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

WINNER of the Weekly Hilarity Contest 5/29/2020

“You know,” said Arthur, “it’s at times like this, when I’m trapped in a Vogon airlock with a man from Betelgeuse, and about to die of asphyxiation in deep space that I really wish I’d listened to what my mother told me when I was young.”

“Why, what did she tell you?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t listen.”

-From The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

If you love satire and haven’t tested the Hitchhiker‘s trilogy of five books, Douglas Adams would admit you’re not missing much. Of course, he didn’t hike across Preliumtarn to within view of the Quentulus Quazgar Mountains in order to learn who this week’s hilarious winner is.

And that is:

Beware, the Vogon or Swans die a ghastly death Dedicated to Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings of Greenbridge, Essex

by Deb Whittam

Resistance is useless,
My love will always transpire,
It will grow mold, as does
My unwashed towel,
Which travels in the vicinity of my armpit,
Where a small lump of green putty resides.

Resistance is useless but
DON’T PANIC
Flesh may rot, flesh may drop off
The stench may be unbelievably bad but
I will dispel it and find a stick and
Use my towel as a slingshot.

Resistance is useless,
Life, don’t talk to me about life.
The swan died a graceful death
But my towel was unfortunate,
It became stained with blood
Beware the VOGONS.

—–

Congratulations, Deb! You made me laugh the most, and are therefore the funniest writer of the week!

I LOVED reading through the entries this week. Anticipation of reading them kept me going throughout a busy week, and you did not disappoint. I chose Deb’s for the single reason that hers made me laugh aloud! -which I did from title to green putty to …dying swan?

That’s not saying the others wouldn’t make a Vogon leap from an airlock. See for yourself:

Unquestionable Truth Leading to Conclusions That are Edifying, Beneficial and Nice

by Dumbestblogger

Truth
I sit here in the warm mud and my legs feel comfortable for now but I wonder how long it will last
Afternoons begin as mornings
I could get out of this situation if I had an infinite improbability drive.
It sucks that that’s something I don’t have.
Oh no, it might rain
I guess I will just sit here-
42
Yeah, I just threw that number in because it’s in a book somewhere
Beautiful poetry is something that speaks to the soul.
We are only empty when there are problems with the mechanical apparatuses in our space ships/
So long, and thanks for all the fish

Oh
Did you think I was done
I’m not done
I could understand why you would think I was done with a line like “so long, and thanks for all the fish.”
But I’m not done
I will continue reciting this poetry because it is edifying and beautiful
Let us zoom across the Galaxy
Oh yeah, I forgot
I’m laying down in the mud
Oh well
It’s the thought that counts
It doesn’t necessarily count in a literal way of speaking

—–

Is There An I In Ford?

by Geoff

When Slatibartfast
Made a vast
Fiord for Ford,
Arthur Dent
Said it meant
He’d never be ignored.
Zaphod, instead
Lost his second head
Betting a million
That something so baroque
Had to be a crock
Of shit, said Trillium.
Those from Betelgeuse
Can be so obtuse
When buying rock formations;
And even the infinitely improbable
Will not turn something horribable
Into the jewel of nations.
As Marvin, when they asked,
Said, ‘I really can’t be arsed,
‘To correct this stupid defect.’
‘It is obviously so plain,’
When you think about his name,
‘He’s not perfect but a Prefect.’

—–

Untitled piece

by Gary

Douglas Adams wrote of other worlds and evil races like the Vogons

He didn’t need to lie and cheat, no need to come up with patronising slogans

Now we have our very own new fantasy story authors

Cummings, Hancock and Boris, the UKs evil lying rotters

They inspire as much hope as Marvin the Paranoid Android

And are as pleasant as a hot curry to someone with a hemorrhoid

They only look after themselves, just like two headed Zaphod Beeblebrox

They gorge on the finest food while the peasants are expected to stay in detox

We all thought the answer to life was forty two

Well apparently not, that answer was a load of poo

The answer to everything is now apparently the tourist site called Barnard Castle

We are instructed to lockdown but for Cummings that is far too much hassle

If you are Cummings you can test your eyesight by driving your kid 60 miles

Just a coincidence it’s your wife’s birthday, ignoring restrictions with many smiles

Now that’s apparently Ok as it Cummings says his little poodle called Hancock

A man so stupid he’s turned this country into nothing more than a laughingstock

So thank you Douglas for writing some of the funniest stories ever told

And thank you those who voted for Boris, a man as useful as the common cold

—–

Untitled piece

by Ruth Scribbles

Roses are black, I mean petunias
Because they lack, attendance at funerals

Hey! There’s a hitchhiker holding petunias
Is he going to a funeral?

