Tag Valentine

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest 2/14/2020

Chel Owens 18 Comments

Roses are red, violets are purple, and first loves are a reason to give up on poetry and wait for 50% off chocolates… But, who among these nostalgic poets deserves the first box?

This week’s winner is:

Playground

by Bryntin

I watch you at play time
good on the hopscotch or having a climb
I wonder if we could perhaps have a kiss?
although I’m not really ready for having kids

can you tell me why you girls wear skirts?
and why they call them a blouse and not shirts?
I have lots of questions for girls, you see
and you are one, so that’s alright for me

so I think, for you, I’ve got the hots
even though you have got lots of spots
would you like a share of my gum
that I’ve kept stuck up under my desk?

one thing I’d like to know about you
do you support Liverpool or Man U?
if it’s the Mancs we’ll have to part
I’ll ask Helen instead, she’s a right Scouse tart

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

As usual, everyone’s entries were painful to read. I groaned, cringed, and nearly cried. To help narrow results, I decided to be a stickler for the rules posted and consider those poems that seemed to come from a younger person writing to his/her first crush.

Bryntin’s poem, overall, kept this tone. It sounded like the sort of terrible composition one might put together for an early love. It speaks of hope, love, sports, and curiosity. Well done.

As to the rest, I sincerely hope your past crush never finds and reads these:

Awkward First Crush

by Deb Whittam

I saw you kissing her today,
Yup my best friends, but I know
I’ll forgive you, for you are it,
The one, my love, Ok you’ve
Never spoken to me but
When you do you’ll realize
We’re meant to be together like
Paper and pen,
Sneakers and chewing gum,
Young love and desire.
‘Til then I’ll wait and talk to my
Her, she loves to gossip.

—–

Love Sick

by Annette Rochelle Aben

They tell me not to fall for you
But you’re fine as wine and I wish you were two
My insides are so confused too
Kinda of like, but sorta not, having the stomach flu

©2020 Annette Rochelle Aben

—–

Is This Love?

by Lucy

Your eyes,
Your hair,
Your cheeks,
Your stare.
Fart jokes and burps,
Spitting and slurps,
What’s a girl to do
But sigh, and bury
All those touchy feelings
Those horrible feelings
Those—Oh, wait, another fart joke.
Marvelous, you. Oh, marvelous.
I laugh, we curse,
Smile, we converse
About everything and nothing
Five second rule,
Doesn’t matter. You watch your friend
Hit his head in the locker.
Not a shocker. You laugh,
I roll my eyes, my heart stutters,
Am I in love? Is that what this is?
You wiggle your fingers
You walk like a caveman
With his mouth busted in
By his stupid hands.
Why do boys do stupid things?
Well, they’re boys.
You talk to me,
I say something,
You say something,
Conversation—is that what that is?
Are we talking?
Is this real or a dream?
(Oh god I hope it’s real, please be real)
I remember when I came to your birthday party
and you invited me over to sit with you
and I died. Well it would be more memorable if I did die,
So, I guess I didn’t?
And you turn to me so often
Another fart joke
Diarrhea, the squirts, the squirts,
The worst, the worst. Why does my heart flutter?
Oh, and I returned a pencil that wasn’t yours,
You were confused about that
But I insisted.
I wanted to smack you in the head with my math book,
But that smile made me take another look.
Maybe I’d hit your friend.
And you’d be okay with that, I think,
Because why not, he needs it more than you do.
You flap your hands around
Make a diarrhea sound
From your lips
And then you farted,
Your friend farted,
We all died inside
As the teacher ran to get Febreze;
It was like tear gas, and eggs
In some jelly of horse farts
And sewage from a donkey. I like you, okay?
You’re so weird,
And then I don’t like you. It’s weird.
You’re weird. I’m weird.
So I say nothing and keep this to myself.
My heart sunk when you said you didn’t know what
To do if someone had a crush on you.
Well, I’m right here, darlin’.

But I wouldn’t say that,
So I just nod and agree,
Pretend we understand the world
When we can’t, and alright,
I just, I just like you
Even though your farts are often
And might make me dive in a coffin.

Also P.S.
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I really like you
You have tp on your shoe.

—–

My first crush

by Bruce Goodman

You came to help me milk the cows in the cow shed.
We were too busy so nothing much was said.
You called them “dingly-dangly bits”;
I called them “tits”.
(I’m talking about the cow).

My sister said it was unnecessary to do my hair
Before I milked the cows; the cows wouldn’t care.
But I told her there’s someone I’m trying to impress
And it wasn’t Bess.
(Bess was the name of one of the cows).

Anyway you went on to higher things and wealth
And I was left pulling the dingly-dangly bits by myself.
You’ll never know that I had a crush on you
Standing like a goddess amongst the cow poo.

—–

Before and After

by Michael B. Fishman

12/20/63
Dear Miss Peterson,
I love you. You are pretty and you are nice.
I like when you smile at me when I say something in class.
I don’t like when we get homework in school
but I don’t get mad when you give us homework because you are cool.
Thank you for being my teacher and for being pretty and for smiling a lot.
I hope you have a nice Christmas vacation.

