked all day and barely sat
Washing dishes like a maid
Boy, I wish my job was paid
Scrubbing dishes like a maid
How I wish this job was paid

Football’s on, the offense crouched
Husband’s slouched upon the couch
Cat’s in the tree, and globes are smashed
Kids are bored, the house is trashed

Hail the end of Christmas Day
When the kindred drive away
Flip the cap and swig a beer
Pooped out from another year
Take a nap and get in gear
New Year’s Eve is almost here.

—–

Untitled Piece
to the tune of “I wish you a Merry Christmas”

by John W. Howell

I wish you a monster isthmus
I wish you a monster isthmus
I wish you a monster Isthmus
Until you lose weight.

Glad tidings will be not only for me
Glad tidings will be not only for me
Glad tidings will be not only for me
You may spot your feet

Oh, turn down the figgy pudding
Oh, turn down the figgy pudding
Oh, turn down the figgy pudding
And lose a whole chin

We are not leaving till we get some
We are not leaving till we get some
We are not leaving till we get some
Melba toast is a win

—–

Untitled piece
from Frankie, the fictional one-eyed post mistress of Carrot Ranch who delivers mail on horseback:

by D. Avery

Burt an’ me we travel so far
Deliverin’ mail with no van or car
He’s a sturdy strong horse
Keeps us mostly on course
In these parts we’re without par
*
Packages too many ta count
But I can trust Burt, my loyal mount
We sweat an’ shiver
But always deliver
With time ta Saddle Up unannounced
*
Oh bartender I wonder if you might
Reward me for my work tonight
I delivered a song
After a day so long
But at the Saloon I’m feelin’ alright.”

—–

O Holy Grail

by Writing to Freedom (musebrad)

O holy grail, thy will always prevail
our faithful attempts to pursue the American dream
race to the mall or find solace in an aie
married to a destructive consumer regime
on Macy’s, on Kohl’s, to the mall we go
for shopping is the holy grail we know
~
fall on your knees before the corporate pleas
o holy grail, o holy grail
for thee, we must never fail

—–

The Little Bummer Boy

by anxietyoholic

COVID they told me!
Ra bum bum bum bum

Contacts to trace, you see?
Ra bum bum bum bum

Say Hello to Quarantine
Ra bum bum bum bum

Disinfect and clean, clean, clean
Ra bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bummmmmmm

So to mask or not
Ra bum bum bum bum

I wish a vac I got
Ra bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bummmmmmm

I am a poor boy too
Ra bum bum bum bum

Just like that other dude
Ra bum bum bum bum

So I’ll get hydroxychloroquine
Ra bum bum bum bum

And be OK like him
Ra bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bummmmmmm

It’s all fake news he said
Ra bum bum bum bum

800 thousand dead
Ra bum bum bum bum

I was as brave as he
Ra bum bum bum bum

Look where that’s gotten me
Ra bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bummmmmmm
Ra bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bummmmmmm

—–

Thank you all and Merry happy Christmas.

Greg: Here’s the honorary badge you can post as proof of your poetic mastery:

terrible-poetry-contest

©2021 The poets, and their respective poems.