The end (of someone)

—–

Big Bang, Bath Towel And Beyond

by Obbverse

Irate ratepayer Arthur Dent was confoundedly annoyed
To find his house and home planet completely destroyed,
Luckily the one poor excuse of a man Arthur had befriended
Was the perfect guy to accompany him when his world ended.

Ford Prefect was Arthur’s odd friends imperfect name-
A moniker once written oft on many an insurance claim-
Art never imagined his friend to be a bona fide illegal alien;
Born somewhere near Betelgeuse, not remotely mammalian.

Ford, once a wanderin’ scribe before this gig started to unravel
Knew his tenure on Earth was terminating, it’s nigh time to travel.

Ford had an inkling about this harmless planet he was stuck on,
That in a twinkling Arthur would ask ‘where on Earth, has it gone?’
Pangalactic Developers Inc saw Earth as an impediment to progress,
In their Universal view what harm is there in one itty-bitty bit of dirt less?

Ford, our hapless intergalactic hitchhiker, earthbound and lost
In desperation stuck out a digital thumb, plus all fingers crossed,
Finding on wakening they had been both uplifted and stown away
While all Arthurs worldly goods had been spectacularly blown away.

Now all Arthur possessed was his towel slippers and tatty bath robe,
Scant protection for a mere human going up against an alien probe.

(Hmm, barely made it past chapter one;
Guess Doug’s tale- and mine- is done,
For to 250 words I’ve been constrained;
Read Doug’s book and be better entertained.)

—–

Untitled piece

by Peregrine Arc

Maroon forms, no red, no salmon you nitwit.
Get in line again, try it all, dash it all
I said TRIPLICATE!
A man of many faces
I stare out the starboard portal and sigh
So all I can think of is the reason why:
42.
Not one jot more, I decry.

—–

Thank you all.

SPLAT! Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy T-Shirt (With images ...

Deb: Here’s a new badge as proof of your hilarious skills:

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©2020 The writers, and their respective works.

 

WINNER of the Weekly Hilarity Contest 5/22/2020

“…[T]here really is no valid excuse for an able-bodied person going out of his head from being bewildered in the big woods so long as he has a gun and ammunition, or even a few dry matches and a jackknife,” says Horace Kephart, a man who left his wife and six children to live off the land very unlike Thoreau.

Who took this quote and this spirit and made me laugh the most?

Untitled piece

by Ian Kay

The big woods can play with your mind. It’s extraordinary how exponentially larger a bear’s mass increases when it’s charging your way. But keeping a cool head, knowing we were adequately equipped: I have a good gun; what’s more, I have the ammo! As backup, I have the good sense to hand the wife the jack-knife and a box of matches; there were the potatoes to peel and she might get a fire going for the pot, and I don’t think she’s noticed the bear yet. You can’t outrun a bear, they said, but you can always get remarried.

Congratulations, Ian! You are the funniest writer of the week!

I’ll admit I didn’t crack up as much as I did for the last two contests, but that’s more a result of Kephart and his writing than the talent of those who entered. I did a bit of eenie-meenie-miney with my favorites and decided Ian’s won for best answering the prompt and best making the reader laugh guiltily.

And here are the other well-prepared entrants:

Bodied, yes. Able, not so much

by Doug Jacquier

When I jack-knifed my camper trailer in a place where even the most desperate dingo has never ventured, my first instinct was to adopt the foetal position.
Cramp eventually encouraged me to survey the damage. Alas my trusty Beetle and my 6 metre fully loaded camper had merged as one, never the twain to separate.
Recalling the immortal words of Horace, I rummaged through the wreckage until I found my only ‘gun’, complete with ammunition, and felt comforted by the fact that I had a staple diet at hand.
I also found dry matches and after I’d assembled enough twigs and branches, I looked around for somewhere to strike a match on. I decided the rough canvas on the trailer would be perfect and proceeded to experiment. Unfortunately, I had failed to note that the jack-knifing had ruptured my fuel tank.
When the Country Fire Service issued me with a coat that tied at the back to keep me warm and choppered me out to answer some pointed questions about the loss of some million hectares of virgin state forest, I couldn’t help but think of those poor souls in quarantine who would give anything to be me right now.