01/07/64
Dear Mrs. Kinney,
I wasn’t really sure what it meant when you said you got married
or why your name was changed so when I got home from school
yesterday I asked my mom. She told me all about it and I don’t think
you are very nice. I wouldn’t do that to someone. I don’t love you
anymore and please do not give us kids any more homework.

—–

Brut and Bali Hai

by The Abject Muse

Sometimes when I miss you bad

and I’m feeling really sad

I hitch a ride and go downtown

to the drugstore.

I wander the aisles

until I find, the scent of Brut

so sweet, so fine.

I take a sniff & close my eyes.

I remember your lips

the way they feel

so hot and so unreal

I get a sort of contact high

Cuz you’ve been sipping Bali Hai.

The magical wine

that’s yours & mine

and makes me feel not shy.

I pray to God for me you’ll wait

for the day your friends can’t call me jailbait.

Do you love me, or love me not?

I hope you do because you’re hot.

—–

The Girl With the Cat-eyed Glasses

by Trent McDonald

The girl with the cat-eyed glasses
Stopped by today
Ancient beauty!
Her friend played a folk song
On a guitar
They all sang along
She smiled
Her teenage smile
Full of age and grace
At me
She laughed
At my stuttered joke
For a minute I held her huge hand
In my tiny one
I wished I could leave
On a jetplane
With the girl
With the cat-eyed glasses
*
True story. I always liked older girls. I was 5 and she was 17, you know what I mean? Strangely enough, teenage kids from my parents church would stop by, play a few folk songs and then leave. The girl with the cat-eyed glasses stopped over on her way to the prom and told me she was dressed up because we were getting married. “But I’m too young to marry!” the 4 or 5 Trent protested. She actually wrote an essay about me for her English class. And received an A. My mom still has it. Ah, the girl with the cat-eyed glasses….

—–

i was 5 and she was 6

by Matt Snyder

shall we ?
i grabbed wendy’s hand
we whistfully whisked ourselves down to the nighborhood school playground
look the monkey bars meant for monkeying around
so we did

kiss her, they yelled
kiss her on the lips, they teased
wendy and i just wanted play
play on the monkey bars that day

i was pushed and goaded
go on they said and do the deed
so i pressed both lips boldly against her cheek

they just laughed
no, on the lips the older girl yelled
a real kiss they all squeeled
so we did
then ran home crying as fast as we could
because not all first kisses are always
so good

—–

Downstairs

by Matt Snyder

Wendy i love thee let me count the ways
one, i have liked you since i was 5 maybe even before
we played and played house and with fisher price little people
till we couldn’t play no more
two your bunny thumper is cool thanks for letting me pet him
if we could try some of our own heavy petting (whatever that means)
3 i love your smile and the way you move
and then when we were in the playroom playing lights off lights on
you show me yours I’ll show you mine
till you mom told us to stop turning the lights on and off
but it’s those three
Wendy
in how i love thee

—–

Dear Miss Flanagan

by Doug Jacquier

I love your sunburnt brown pretty freckles

And your shiny beautiful cute red hair

And your green eyes (sorry if their there not green)

You look just like that film star (can’t remember her name but she’s really pretty, like Doris Day but not her)

I know you catch me staring

And I can’t help going red

Please don’t marry drippy Mr. Smith

Wait for me to catch up.

Sined
You Know Who

PS – There really was a Miss Flanagan upon whom I had the biggest crush imaginable and, yes, she was always catching me staring and she really did marry drippy Mr. Smith and broke my heart. Of course I would never have delivered this fawning missive but I would have re-read and ‘edited’ it a lot and hoped she wouldn’t find it in the back of my exercise book.

—–

being known

by kriti

the world keeps spinning
but what are we searching for
are you the answer?

—–

Oh, Jackie

by Wordifull Melanie

Oh, Jackie
You make me happy
you don’t even have to try
i just look at you and sigh
and I really thought I’d die
when you sat across from me in the lunch room
even though you really only stopped to talk to your sister who is in my home room
when you grabbed my sandwich and took a big bite
I have to say it just felt Right
Oh, Jackie
if you’d only see
You and I are meant to be!

Jackie + Melanie = ❤

—–

To You

by Ruth Scribbles

Petunias are pink
Your brother stinks
My nose twitches
When it itches
You smell good
Be mine
Valentine

From me

—–

Untitled piece

by Gary

There’s a girl in my class so shy and so cute
She’s so clever as she can work out a cube root
She the star of athletics team and her name is Anita
Runs for the county as she is as fast as a Cheetah
One day at lunch she came over to talk
I fumbled my words and started to squawk
One hot summers day I found my voice and asked her out in the end
We became good pals but never lovers as she already had a lovely girlfriend

—–

My First Love!

by Morpethroad

Sue Dorn was more than a thorn,

Across the playground she demanded

My stare, my mouth hanging open

My best gormless look

A magnet to every boy,

Like bees round a honey pot

Like maggots hanging on her every smile.

