The A Mused Poetry Contest 9/26 – 10/2/2020

Hey! It’s the A Mused Poetry Contest! Make a gaffe, cause a laugh!

Here are the specifics for this week’s contest:

  1. The Theme is commercials: try radio, newspaper, halftime show, or a high-pressured letter you get in the mail.
  2. The Length needs to run between 5 and 155 words.
  3. Rhyming is at the discretion of the poet (you).
  4. The Rating can be PG-13 (though I’m not fond of cussing). Hear that, E??
  5. MAKE US LAUGH. I wanna hear your ditty passed around online meetings, morning talk shows, and incessant chatting from children at the dinner table.

You have till 10:00 a.m. MST next Friday (October 2) to submit a poem.

Use the form below to stay anonymous for a week.

Otherwise, for a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments. Drop a comment if you try to link back and it doesn’t show up within a day.

Have fun!

—–

©2020 Chel Owens
Video ©Youtube

WINNER of the A Mused Poetry Contest 9/25/2020

This week’s prompt of a seasonal haiku may have sounded simple, but making it funny was no joke. After narrowing down the funniest entries, the winner was:

Untitled, by DumbestBlogger
I drink my coffee
Leaves fall in the cup
I choke and die

Dumbestblogger chose morbid humor for his entry. Even with so few syllables, he succeeded in making me laugh.

Enjoy the others as well:

Autumn, by Roberta Cheadle
Leaves, leaves everywhere
I’ll persuade hubby to rake
Where’s my lingerie?

Untitled, by Obbverse
Get strangers together,
Talk about the weather…
That never changes..

Special Day, by Matt Snyder
it’s our wedding day
hurricane blows up her dress
our Kodak moment

Untitled, by Ian Kay
brand new leaf-blower!
blows leaves into neighbour’s yard
covers my dog’s poop.

Seasonal change, by Hobbo
stunning mother nature
fresh frock every day

have you met my wife?

Untitled, by Willowdot
Days are getting short
Gaia’s tempers getting fraught
We just won’t be taught

The Coming of Autumn, by Trent McDonald
Frost on the leaf tip
Now I am sweating again!
Just make up your mind…

***

Leaves turn to bright red
I run out to frolic, and…
Oops, now I am red!

Untitled, by Deb Whittam
Summers coming quick,
You squeal in delight but
mosquitoes bite … hard

The Farmer Wife’s, by Heather Dawn
Fresh autumn wind blows,
There the honey wagon goes,
No! I hung the clothes!

Fall Picture Woesby Heather Dawn
Picture perfect day,
No chance for a perfect pose,
Five kids ruin those.

Seasonal Change 1, by Fishman
Picked up a red leaf.
pulled a muscle in my back;
Thanks a lot, Autumn.

Seasonal Change 2, by Fishman
Autumn is here now.
Lovely time; I’d write more, but
sadly I’m out of . . .

Untitled, by BS
One plus one is two
I fall for you in the fall
Now go rake the leaves

Untitled, by Ruth Scribbles
Seasons in Texas
All four in a hot teacup
Sip at your own risk

Fall in Southern California, by Lauren
Where are my long johns?
The temps are below normal.
It’s reached 80 now.

—–

Thank you for entering! I loved laughing along. Please come back tomorrow around lunchtime for the next week’s prompt.

Dumbestblogger, here’s a badge for you to use on your site. Congratulations!

©2020 The poets, and their respective works

The A Mused Poetry Contest 9/19 – 9/25/2020

Welcome to the A Mused Poetry Contest! Enjoy laughing? You’re in the right place!

Here are the specifics for this week’s contest:

  1. Seasons are changing. The Theme is a funny haiku (or, more technically accurate, a senryu) about seasonal change. Spring, fall, summer, winter, autumn; whatever.
  2. From Wikipedia about senryu, regarding Length: “three lines with 17 morae (or “on”, often translated as syllables, but see the article on onji for distinctions).” We’re also fine with the ole 5-7-5.
  3. Dude; this poetry form does NOT Rhyme.
  4. I dunno what might be racy about nature, so a G-rating is preferable.
  5. Just MAKE US LAUGH. Mother Nature needs to slap your wrists with climbing roses as she holds her vinèd sides in laughter.

You have till 10:00 a.m. MST next Friday (September 25) to submit a poem.

Use the form below to stay anonymous for a week.

Otherwise, for a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments. Drop a comment if you try to link back and it doesn’t show up within a day.

Have fun!

—–

Photo by Jan Krnc on Pexels.com

©2020 Chel Owens

WINNER of the A Mused Poetry Contest 9/18/2020

Choosing a winner for this week’s prompt of warning labels was no small feat. I had several favorites; so, did the only fair thing and picked the one that tickled my funny bone most.