—–

Untitled piece

by Debbie Whittam

Martin was a savvy bloke,
He worked hard and drank much beer.
He didn’t talk too much,
And rather liked Shakespeare.
One warm day he decided,
To go into the woods for a walk.
He didn’t get to far though
For a voice began to talk.
It told him to survive,
He would require many things.
A gun, ammunition, matches and a jackknife,
Was what he should bring.
Dutifully Martin did comply,
And set out singing his merry song,
Unfortunately the noise drowned out the sound,
Of the bear which just happened to come rushing along.

—–

Dumber Jack

by Obbverse

Jack the Lad could barely wait to turn twenty-one,
To cast his vote, to drive, drink (legal-like) and tote a gun,
To pick the biggest baddest gun you’ve ever seen,
To fill the part, just like in that Soldier of Fortune magazine.

Off out to the woods he went to bag him a bear,
Or a boar, a duck, a deer, doe or buck, Jack didn’t care ,
Through thicket underbrush and bosk Jack barged,
In his blundering search only his smart phone would be discharged.

As the hot autumnal sun started to wane
Our huntsman looked for any game, in vain,
In his ceaseless aim he wouldn’t couldn’t stop-
Still as graceless as a bull in a china shop.

There wasn’t a critter to be found for miles around
As he trampled his way through his unhappy hunting ground,
Finding fording a stream’s done at a hunter’s peril-
A cruel cool baptism resulting in splintered stock and bent barrel.

So, cold, wet, lost in the woods as it grows dark,
Sat nav and phone flat, but Jack’s quite the bright spark,
His safety match strikes, the dry leaves catch fire!
Remains to be seen if anyone finds Jacks funeral pyre.

—–

Survival

by Gary

A mouse took a stroll through a deep dark wood
Unfortunately Bear Grylls was in the neighbourhood

Eating a mouse is great television, so watch for the trap
The mouse is caught, consumed in one, the scene is a wrap

Now time for Bear to light a fire with only a wet leaf and knife
Then tell a story about how he is missing a comfy bed and wife
Time to build a shelter from just some twigs and his underpants
Now Bear shows how to clean his teeth using some angry army ants
Look to camera and announce its time to hunker down for the cold night
Then jump in the car, head to the warm hotel and really satisfy that appetite.

—–

Recluse

by The Bag Lady

“…[T]here really is no valid excuse for an able-bodied person going out
of his head from being bewildered in the big woods so long as he has a
gun and ammunition, or even a few dry matches and a jackknife.” This was the daily stated philosophy of Junior Beets, a devil may care recluse in the backwoods of Utopia.

Junior was getting tired of the backpackers traveling more frequently around his self proclaimed property.

Of course Junior had no rights concerning the surroundings of his area which was a world designed park in 2025.

Utopia was designed by the desperate survivors of the corona virus that wiped out ninety percent of the world population by 2023.

Junior Beets decided guns would ensure his privacy and started hoarding them in 2020.

—–

A Bash on the Noggin

by Kristian

I am a rather impulsive chap,

Unfortunately, it has to be said.

The other day, I got in a flap

and totally lost my head.

I thought I’d got an Intruder

so I bashed them on the noggin,

With my hand-knitted draught excluder

I gave them one hell of a floggin’

You can imagine my total dismay

when they rolled over and I Saw

the Postman with his letter’s in disarray

and a parcel that was meant for next door.

I’m sorry for the postman’s headache

and I couldn’t be more distraught

It was a totally honest mistake

I just hope that he’ll settle out of court.

—–

Thank you for your responses! Come around tomorrow at 10 a.m. MDT for next week’s prompt.

20200516_082627

Ian: Here’s a new badge as proof of your hilarious skills:

HilarityContestBadge

©2020 The writers, and their respective works.

 

WINNER of the Weekly Hilarity Contest 5/15/2020

This week’s assignment was to caption the following photo:

Outlets

Who came up with the funniest idea?

“As a Christmas gimmick the chorus of the constipated electrical outlets did not bring many customers to the hardware store…”
masercot

Congratulations, Charlescot! You made me laugh the most, and are therefore the funniest writer of the week!