I dreamt of her at night

My first wet dream

My first scream

What is this girl doing to me?

How to get onto her team.

—–

Thank you for entering! Happy (belated) V-Day, and an even happier Half-Priced Chocolate Day on the 15th!

Please return tomorrow, around 10:00 a.m. MST for next week’s topic.

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

©2020 The poets and their respective poems

Love and Marriage and Practicality

Chel Owens 55 Comments

There’s some sort of commercial event coming up this Friday. I’m not sure what’s it’s all about; judging by the stores, there’s a lot of red and pink and hearts involved. There’s also chocolate, which I can always get behind.

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Only try this if you want to crash.

From what I can gather, like with Christmas; if we spend enough money on presents, we love someone.

The facial expressions of the men shopping on V-Day tell me otherwise. Every year, I see an unusual number of men in end-of-day work shirts and khakis standing in line at the checkouts. All bear flowers, balloons, chocolates, or plush animals holding hearts. And all bear a resigned grimace.

Hopefully all that annoyance pays off for them later…

As for me and my husband, we’re practical. I have never demanded flowers, chocolates, and a romantic evening on February 14 (at least, not lately). I’ve not insisted Kevin spend a certain amount for an anniversary gift. I certainly do not expect a puppy on my birthday.

Most of that is because he wouldn’t do so without my asking, so I feel bad when he shows up with commercially-prompted merchandise. Such gestures make me feel like someone put him in a headlock and forced him to purchase roses.

Where’s the love in that?

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I hope her shoes are more sensible than her dress for hiking in the woods.

I trace our practicality back to our engagement. We were …young. We hadn’t much money. We went shopping for everything together, from our apartment to our kitchen table to our bedding. I watched our meager incomes disappearing into rent, food, car payments, school costs, utilities…

Then, we went ring shopping. This band with a bit of shiny rock cost an apartment for a year, while that band with a smaller shiny rock could buy us food for a month while this band with a very tiny rock was our car payment, due that Thursday. Metal and stone hardly seemed worth the price.

We had a small, simple wedding. We honeymooned a couple of hours North. And life resumed.

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Am I the only one who thinks she’s going to fall off -or be made into a vampire?

Our dates were World of Warcraft and Diablo II, at home. Our romantic getaways have been an overnight stay for anniversaries and two trips out-of-state in the last …never-you-mind-how-many years.

Perhaps if “exciting” weren’t synonymous with “expensive,” Kevin would get me a dozen roses and a cruise to The Bahamas. Perhaps if “impetuous” didn’t need to include the five children he values most in life, we’d dine on lobster and wine and make violent love on the evening of a cute holiday.

It’s true that our romantic life is a bit flat because I’m recovering from being a whale and being cut open to remove our adorable offspring and we’re already dealing with having four active fighting demanding mess-making boys…

but the romance won’t be because Wal-mart told us to.

It will be, quite practically, because we love each other.

What of you and yours? Do you observe the official holiday of Valentine? Does practicality trump spontaneity, or are you hopeless romantics?

—————-

This here’s what I wrote this week:

Wednesday, February 5: Talked about Approval Addiction in “Oh, No: It’s That Irritating Need to Please Everyone Again.”

Thursday, February 6: Throwback to my large feet in “Plus-Size Podiatry.”

Friday, February 7: Posted the winner of this week’s “Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest.” Congratulations to Doug and Joanne.

Plus, shared Esther’s story competition and book launch.

Plus plus, shared Susanna Leonard Hill’s Valentiny children’s story contest.

Saturday, February 8: Announced the 58th Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest. The theme is that awkward first poem to that awkward first crush. PLEASE ENTER!

Sunday, February 9: Wrote “Fred’s Best Friend” in response to Carrot Ranch’s prompt.

Monday, February 10: An inspirational quote from Rethinking Scripture.

Tuesday, February 11: People-watched and came up with “2 Short Stories.”

Later, haiku’d “Winter Haiku (Snow).”

Wednesday, February 12: This post.

And “Need Help? Go On and Ask for It” over at The Bipolar Blog.

—–

Wrote some at my motherhood blog, like “Unintentional One-Armed Typing.”

©2020 Chelsea Owens

Photo Credit: Everton Vila
Scott Broome
Cristian Newman

The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest 2/8-2/14

Chel Owens 41 Comments

Love is (still) in the air, for our 58th Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest! -For nothing says “terrible” quite like the pain and embarrassment of our very first crushes.

That’s right! I’d like every one of you to remember your First Love. What did he or she look like, smell like, eat his/her boogers like? MOST IMPORTANTLY: if you were to write that person a poem, in exactly the advanced writing abilities you had at the time, what would that poem look like?

Specifically:

  1. The Topic is an awkward first poem to your awkward first crush.
  2. I don’t know how prosaic you were then, but I’ll assume the Length will be on the shorter side. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if, like me, all of your poems took on the form Rose are red, Violets are blue…
  3. Rhyming? Maybe, maybe not. How poetic were you?
  4. Naturally, without trying, make it terrible. I want the younger version of you to read over your composition, sigh in romantic ecstasy, and imagine the love of your life rewarding your efforts with that elusive First Kiss.
  5. I’ll give Past You the benefit of the doubt and assume you’ll keep the Rating at PG or cleaner.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (February 14!) 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.