And that was:

Warning Labels, by Hobbo
‘Smoking kills,’ Sally read on the packet
As she bent down to pick up her litter
So engrossed, she did not hear the racket
Of the thirty ton lorry that hit her.

Hobbo won for the short, simple, abrupt, crushing humor of a poor, warning label-reader’s folly. Great work!

As I said, the others were no less humorous. Read for yourself (and learn from their tales):

Inferno, by TH Kerr
In case of fire, throw this in first.

The Forbidden Fruit, by H.R.R. Gorman
At night you’ll see me gently creeping
With mom and dad hard a sleeping
In through laundry room door.
I open the bag of forbidden snacks –
Attractive gummies, laundry packs.

Then you’ll hear my lips a smacking,
My YouTube channel gaining backing
While I eat Tide Pods galore.
My mouth – it foams with Clean Breeze
And a few civilian casualties.

The tags may say “Danger!” “Warning!”
But industry tools are boring.
As a big attention whore
I munch and crunch on banned fare,
On poison beautiful, I’m well aware.

Untitled, by DumbestBlogger
This 7¼” hand held circular saw is designed to cut 2x4s
Please do not perform surgery with it
That would be dumb
If you wish to perform a murder this tool would be excellent
We don’t condone murder
You should probably use it for 2x4s

Untitled, by Pensitivity101
A nifty thing, this kid’s stroller,
Keeps him warm and dry,
Proudly walking down the street,
I nod at passers by.
Then at home, it’s time to put
The kettle on for tea,
But first I have to take him out
And things are hard to see.
The label bears a warning here
To first remove the child
Before collapsing to put away,
Then instructions can be filed.

The new toaster, by Bruce
I don’t want to boast
But I just bought a thing that makes toast.
The instructions say: Plug in and use as one oughta.
It warns: Not to be plugged in and used under water.

Words of Warning, by Doug Jacquier
The fridge magnet letters spilled out on the table,
followed by the numbers and then a WARNING label.
‘Some more advanced children may well be prone
to spell out things you may not condone.’
Piffle, I snorted, as I added them to the door;
my kids are more adult and their taste is not poor.
What I hadn’t allowed for was their merciless wit
and their ability to give visitors an apoplectic fit.
Thus ‘HELLO BABE’ was what greeted tubby Mrs. Foster
and her balding hubby got NICE RUG. WHAT DID IT COST YER?
The Reverend was rocked by DO SHOES HAVE SOULS?
and Granny by HAVE YOU TRIED SHAVING YOUR HAIRY MOLES?
I gathered the clan and in a voice loud and ringing
said that any more pranks and their ears would be singing.
All was quiet for a while but you can’t stop temptation;
I was greeted with KIDS ARE CAUSED BY MULTIPLICATION.
Despire myself, I couldn’t stop laughing and arranged my reaction
ALL PROBLEMS CAN BE SOLVED WITH A LITTLE SUBTRACTION.
Game over but they must have the last word they decided
with the finale WE CANNOT STAND A HOUSE DIVIDED.

Untitled, by Deb Whittam
I felt it the moment they stuck it on.
Shame descended upon me right away.
I knew it for what it was,
A stigma, I swore I would make them pay.

For marked I was, I felt the others turn,
Association would only bring despair.
For we all knew since Covid-19,
That brushing off notoriety was rare.

Absently I wondered what crime I had committed,
I mean, I was a staple, I was beyond compare.
But then Larry, the wholesome muesli bar whispered,
“You contain nuts mate.” Life just wasn’t fair.

The Geriatric Behavioral Unit, by Ruth Scribbles
Granny was a pistol
She really was a rascal
And after Grandpa died last month
Her pranks became a scandal

We couldn’t keep her home alone
She loved to hide and play
We sent her to the unit
So they could make her stay

We went to visit granny
And thought all would be well
When we arrived right on time
We saw the sign and yelled

What is granny up to now
They said and wrung their hands
The help said she was determined
They tried to understand

Granny met this guy, you see
Who fell in love with her
She convinced him they should run away
The rest was all a blur
IMG_0506_Original

You Have Been Warned, by Obbverse
The small print.
Please check parcel arrives intact and complete,
Verify no packaging has been torn, tagged or ripped,
Our goods become lawfully yours upon receipt.
(Our job is done once it’s sealed and shipped.)
The fine print.
Please open package with the utmost care,
Check all contents against checklist inside,
The Company isn’t liable for loss, damage or repair
Of goods dispatched. (despite what we implied.)
The finer print.
Your satisfaction is paramount to this vendor
So should any parts be found to be lacking
Immediately return faulty goods to sender;
(We look forward to see what you sent packing.)
The finest print.
(Please see Section 86, Clause D about bad goods returns;)
If, by opening, our original box is folded, spindled or mutilated
The Company consider this raises wilful damage concerns
And therefore your Money Back Guarantee is invalidated.