Have fun!

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Photo credit: Anna Kolosyuk

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Chel Owens 19 Comments

How do I love thee? I don’t think you want to know… What you will want to know is whom to avoid this V-Day when considering requesting a sonnet.

For, this week’s winners of the most terrible poetry are:

Be still my swell-ed heart

by Shake’s peer (aka Doug Jacquier)

I did but see her glassy-eyed, astride
her pied ride as she wended to her home,
sighing in her saddle set to the side,
clutching her cask of wine to her bos-ome.

Full sore my lovesick heart (and other parts) swell’d
as Cupid’s arrow shrived my mortal soul
and I resolved to plight my troth once held
by the Fair Youth at my watering hole.

Dark Lady, I fulsome cried, be my bride
and let us to Lethe flee and there be wed.
She fix-ed me full-faced but gimlet-eyed
and intoned words that ‘minded of the dead.

“Marry, not marry, for I’m wed to Sid
but your other needs, whatsay twenty quid?”

–and–

Let Me Be Your Sponge Mop

by Joanne the Geek

Girl let me be your sponge mop

just squeeze me and I’m ready to pop

full of moist love for you

I know you feel the same way too

Let me be your sponge mop

I’ll absorb your tears once they drop

I know you often have to cry

when you’re finished, just squeeze me dry

So let me be your sponge mop

and after we’re done, I’ll still be your sop

but just don’t leave me to dry in your bucket too long

just wet me sometimes, and I’ll spring back to life on song

—–

Congratulations, Doug and Joanne! You are the most terrible poets of the week!

The rest of the contestants, save one that is too sweet to be terrible, were so very very close to all being named winners. Yes, I’ve chickened out and done that before. I finally decided to give Doug’s poem the recognition it deserves; not only did he sonnet, but he took it to the form and the language. Joanne -well… Joanne, that was too terrible to ignore.

I laughed and laughed and cringed at the rest. Read, and enjoy:

Sometimes Love

by Abject Muse

Sometimes…

Love is like a dirty sock.

You smell it a mile away

stealthily hiding beneath a rock.

But you turn it over anyway

to find bugs and maggots crawling ’round

but you don’t mind the stinky bouquet

because it’s love you finally found.

Other times…

Love is like a thug

jumping on you in the dark

beating the crap out of your heart

and leaves you smiling in a pool of blood.

Wondering what will happen next?

You get a nasty screw-you text.

And Then Sometimes…

Love can feel just right

until the day you realize

you were blinded by the phony light

of truths turned into stinking lies.

You feel foolish and oh, so dumb!

And then your heart fades to numb.

—–

Demented Love

by Deb Whittam

I love you like a bee loves beer
I love you like red wine loves white carpet
I love you in so many ways
Even when you have the audacity to sneer.
I love you like a wedding and diarrhea
I love you like two years old and hearing aids
I love you in so many ways
Though I may seem obsessive I swear there’s nothing to fear.
Ok yes I strangled a wife back long ago
But she was not what she seemed
And yes I pushed one off a cliff
But she just wouldn’t stop with the cheer
And anyway it is you I love now
So bite back those tears
Of joy and come here
I ran this bath just for you my dear.

—–

The Morning of My Love

by Trent McDonald

How doth the blush of dawn speak of passion
The celestial glow turning all to bright pink
The shade of your bare behind in fashion
Turns my mind to lust…, I mean love, yeah love, I think

My blood pressure rises with that ornery star, the sun
Is it your fair face in that morning glow bursting my heart
Or is it that I forgot my medicine that makes my blood pressure undone?
Uhm, yeah, your face, uhm, really, your face makes the racing of my heart start

Maple syrup on pancakes is not as sweet as thy
(I love bacon too, but is it a compliment to compare you?)
No taste from the nectar of your honey lips and I will die
(Or am I thinking of coffee, without which I can’t make do?)

My heart is a sailor to take fair warning
Of you arriving bright red in this stormy morning

—–

The Prickly Pear

by The Abject Muse

My love is like a prickly pear

Stuck inside my underwear

Its bittersweet pain reminds me

this love was not meant to be.

Yet on we go, the sting ignored

until we both got really bored.

And so one day, we parted ways

in spite of sometimes happy days.

As for that old prickly pear,

It’s no longer in my underwear.

That nasty sting forever gone

just like my love, forever wrong.

—–

Sweet Ambivalence…

by Ruth

I love milk chocolate, smooth and creamy thick

Could eat a houseful, yummy brick by brick

Till gorged by cocoa, melty-warm and slick

Pure liquefied indulgence makes me sick…

—–

The Green Love

by Peregrine Arc

My love for you is like pickles, my dear
You’re like a giant pickle yourself.
Wrinkled, vinegary, tart and you make my mouth pucker

But frogs, my dear–consider
Will never croak our love ballads out the way you do
Birds fall out of the sky, dead at your winsome, cat crying tones.

Screams! My love for you is but a ballad of curled beards
Curled like your toes made of mahogany wood
Oh my dear, I sigh in love
Like a dill pickle.

—–

warm garage

by Bryntin

my ears assailed, your comments so cruel
in my head I can question my own name
its not the satnav who you overrule
you get jealous of the voice they call jane
and so you may explore the world my love
bravely taking strange roads in our motor
me never knowing the heading, sort of
to the sounds of my poetry quota
for you I recite some favourite keats
or try some sonnets from the bard shakespeare
let it travel, sent with love twixt the seats
if it deters you from slapping my ear
we smile, home, I dare not to sabotage
car, at last, nice and warm in the garage

—–

How Do I Love Thee

by Michael Fishman

Do I love thee, you really want to know?
Like those idyllic, serene summer days,
when I see your face I begin to glow,
for in truth your face looks like mayonnaise.
As I stare deeply at your sleeping eyes
I wonder just what the hell I’m doing.
I think about my friends, those lucky guys
and wonder if another wife I shouldn’t be pursuing.

I can’t write you a sonnet. I can’t even kiss you. Specifically speaking: no serenely stormy split second spit-sticking smack on the shoulder. Nay, you naughty nonsignificant, knotty-nosed, norepinephrine-needing nudnik. Never no nibbles upon thine neck.

Forsooth (for anyone if soothe isn’t available) free me from this foul fraudulence.

Alas, you stir and turn your black orbs, dripping with eye boogers and brimming with heated demonic lust to mine. Those haunted eyes that lured me to seemingly eternal wedded

bliss.

You part your pulpy lips, an invitation to one innocent sensual deep kiss
as sweet as molasses
Lost, I ignored what was amiss
and I find myself once again in . . .

. . . an abyss.

We part.
You smile.
I smile.

Your morning breath –
– ugh . . .

Good morning, my love.
Happy Valentine’s Day, my treasure.
Sleep well?
(No, not next to you) Next to you is there any other way?
My prince.
How I do love thee…

###

Note: this is not based on a true story.

—–

Roll over Shakespeare

by Bruce Goodman

My love is like a bike ride on a beach
The wheels sink down in sand and I get wedged
I’ll ne’er arrive where you picnic out of reach
I feel so dumb and underprivileged.

If I had walked towards you and not biked
I’d be with you on the beach eating stuff out of your picnic hamper
Chicken drumsticks is what I would have liked
But stuck in sand means to you I cannot scamper.

The tide is drawing in, the waves are crashing
Soon my bike will sink below the surf.
Obviously my love will take a thrashing
And I’ll lose the thing I most desire on earf.

Alas I’m drowning in the sea, my Honey,
And you think getting my bike stuck in sand is funny.

—–

Dear Bruce

by Nitin

Will you not accept my love dear Bruce?
I doubt I offer Frankincense, myrrh or gold
But excuse me! Allow me to be bold!
Don’t I give you olive oil massages and spruce

You up, when you attend meetings?
Don’t I grease those aching joints with love?
And all I get is tomato soup from the stove!
Excuse me! I stay up all night to write you season’s greetings!

Now, I might not write Goodman gore but I’m not dumb
I know you use this clown
Just for his party nose and bum
Damn it! what rhymes with clown!
But these are lines of love still
Written while I sit on Bruce Goodman’s windowsill (is the table next to the window the sill?)

– Binky

—–

Love is Unattainable

by Ruth Scribbles

Roses are red
The pain in my head
Makes me giddy
Chocolate can’t compete
My stomach is churning with butterflies
I love you to the toilet and back

Will you be mine?

—–

Untitled piece

by Gary

Missing the warmth of your dear sweet love
Valentines goes on which annoys me, kind of
Feeling unloved as our romance is no more
Will get as many cards as a grumpy Wild Boar
No red roses for me sat on my sofa for one
No lovers wine to drink as I’m suffering a dry run
Can’t even have chocolate as I’m currently dairy free
So sat here writing of love with a bloody black tea
Trying to find ways to avoid pigging Valentines Day
Maybe games of solitaire and a stinging nettle bouquet
Mr Grouchy sat here with love sadly deserting me
Nursing a snotty nose and an annoying sore old knee
So Valentines is coming and I’m enduring all those red rose adverts
Well excuse me if I say to me it’s all a huge pile of steaming turds.

—–

My Beloved

by Lucy

My love, as the still light shines on your lice
Ah, I smell the onions matted on your breath.
What else? Your nose hairs are threads to soon slice,
And when I leave I thank god I didn’t retch.

My beloved, a shore of love passes through me
When I do catch whiff of your gastro winds,
They move like the barnacles on your knees
Oh, as I stroke the maggots off your skin!

Your eyes are red as a blowfly’s
Your ears are clouded with wax opaque spots
Your lips hoofed with your special spoiled meat pie
Beloved, you smell worse than Death’s trots.

As I lie in bed and think, lord what else?
My chest rises in warbling warmth and I melt.