(For this and further ongoing custom we thank you.
NO further correspondence will be entered into.)

Fair Warning, by Fishman
I took my radio into the bath with me
and the warning label was right.
I got a shock, a jarring jolt,
my lord it was such a fright.

I drained the tub and dried myself
my nerves were in quite a state.
I vowed right then to always heed the warnings labels words,
“You’re right, oh labels. I do oblige, I’ll do as you dictate.”

“I’ll hold the saw by the correct end,
I’ll believe that matches may cause fire.
I promise not to drive with the sun shield in place.
and I’ll believe that if I drink Clorox bleach I may, in fact, expire.”

With that all said I took a breath to try and calm my nerves.
But my heart kept racing – thump, thump, thump – it just would not agree.
I had to take a tranquilizer, not one as prescribed, but three.
The label was right ‘cuz the next thing I knew I… Zzzzzzzz…

—–

Thanks to everyone who entered. Please return tomorrow for next week’s prompt!

©2020 Chel Owens

Hobbo, here’s a badge for you to use on your site. Congratulations!

©2020 The poets, and their respective works

The A Mused Poetry Contest 9/12 – 9/18/2020

Hello, hello, hello! Welcome to the second A Mused Poetry Contest! The #1 goal is a good guffaw, so think of a few laughing lines and join in!

Here are the specifics for this week’s contest:

  1. The Theme is a snappy poem about Warning Labels. I find them hilarious, because my mind immediately constructs whatever scenario led to their being written.
  2. For Length, keep it between 3-150 words. The form is up to you.
  3. Rhyming is also up to you and always a great way to jazz up some writing.
  4. Keep things on the clean side for general audiences of a more mature nature (PG).
  5. Just MAKE US LAUGH. I want the hot coffee-spiller who licked the wrong side of the velcro whilst removing the tag on her pillow to have tears streaming down her face from your attempts.

You have till 10:00 a.m. MST next Friday (September 18) to submit a poem.

Use the form below to stay anonymous for a week.

Otherwise, for a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments. Drop a comment if you try to link back and it doesn’t show up within a day.

Have fun!

—–

©2020 Chel Owens, including photograph

WINNER of the Very First A Mused Poetry Contest

Welcome, one and all, to the best source of funny poetry on the web! (If not, it very soon will be…)

We had several fine entrants on the subject of Eccentrics, and the winner is:

Untitled, by Richmond Road
An embarrassing mess was my brother
With one leg that was short. Not the other
Which made this eccentric
Walk in circles concentric
Causing constant distress to our mother

Richmond Road won for being the funniest and most limerickest. Basically, I laughed the most.

But his wasn’t the only one to elicit a few, painful snickers. Read the others and see:

Untitled, by Dumbest Blogger
There was a young boy with a poker
Who ate an extremely large porker
He burped quite a bit
And then licking his lips
He swallowed the cow in the clover

Untitled, by TanGental
To be considered a true eccentric
Don’t dye your hair or develop a tic
Forget the multi-coloured spats
And avoid wearing tweedy hats.
Keep a steady gaze and be authentic.

Untitled, by Matt Snyder
at night across the rooftops ran a kid named Matt
without a stitch of clothes on his person, he was also quite fat
Perhaps it was the thrill
of being caught by a girl
Instead he was adored by a cat

A Paean To The Patron Of Poor Poetry, by Obbverse
Now expired William Topaz McGonagall was our inspirations name,
His well-intended worthless words Will was all too wont to proclaim,
But Willy’s laboured literary constructions sat ill-fittingly,
Serious tragedies becoming comedies, albeit unwittingly,
Eternally re-nouned as the worlds poorest poet, to his undying shame.

Lug Nut, by Obbverse
His Mum remained inanely chatty and cheerful
Even as Vinnie grew quiet, depressed, then tearful,
Vin had suffering in silence down to an fine art
So Mrs Van Gogh found the the real crazy part
Was when Vinnie cut her off only to give her an earful.

Untitled, by Gary
I am English and I am most certainly very eccentric
I drive a car the shape of a teapot but don’t worry, it’s electric
I have a fine collection of pink britches with matching bowler hats
Let’s not forget I live underground with my cross dressing pampered cats
And pray tell what’s wrong shopping in a musical codpiece when it’s authentic

Here ya go!, by Ruth Scribbles
There once was an eccentric old lady
Who was said to be really quite crazy
An obnoxious artist she was
And extremely heartless because
She was left at the altar all lacy

Untitled, by Michael Fishman
Henry wanted his in-laws to leave
So he sneezed really loud in his sleeve
The in-laws, abhorred,
to the door they rushed toward.
And a sigh of joy Henry did heave.

—–

Thanks to everyone who entered. Please return on the morrow for next week’s prompt! Tell your friends! Tell your acquaintances! Tell your mom!