—–

Terrible Love

by Punam

My beloved, I curse the day I said yes to you,
It was my prerogative, no doubt
It could have been sooner my beau
I so fell in love with your pout!

I am sick and tired of your explosive anger
Your wearisome stubbornness and defiance
To your alien ways I am no foreigner
Honey, what would I be without this alliance!

How do you think we will manage with your income meagre
Your stupid scruples you follow inexcusably
My love, to sacrifice for you I am always eager
I love how you still acquit yourself admirably!

You are the inspiration for this third class verse,
My love for you colours my vision for better or worse!

—–

If I could only tell you

by Ivy

I wait for the night to hear your voice,
every day to see your face.
Your charm’s got a hold on me,
even when you are not around.

Your voice makes me feel you right next to me.
You make the distance seem an arm’s length away.
I may not tell you how I feel,
Fear of losing you has weighed in on my fragile mind.

I’m a coward to my feelings,
Alone wandering in my thoughts of you.
My mind knows you more than my lips,
The tip of my pen more than my words.

My thoughts run rampant on you.
They halt on interventions.
They halt when my mind gets busy.
My mind stays stagnant at your smile.

My heart would want you nearby.
Only to love you,
Only to take care of you,
Never to leave you.

If I could only tell you,
How much you colored my world.
How much you made for long for you
How much I’d dream of falling into your arms

—–

Thank you all for the painful laughs! Come back tomorrow around 10 a.m. MST for next week’s topic.

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

Yes, Doug, I’m working on a new graphic. Still.

 

©2020 The poets and their respective poems

The Twelve Days Of Valentines…

Chel Owens

It’s time for Susanna’s Valentiny competition again! Think of a short, sweet story on the theme of feeling curious; keep it at 214 words; and submit it between 2/12 and 2/14!

Susanna Leonard Hill

Let’s talk for a moment about deadlines and time pressure.

Woohoo!  Fun, right???!!! 🙂

Some people feel these are negative things, but I propose we look at them as an opportunity for extraordinary productivity!

(This opportunity for extraordinary productivity arises because I missed my deadline of posting this on Thursday, but we won’t talk about that 🙂 )

So if we’re being completely above board here, it’s not exactly the 12 days of Valentines.

It’s more like we have 12 days until Valentines.

Or, to be more precise, 12 days until the

The5th AnnualValentinyWritingContest!!!

Valentiny Writing Contest 2019!

So my gift to you is a nice little 12 day window to get your contest entry written! 🙂

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The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Chel Owens 45 Comments

Welcome to the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest #57!

Confused about poeting badly? Read some brief instructions, here. Don’t take yourself too seriously and have fun.

Here are the specifics for this week:

  1. Anyone who knows me knows I love Half-Priced Chocolate Day (February 15th) more than the holiday the day before -BUT, this is the Terrible Poetry Contest! Nothing gets poemed to death more than the topic of ❤LOVE!❤
    So, the Topic is LOVE LOVE LOVE! Write me a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad sonnet. Give me alliterations, adjectives, allegories, and aneurysms.
  2. Keep the Length long enough to capture your love’s interest without putting her to sleep.
  3. Rhyming? Up to you, but I recommend you do.
  4. Make it terrible! Cupid needs to pull out the real arrows after catching wind of your attempts.
  5. Keep the rating PGish.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (February 7) 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. Let me know if your link doesn’t show up in the comments after a day.

Have fun!

wyron-a-n2PMAQxi-GM-unsplash

Photo credit: Wyron A

Half-Priced Valentine’s Love

Chel Owens 23 Comments

I’m a bit late in posting this, but I wanted to write my final love poem of the (last) week to my favorite holiday in February, Half-Price Chocolate Day (February 15).

I also write this in response to Carrot Ranch‘s weekly writing prompt.*

Excuse me, ma’am, I know it’s bright,
My coming here at break of light;
Yet, may I guess you’re here to mark
Down hearts and cards within this cart?
‘Yes,’ you say? You’ve made my day!
-But, wait! What of the wall this way?
The bags and boxes here, you know,
Are why I woke up, braved the snow.
They’re why, my diet I’ll ignore;
Why, really, I came to this store;
And why, no joke, my world still turns
For what my beating heart still yearns:
My meaning, purpose, lifetime vice
Is V Day choc’late, sold half price.

chocolate-3587896_1920

 

*Carrot Ranch’s official rules:
February 14, 2019, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about valentines. It can be Valentine’s Day, the exchange, love for another, romance, or friendship. Have a heart and go where the prompt leads!

Respond by February 19, 2019. Use the comment section [on the site] to share, read and be social. You may leave a link, pingback or story in the comments. If you want to be published in the weekly collection, please use the form.  Rules & Guidelines.

Photo Credit:
Pixabay

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Chel Owens 7 Comments

Another week, another contest, another episode of my wanting to give everyone first place. I asked for terrible love poetry, and you guys all gave me …well, I think it was poetry.