Hey, RR, here’s a brand-spanking new badge for you to use on your site. Congratulations!

©2020 The poets, and their respective works

The NEW Weekly A Mused Poetry Contest 9/5 – 9/11/2020

Welcome to the our new poetry contest! Hilarity is our goal; funniness, laughable lines, hilarious rhymes -amusement!

Where once I told everyone to write terrible poetry, I now tell you to write terrible poetry with the intent to make us all laugh:

  1. The Topic is eccentrics. Collector, streaker, hermit, or superhero? I read about the British variety in Henry Hemming’s In Search of the English Eccentric and now I’m hooked!
  2. The Length will be a limerick. How else would you poem about eccentrics?? A limerick is five lines: AABBA, in anapestic meter.
  3. Rhyme? Naturally -unless that would run against your hero’s …idiom.
  4. Don’t worry too much about the details! Wake up at 2 a.m. from the strangest dream you’ve ever had, roll over to your notepad to write it down, then turn it in as poetry the next morning.
  5. Keep the Rating at PG or cleaner.You’re too clever to stoop to crass jibes for humor. I know it.

You have till 10:00 a.m. MST next Friday (September 11) to submit a poem.

Use the form below to stay anonymous for a week.

Otherwise, for a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments. Drop a comment if you try to link back, and it doesn’t show up within a day.

Have fun! I insist!

 

 

Photo by RF._.studio from Pexels

©2020 Chel Owens

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest 5/1/2020

At long last, we long for the last winner of the Terrible Poetry Contest.

That winner is:

In the Can

by Trent McDonald

Parting is such sweet sorrow
I wished to keep you
Till the morrow
But I ate what you held
My hunger
Now is quelled
So you have no use
And I dare not set
You loose
For you’ll end up in a tree
Or worse yet
In the sea
You might kill a turtle or a fish
Or bird might think
You’re a tasty dish
I will mourn you gone, it’s true
I really, really
Really wanted to keep you
But the problem is, by far
I ate your innards
The candy bar
And since your fabric I tore
(My self-restraint went out the door)
I have no use for you
Any more

—–

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

I chose Trent’s poem after narrowing entries down to three or four that followed the prompt and made me cringe. After reading through those, his won for its awful reminders of the free-verse poems that just quite don’t make poetic sense.

Thank you for all the laments and well-wishes. You are lovely people and clever terrible poets.

Untitled piece

by Nitin

Oh Cap’n! My Cap’n
Must we say goodbye?
Just a year after we said hi?
Oh Cap’n! My Cap’n

This game gave me intellectual game
Makin me smart and stuff, ya know
But now, to whom shall my game I show
Things will never be the same

Good times we did share
Of laughs and more laughter
They made me merry and smarter
Friends did hug and care
But alas, ‘tis time to sit on the rafter
And say, “Oh Cap’n, ‘tis an end to chatter.”

*Sad violins play in the distance while the sky turns crimson, and motes of dust circle the bed. It’s lonely here on the rafter*

—–

Untitled piece

by Richmond Road

Maybe we’ll meet again some sunny day
Hey hey
You never know your luck
Till then
Goodbye
So long
I must mosey along

—–

Fare Thee Well 😭😭😭

by Heather Dawn

Oh the heartbreak that is inside my heart
A song of mourning as we part…
Mourning all the better things,
The things that life used to bring(s)…

Fare thee well!
My good memories of times meeting with friends and family and people, in groups larger than ten.
Fare thee well!

Also to soap and cleaners…
Oh how I smell!

Also farewell to buses, and haircuts and my favorite pair of pants which now fits far too snug. (Because of all the food I’ve eaten).

Fare thee well. To the hug. (Which I never loved in the first place, but now I think I could face)

Fare thee well to the world I once knew,
The one where we could find wipes by the loo,
Where shoppers could walk two by two,
Where kids could go to and from the zoo,
The one that didn’t feel quite as blue,
And I didn’t have to eat roadkill stew,
Or have to speak two meters away from you,
Wow lots of words to rhyme with “ooo”!!!

And fare thee well to a contest I never did win,
For poetry terribleness was not within,
But I give thee one last try,
Before I have to say good bye.
And on and on and on life goes
Ever changing, keeping me on my toes….

Fare thee well, to really bad poems.

—–

Untitled piece

by Ian Kay

Tai Kwon Doo
Doobie-doobie-do
Bye TFWTPC
Deedle-deedle-dee
The fat lady sings
Fa-fa-fa-le-la-la-oomph!
Who brought an opera singer
to the martial arts?
do-do-do-dah-do
call an ambulance
(but nothing rhymes with ambulance)
well then call a dentist
(you’re not making this easy)
how about an MD?
tweedle-deedle-dee.