I happen to know the winner this week wouldn’t want to bite his nails any longer in expectation, however. It is the famous, clever, inappropriate Geoff LePard.

Only Skin Deep (After Sonnet 130*)

by TanGental (Geoff LePard)

The azure of the wide Pacific seas

Has depth, unlike your bland insipid eyes.

A dancer’s legs are shaped by art to please

But yours are not for show, they need disguise.

My tongue, whose form can change to suit all tastes,

From gentle probe to pert, priapic beast,

Becomes a dry and flaccid thing, all chaste,

If suffocated by your doggy breath’s release.

Facial engineers, who can craft Kate Moss

From Quasimodo, turn and run a mile:

I’d give my soul to Satan, bear any loss

If they’d mould Venus from your Cubist smile.

Let’s face it, love, on me you’ve placed a hex:

It’s not your looks that bind us, just the sex.

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

All of the submitted poems were terrible. Throughout reading them, however, I just couldn’t feel that sort of acute revulsion necessary to crown a victor -until, that is, I read Geoff’s poem.

I thought his may have been too pretty as I started reading it. There’s meter, and rhyme, and a bit of a misguided theme. Then I got to the bits about the tongue, and “doggy breath.” That settled it.

Any of the other entrants may hold their heads high if they really want to as well. And, here they are:

Songette of Love

by Bruce Goodman

You are like fresh water in a toilet system
and I am like the bowl that’s just being pissed in.
Your flush of youth washes away all stain of sin
and all I can do is sit there and grin.

Your love is like a roll of toilet paper,
seemingly endless and yet is a handy caper.
You remind me of the aerosol can of “Province French”:
one squirt and you hide the smell of stinky stench.

The lavatory brush as well reminds me of you,
as does the mop that cleans the bathroom floor, too.
Both are meticulous in cleaning up every speck of microbiotic dust;
Such fastidiousness greatly increases lust.

And so, my dear, when all is said and done,
whenever I have a crap I know that you’re the one.

—–

Oh my Darling

by RhScribbles

Oh my darling, my darling valentine
I’ll leave you at the table while I go
To the den and wait for you to bring wine
And spend time with you and the old banjo

Oh darling, sweetie pie, love of my life
How I adore your odd sense of humor
I am excited to be your wife
That’s not a joke, I’m with child it’s rumored

Oh darling, sweetie pie, love of my life
Your face is as scruffy as a scratchy scrubber
I’d love to scrape it off with a sharp knife
I might mistakenly remove blubber

Oh darling, sweetie pie, love of my life
My valentine, angel, I am your wife

—–

I love you lots (only slightly in a sleazy way)

by Greygirlieandme

Shall I compare you to a summer’s day?
Well, I’ll have a go,‘cos you’re a bit of alright (at least Colin thinks so).
Where to start – fancy a tumble in the hay?
You will when you’ve read this, I’ll wrap it up and tie it with a bow.
The doctor said we can have a snog now the herpes sore’s have all gone;
Your eyes are like rock pools, salty and they overflow a lot, and your eyebrows look like sea slugs,
And your skin’s okay when you’ve got a tan, as long as it’s not too orange, like the Trumpster one;
And I know you’ll look like your mother in a few year’s time, but she’s OK with the lights off. What, you’re scared of the dark because of the bugs?
Now there’s one thing I’d like you to do for me, what’s with the bush? Untrimmed’s really not my thing…
But overall you’re a bit of a catch (as per Colin again),
So I’d like to take you into my possession, I’ll follow you all the time, on the wing;
I want everything thing you touch, so I might go through your trash, again and again,
But most of all, I want you to be mine,
As long as I breathe, allowing for the ciggies,
I’ll make sure all my kisses are biggies.

—–

Chubby Cheek Pooty Duty

by Donna Matthews

His chubby cheeks very adorable
And I know, you know, what we all know
Without you, life would be so horrible
You show up day and night, sunshine or snow.

The job at hand isn’t rosy face cheeks
We’re talking uncontrollable poo-poo
Digested milk spewed from pudgy butt cheeks
Exploding odoriferous, slimy goo

I adore the way you absorb the mess
No matter the pigment nor time of day
From your faithfulness, I am truly blessed
Beloved, there’s nothing more I can say

Without you, diaper, excrement galore
Your pooty duty valued evermore

—–

The Handkerchief

by Peregrine Arc

Oh my dearest hanky
How I love thee without compare
I snort, I sneeze, I wipe my hands
on you without a care.
For you are the holder of my snot,
Full of my forget-me-nots
From cold, allergy and flu seasons
My always and forever, linen pressed beacon.
Sprinkled with limeaid from that last catastrophic fall
When I was trying to increase my fluids, dash it all
Sniff. Sniff. Oh dear.
I feel I have another achoo arriving, I fear.
I can feel it striving, stretching down my nostril hairs, tickling my mucus
To my hanky–my succus!
Away, away, Sir Lucas!

—–

How I Love my Hot Flashes

by D. Wallace Peach

I’m never cold from head to toe, not me
In winter’s deep when snow is white and brash
I lounge in skivvies for all the family t’see
In summer attire, I bask in hottish flash

The hubs may shiver ‘n shake by blazing fire
The daughter dressed in coat and hat with flaps
But I will sweat a flash like a funeral pyre
Too hot to cook or clean, too hot for naps

Too hot for heat in the car while driving home
Too toasty for salsa and barbeque chicken wings
Too flushed to deal with hair dryers and combs
Too fiery to wear a robe or sweater that clings

The windows stay open ‘spite the sleeting day
For years, I’ve had my head in a baking oven
My heating bill is zero, so I won’t complain
Now you know the reason hot flashes I’m lovin’

—–

Unsuitable Suitor

by Jon

O how she captured my attention when at the first she happened by.
What was it then that caught my notice, caused my heart to palpitate?
Hope raised above the slimmest chance, would I even catch her eye?
What is that thing my heart is doing? Could it not be what I just ate?

Would we be so clearly mismatched, quite unlike as ones could be?
We are boring, both diverted, our screens gleaming pale and blue.
Am I right? Should I reconsider? Are there sparks ‘tween me and She?
Thoughts within begin to torment, something is not ringing true.

Alas! Still if I could only focus, on what is here and what is now.
Cease even to opine on twitter, step far back from writing blogs,
Still a chance our love could work out. Exciting yes! Even wow!
Can’t help now but wonder, would she e’er stoop to kissing frogs?

‘Cause far beneath I clearly lodge high and endless opportunities,
She has e’re open there before her. What if I come upon my knees?

—–

For My Babe on Valentine’s Day

by Michael B. Fishman

What I won’t do for you – –

Those jeans you think are too tight: they are. But I won’t tell you because I care that much. And really, what difference does it make if you have a fat ass?

I’m the only one looking at it and I’ve never expected perfection.
And besides, you’re a good cook and I don’t want to mess that up.

Your hair: I guess I don’t mind the gray.
It is what it is, hey.

I will always do what I can to make you happy.

When I kiss you, your breath sometimes smells.

It’s like pepperoni mixed with that sour smell
of milk that’s been in the fridge too long.
I don’t say anything but it makes me
wonder if you’re not due for a
teeth cleaning.

Sure, you have faults; who doesn’t? But it’s OK because you let me watch baseball games and you don’t bug me too much with household stuff.

And you don’t make me clean up after the dog. Actually – and not to dwell on your breath – but pepperoni and sour milk and the dog when he’s wet.

Anyway – –

Happy Valentine’s Day

I really like you.

—–

Our Lizard Overlords

by H.R.R. Gorman

Nary a day may pass that I don’t weep,
Considering your scaly hide beneath
Some guy’s soft flesh used as your body sheath.
So before I pray and lay down to sleep,
I consider how your anger must seeth
As foul human cattle turn Earth to heath.
I’ll turn off my computer with a beep
And stop spreading lies about your intent.
The lizard man in human flesh is kind,
A good reptilian father to his
Underling livestock filled with malcontent.
Accept your lot and I’m certain you’ll find
Falling in love with master is your fate.

—–

Trying to love it all – A Sonnet

by Molly Stevens

There’s so much to love about the world today,
How can you choose from such variety?
It’s enough to cause major anxiety,
Like filling your plate at a Chinese buffet.

Do I have room for lo mien and fried rice?
Why don’t they have plates as big as my belly?
I sure hope I don’t get a case of salmonelli.
I know what I’ll do, I’ll fill my plate twice.

Twice was nice but caused much distress
When I went over the top with my pickin’ .
Pepto bismol tastes best when chilled.
It will take a solid day to convalesce
From a case of all-you-can-eat Kung Pao Chicken.
Maybe I should have stayed unfulfilled.

—–

(PG-13 Warning)

It’s Really Not His Fault…

by TanGental

It had been, for God one heck of a week

So in fairness we should let it pass

And forgive that Adam, His coup de grace

Could have done with the odd final tweak.

The papers focused their gaze on the Fall

And those pictures of Eve in the buff

Where instead they should have done their stuff

And told us of His mighty cock and ball.

For Adam shouldn’t have needed a stiffy

To get himself into a sweaty old state

Where his only urge was to copulate

And his end was always so sticky.

And all he was given to perform this role

Were balls in a bag and a bewrinkled pole…

—–

I recommend a fresh palate refresher if you got through them all. After that, gear up for next week’s prompt, which will be announced tomorrow morning.

jesse-goll-555768-unsplash

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

Costco, My Love

Chel Owens 12 Comments

In celebration of an upcoming commercial holiday and to help inspire others to enter The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest, I will write a love poem every day this week.

Never able to be serious, this poem is dedicated to the megalith that is Costco:

Whenever I run out of bread,
Or cheese, or eggs, or e’en a bed;
Or when it’s time I must acquire
A brand new set (or two) of tires;
Or, hanging there, a frozen goat;
A lamb, a fridge, some pants, a coat;
There’s only one place I may go
Where membership card I must show
And cheese and choc’late samples flow
And impulse buys include cargo:
My own, enormous love, Costco.

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