—–

Used Band-Aid

by Matt Snyder

that time i fell

scraped my knee

cut my finger deep

using that damn peeler

when i tripped on the edge of the pool

tore off my toenail

you were there

love you BAND-AID hate to see you go

the brown crusty blood remnants that covered up my woes

BAND-AID come in every size, even covered that boil on my thigh

love you BAND-AID for all you have done

sure beats that time i used some ABC gum

—–

A Canned Goodbye

by Tiredhamster

Sad shell of lesser metal,
you once had something vital,
an elixir envied by the sweetness
gods, tinged with carbonated bliss.
Orange-like flavors once wrapped my tongue,
but now, your delicious tune has been sung.
I sit here now, in silent dejection, with your tiny skeleton,
carved by emptiness, a misshapened tin.
Now, it is time, that I cast your being into a bin
where all things disappear. It should be a sin,
but you’ve lived-out your usefulness,
I can’t say the same for the rest.
I will always cherish this warm night,
but the hour is turning into light
where thirst thrives. Don’t fret,
your memory has placed a net
across my acidified canines,
where a corrosion opines
deeper than love’s design.

—–

The Last One!

by D. Wallace Peach

Farewell! Thou art too ripe for my whiffing,
And alas alas, thou can’t thyself sniffing,
The perfume of thy boudoir gives little easing;
When my love for thee is nose deceasing.
And of that odor, why am I deserving?
Your fair halitosis has left me unnerving,
And so my face turned away is breathing.
Tell me, how do I hold thee while wheezing
Thou gavest thy kiss with exhaling and blowing,
Oh me, my mistaking, I must be going;

—–

AN ODE TO THE ANODYNE MS. O

by Doug Jacquier

Bring a ring o’ poeters,

A pocket full of poseurs,

A tissue (of terribility) at issue

And we all fell down.

A bunch of us numpties, with almighty gall,

Us proletarian-lumpy had a great fail

All Chelsea’s exhortations to fracture our pens

Ended in the dumpster time and again.

But the fighter inside ‘er will eventually out

Back will come her brain and give the spiders

Gout from the sun-dried tomatoes that on her pizza reign,

And, Owen to her zeitgeist, she’ll re-rack us once again.

—–

The Last Gasp

by Jon

Whatever will I do?
Without a forum for,
Terrible verse that wells up
Within and must get out
’cause its too awful to keep

—–

Untitled piece

by Writerinretrospect

Alas, poor poems, I knew them well
Perhaps a few belonged in hell
Far too many made angels LOL
When people tried to be bad, and very short fell…

—–

AN ODE TO GIANT TURDS

by H.R.R. Gorman

Look how ye curl
Above the water’s surface
You big, sassy turd, source of my pride.

Rare is the whorl
Which rises enough to lance
Through soft, golden expanse, brave height.

But now, brown pearl,
I must take the flushing stance
And send you away, unforgotten but affright.

Thou doth swirl
In a porcelain water-dance
Amidst ribbons and twills of white.

Gone! Flushed, hurled!
My mind is blown, in a trance,
That I couldn’t share your largess and might.

The joy of my innards
When you escaped by chance
During a bowel movement after midnight!

I’ll never unfurl
Our secret toilet stance
That created you, the biggest turd of my life.

—–

The End of Something Great

by Susan Zutautas

Holy moly chicken man

All I want is a grand

I will be your friend for a long time

Until of course, I lose my mind

♥♥♥

Oh my goodness

Oh my gosh

I would love some mackintosh

As I’m as hungry as a bear

Look at my cute underwear

♥♥♥

There is a moose upon my roof

Trying to catch a silly goose

There’s a dog in the tree

He’s laughing, he’s full of glee

There’s a mouse chasing a cat

I’m going to get you, you dirty rat

♥♥♥

Look and you will find

All of those you have left behind

Dust bunnies under the chair

Mixed all in with the dog’s hair

You think I don’t care? Beware.

♥♥♥

You are a silly goat

I think you’ve lost my rope

I’m such a dope

I don’t know how to cope

Without my rope

Nope

♥♥♥

Before I go there’s one more thing

I really wish that I could sing

I for one will miss your contests

A weekly terrible but the best

It was fun

I wish that I’d been here when it begun

Is there anything we could do

So many of us are feeling blue

Please change your mind

and keep it going

If you do we’ll all be glowing

—–

An Ode to the Bald

by Kristian Fogarty

Oh, Woe is me, Alas and Alack
Oh how I wish I could have my hair back
Now my poor head is shiny and bald
My comb is redundant, my crown feels the cold
It’s the one thing for which I would pray, steal or beg,
If I could no longer be as bald as an egg.

—–

Through the Looking Glass, Revisited

by Tnkerr

Ever been too high?

no? Neither have I

I once took a header

through a rabbit hole though.

I met no queens, I met no hatters

nor albino bunnies, if that even matters.

At a long wooden table, all set for tea

was a dapper transvestite, looking at me.

He peered through specs, with really thick glass

in disbelief he glanced askance.

He, you see; was impeccably dressed

I on the other hand looked quite the mess

I didn’t smoke hookahs, saw no smiling cats,

but I saw something almost as int’resting as that.

At dawn there were birds and two fat boys;

with a friendly sensei.

who spoke at me – to my surprise;

taught me to use mushrooms, for controlling my size.

When I woke, I had a knot on my head

I felt horrible, wished I was dead

I recalled a walrus named Paul, a carpenter too

I remember the face of a singer named Grace.

Ever been too high?

no? Neither have I.

—–

A Farewell Cha cha

by Bruce Goodman

Chelsea says: Remember everything I taught cha
Even though it’s torture.
Cha cha cha.

She’ll tell you how to write a terrible poem
Even if you’re a gnome.
Cha cha cha.

We’ve had a lot of fun along the way,
With Chelsea giving her decision every Friday.
Cha cha cha.

Over the year I’ve tried to make every poem suck
But sometimes I find it well-nigh impossible to be dreadful. Like now.
Cha cha cha.

You made us dance our way in and dance out way out.
I don’t have a clue what this poem’s about?
Cha cha cha.

So thank you Chelsea, farewell to the terrible,
I’m doing my best to make this poem absolutely horrible.
Cha cha cha.
Cha cha cha.
Cha cha cha.
SPLAT!

—–

A Failure To Communicate

by Obbverse

All my giddy plans for more overseas travel
Have begun to chafe and fray and unravel,
It’s a quiet cruisy life here in the South Pacific
Where sometimes ‘quiet’ borders on the soporific.

When you’re stuck down in the Shaky Isles
A month of lonely lockdown has its trials,
Here, we’re so far from the madding crowd,
Here, straying from our bubble is not allowed.

Netflix only goes so far in breaking the tedium
And I’ve wearied of the always Right medium
So I tuned out news of the ever-present Covid,
Turned off the big screen and gone off the grid.

But then my trusty Hewlett-Packard packed up
And how quickly my un-spammed mail backed up,
Now its a lonely planet to be stuck in on my own
And I’m slowly losing friends thanks to a fading i-phone.

So I found it timely to clean out the e-mails-
Those casual offers to meet consenting females-
One-off deals guaranteed to double your income-
Offers to collect a share of a Nigerian’s Princely sum.

So I trawled my way manfully through my spam,
I deleted every charitable plea and cheap scam,
Finally the the excremental electronic dumping was done,
Then came my first message… would it be a welcome one?

Qantas called, said my frequent flier miles, set to expire
Could be honorably exchanged, should I so desire
For a once in a lifetime trip on a luxury cruise ship-
I deleted THAT with one indignant finger flip.

—–

Finally

by Bryntin

there are some things
that I’m not sad to see go
like mrs bryntin’s habit
of chewing tobacco

or that odd pair
of novelty slippers
gifted last christmas
(they’re in the shape of some kippers)

or that strange pen
with invisible ink
can’t see what I wrote
so no chance to rethink

got shot of that cat
some pet that wasn’t ours
shat in the borders
now pushing up flowers

goodbye excruciating couplets
deliberately lacking rhythm
and purposefully lacking
sophisticated symbolism

goodbye terrible poetry contest
a shame it won’t be there
but my best wishes go to chelsea
and the family in her care

—–

Oh, Boris

by Gary

Oh Boris isn’t it time you went away
Surely it’s time for another holiday
Its only a few months since your last Caribbean jolly
How you must miss drinking all that expensive bolly
Your country is deep in crisis and finds itself in such a terrible mess
So many mistakes and lapses of judgement, yet you find it impossible to confess

It’s always someone else’s fault and never your own
You haven’t managed this pandemic preferring to blame the Eurozone
You don’t listen to reason, facts are just ignored
But you do listen to Cummings, Britains very own evil Sith Lord
You only had one aim and that was hard Brexit
Your getting your way leaving us deep in the shit

Because of your privileged upbringing you are entitled to rule
You lead by example, bluffing and acting the fool
You like all the trappings which goes with being the top man
Sadly hard work and emergency meetings is not part of your plan
So for the good of your country please take your leave
Go back to your mansion, don’t worry we won’t grieve

So I long for the day when you pack your bags and wish No10 a fond farewell
Go back to your lovely life, do nothing and watch your bank account swell.

—–

Bye-bye

by Ruth Scribbles

Scratching and clawing
With nails of a macaw 🦜
Mama said–these nails must GO!
Toddler went running around to and fro
Screaming like a me–me was out
To get him good
His fingers would be maimed
Shorn in pieces
How would he protect himself
From the wild wild feme-ale
Mom caught him and dragged him
Into the bathroom and chained him
The house echoed with screams
As she engaged in the operation
Mama removed the offending weapons
Right into the toilet
Round and round they went
Goodbye whimpered the boy-let
My talons are gone!

—–

This is Ze End

by Peregrine Arc

A quiet stage, dark and dusty
Velvet backdrops, rusted tin cans
Buzzing of flies, folded gloves
Last week’s newspaper, all wrong.
And then a swine in hooves and a tux
meanders out to center stage and breathes in a huff:
“Ba-dee, ba-dee, That’s all, Folks!”

—–

The End

by Fishman

The Terrible Poetry Contest is done.
And now life has no fun.

No, I’m only joking,
although my voice is kind of choking.

And even though this news has left me feeling a little blue,
I’m a better Terrible Poet because of you.

I hope everything with you is OK,
and that you just need to step away.

Thank you, Chelsea Ann.
From, Michael Fishman

—–

 I will miss you..!

by acupofcoffeeandmylaptop

Yes, I will miss you
So badly..!
I still remember the day
I bought you, so rosy and pretty
It felt terrible to ruin your virginity
By brushing my yellow teeth..!
Your predecessors lasted just a month..
Yet, I had you for over four months..!
Till you looked as bald as an oldie..!
Though, I bought another
I kept you inside my brush holder
Was happy to watch you every morning and night
But nothing lasts forever
And it’s time for you to leave..!
As I found to my dismay,
My two year old grabbing and chewing you today.!
How dare he..!? You belongs to me only..!
With a heavy heart, am throwing you in the trash bin..
But am quite positive,
That your tooth brushy soul will find a way back..
Through the next brush, you will buy..!!

—–

Thank you all so very very very very very berry very much! Parting from bad poetry is such sweet, satisfying sorrow.

Come back ’round here tomorrow to see what the new weekly contest will be.

woman s right hand

Photo by Wendy Wei on Pexels.com

Trent: Here’s a badge you can post as proof of your poetic mastery:

terrible-poetry-contest

©2020 The poets, and their respective poems.

 

The Final Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

One day, after reading newbies’ usual attempts at poetry and also feeling bored out of my mind at a son’s Tae Kwon Do training, I introduced the Terrible Poetry Contest.

This will be hilarious, I thought, And so easy. Too many writers churn out cliché sonnets and frenetic free-verse, so entrants will love it. As a bonus, I’ll be able to demonstrate what not to do in a funny way!

Despite my confidence, I realized the need for a follow-up explanation right after. Despite that, I routinely reminded contestants to tone down the talent. Despite all that, many contests produced FANTASTIC and clever results.

You’ve been wonderful. You’ve been terrible. I’ve loved it all. Thank you.

With happy memories and enough bad poetry to keep us giggling, I’ve decided ’tis time to discontinue. This week is the last terrible poetry contest of them all, nearly a year and a half after we began.

  1. Topic: A bittersweet farewell to something completely ridiculous.
  2. Length: You choose.
  3. Rhyming: For old time’s sake, rhyme in the worst possible places.
  4. Make it terrible!
  5. Rating: PG or cleaner.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (May 1) 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 let me know if your pingback or poem do not show up within a day.

Have fun. Seriously. And tell your friends. Let’s go out with a parade!

woman s right hand

Photo by Wendy Wei on Pexels.com

Alas, Poor Ramen

I thought you
were
but

Ramen. and MSG, of course

but
then

i

saw

you didn’t have MSG
after i tasted you, you aren’t coarse,
So, my
Tangled Mass oF dreams
Sunlight steaming, through crying raindrops

against

my

sink

course

And tears
I put you down the drain

with the eggs and fridge stuff that stunk
alas, why do I throw away what I love??
and then I ground you up

Poetically
Of course

©2020 Chelsea Owens

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest 4/24/2020

Congratulations, entrants. These were awful. You didn’t come around to hear only that, however; you came to learn of the winner.

And that is:

Dead Mans Chest

by Obbverse

I saw her here
I saw her there,
It would appear
I saw her everywhere.

In the school bus
I sat and stared,
I dreamed of us
As if she cared.

In my fevered mind
I looked suave and cool,
She seemed obstinately blind,
Friends said, kind of cruel.

Then, as we passed by
A look, though fleeting
Registered in her eye-
Two pupils meeting.

So it came to pass
With one come-hither glance
That Delilah of a lass
Led this fool a merry glance.

She had her fun
At my sad expense,
Fair heart I’d not won-
Her warm heart a pretense.

She left me distraught
That devils daughter,
Without a second thought
Wrenched at my aorta.

My teen dreams shattered,
Much like my pride,
Left bowed and battered-
Something deep inside me died.

Now I’ve a busted heart,
Broken in twain
The only good bloody part-
It won’t break ever again

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

Once again; you, our poets, are TOO GOOD for such a contest. Too clever. Too metered. *sigh* Obbverse won for his poem being terrible (of course) but also reminding me of many novice poets who are not attempting bad poetry and are sincere…

So, well done! As to the rest of you, try harder(?):

The umbrella

by Bruce Goodman

I wish to tell you about my favourite thing,
With a hey-nonny-no,
It’s about my umbrella I wish to sing
Hey ding a ding, ding.

I stick my umbrella up a lot
With a hey-nonny-no,
Whether it’s raining or not
Hey ding a ding, ding.

The other day it hosed down
With a hey-nonny-no,
Just as I was leaving to go to town
Hey ding a ding, ding.

Suddenly a gust of wind blew it inside out.
I started to twist and shout.
What the hell is this all about?
I was getting wet. No doubt.
I hope I don’t get gout.
Hey ding a ding, ding.
My love for my umbrella was just recently awoken.
Now it’s broken
And I’m soakin’.

—–

Witches (not) in Britches

by Richmond Road

The witch she mixes potion

Bats’ wings and eye of newt

Tears of angels, toes of frogs

Old wine and rotting fruit

She casts her spell, she leaves her smell

She takes off with a slop

“She’ll not get far with that,” I say,

“It’s not a broomstick, it’s a mop.”

—–

Ode to an automatic lawnmower

by Doug Jacquier

Boris, as we called him,
made short work of our lawn in
no time at all for many a year,
his whirling dervishing music to my ear.

But one fateful day
his brain faded away
and chaos reigned on our green parade
as anything but lawn was flayed.

Boris charged and snapped dragons at full pelt,
(all the while how his innards smelt)
and mounted kerbs uncurbed
as he rose to the occasion so recently suburbed.

Just when I thought his madness was expended
and his carnationage had ended,
he climbed the bean poles, snicker-snack,
and gave the peas no chance, alas, alack.

There was nothing for it but the mortal blow
as my axe cleaved poor Boris’s fevered brow
and he shuddered and turned turtle
‘midst the burgeoning lemon myrtle.

—–

Artificial

by Dumbestblogger

Stepping on land mines is not nice
But Walter has a way with strife
It seems absurd
But please believe
Now Walter has an iron knee

—–

Dust Bunnies

by Matt Snyder

electric fan seemingly whirring about

cool breeze on my face (ah choo)

oh the dust, the build up

i really really need to clean you

take of your grate & left you plugged in

using this can of air on you much to my chagrin

i can’t seem to get close

so i move in further

shit i cut off my nose !!!

—–

Five Feet

by Trent McDonald

It was just five feet
Oh, so very sweet
Down the fairway
With a single play
Then a chip shot
Within five feet of the pot
It was my day!
Five feet
Creating victory from defeat
Sink it and I win
Endless rounds of gin
If I miss the hole in the ground
I buy round after round
Five feet – I can’t miss
The ball needs just a little kiss
Just five feet, for heaven’s sake!

And that’s why my putter
Is at the bottom of the lake….

—–

When She Was Around

by Fishman

When she was around she did lots of useful stuff, sometimes did it in the buff.

Did some cooking and some cleaning;
I never did totally get her meaning.
Thoughts were dull and sort of unstudied.
Conversations were often somewhat muddied.

I probably shouldn’t have said anything because she was nice to have around.

One day in June she said, “Goodbye”.
I smiled and grabbed the remote ‘cuz it was nearby
You woulda thought I’d have felt a little blue
but in fact I sort of felt brand new.

I was alone, read and listened to some P-Funk,
found it wasn’t so bad, who woulda thunk.

—–

Usefulness

by Gary

Face it I am a muppet
As useful as badly worn glove puppet
The youthful sporting body is sadly no more
Now this used body constantly needs to visit the drugstore
I just can’t bend over without making a groan
I can only move thanks to heaps of cortisone
Once brimming with dreams of adventure and success
Now I’m wracked with anxieties and filled with stress
Everyday is filled with mistake after mistake
Always sweeping up the stuff I carelessly brake
Increasingly covered in dust
With a bank balance which has gone bust
These days definitely more rounded in the middle
Watching life fly past featuring only as a second fiddle
No more than a terrible poetry bard
Maybe it’s time for me to visit the knackers yard

—–

Underpants

by Ruth Scribbles

Always always
Make sure they are clean
Or, you know what I mean?
You never know
What the situation that will show
When an accident you have in your pants

—–

THROW UP

by Christine Bialczak

If throw up is bad
then why does it work
to get out that tad
of that poor tummy quirk.

Vomit is awful
so is the flu
Throw up in a bucket
not right onto you.

Maybe you’ll feel better
but maybe not yet
I don’t care too much
no pity you’ll get.

—–

Thank you all.

elia-pellegrini-d6dRz59e_A0-unsplash

Obbverse: Here’s a badge you can post as proof of your poetic mastery:

terrible-poetry-contest

©2020 The poets, and their respective poems.