I’ll admit: I laughed at almost all of the captions you all came up with. As a judge of winner, however, Charles’ made me laugh out loud! I found others’ puns and wordplays fun and clever; I think the winner simply struck me in just the right funny bone.

If you want a good laugh or several, read the rest:

“Plug me until I bleed gold baby!”
Nitin Lalit

—–

“Socket to me, socket to me, socket to me”
Di @ pensitivity101

—–

“Though they kept a ‘side-eye’ on him they could never really tell if Harold was simply singing or trying to poop his pants.”
Tom Darby

—–

“After three days on the shelf at Walmart, the plugs were scarred for life.”
Trent, with altered photo, here.

—–

“Oh. You don’t get it? Well you’re clearly not plugged in.”
Dumbestblogger

—–

“Exclusive! Thomas the Tank’s 3d face replacement scandal. Left the world doubting Santa.”
Ellen

—–

“Anyone have a light” ?
rts – Facing the Challenges of Mental Health

—–

“Hey, stock boy, where are OUR masks.”
Doug Jacquier

—–

“Are you trying to turn me on? You’re going to have to do better than that because we’re more than pretty faces.”
Pete Springer

—–

“Only a few feathers short of a Hopi mask”
Jon

—–

“Come on, guys, concentrate! Harness the force and break free of these shackles!”
Ian Kay

—–

“Hey Joe, who’s the new neighbour?”
“Old flat face here? No price tag see, ain’t no one taking him to the checkout any time soon.”
Ian Kay

—–

“Hey, this guy says he’s ‘Tamper Resistant’.”
“Not judging by his expression, he ain’t.”
Ian Kay

—–

“This year’s emoji pose contest featured last year’s losers vainly trying to break the internet.”
Denny K

—–

When George Conduit accidentally electrocuted himself while trying to fix a malfunctioning depilator for Norma Primate, his overly hirsute podiatrist, he didn’t enter the Hereafter with any particular expectations. As a practicing Nano-Buddhist, he wondered if the stories of reincarnation were true and speculated, without pinning too much hope on it, that maybe an upgrade to something, if not royal then at least statesmanlike might suit him.
The initial segregation of that day’s deceased into religions took place quite quickly due, he later heard to a previous unseemly debate on the merits of purgatory as an alternative to soul based exfoliation as advocated by Polynesian Micro-Daubists. After that, to his slight surprise there was a sub-segregation into modes of demise. He managed to catch a quick word with a harassed looking official, better to understand the reasoning.
‘It’s all about Fate and Choice. We did a survey last year and found most Buddhists were happy if they got there first choice of reincarnation but if that wasn’t available they struggled with how to choose an alternative. We piloted a few schemes and found that if people accepted their Fate, which 90% did, they were happy with their demise and options based around that.’
‘How does that work?’
‘Well, dying in hospital, and reincarnation in a caring environment makes sense. A car accident and maybe you’ll see an opportunity in garage work or a motor dealership perhaps.’
‘What about…?’ But George was waved quiet and told to wait for the counsellor.
Time oozes rather than passes in the Hereafter and so George watched the minutes multiply and disperse like a slow firework.
‘Mr. Conduit?’
The speaker shimmered but that was the only way he or she – that wasn’t clear either – differed from your average service flunky. They wore a rather taut looking onesie which they fiddled with in a way George would once have found distracting but now seemed just part of the backdrop to his new existence.
‘Right well, I’ll get straight to it. As a Nano-Buddhist and given the surge in demises your options have narrowed somewhat.’
‘Yes?’
‘And given you acceptance that small is best…’
‘That’s what Nanoists believe…’
‘…you have three choices….’
George waited. The speaker stared at their clipboard, essayed what might have been a frown but could have been some involuntary facial origami and fiddled with their earpiece. They spoke into their lapel. ‘Yes, look, can I check the options for case 2427 of 20? Conduit, yes?’
They shimmered at George. ‘Won’t be a tick. It’s… Yes? You sure? They’re all rather… you know. Inanimate.’
There was a drifting sense of space seeping away and the speaker coughed and addressed George. ‘Three choices. A ceiling light fitting which gives spectacular views and guarantees some warmth. A fusebox which puts you at the centre of the ring main. Or a three pin plug socket.’
‘They all sound okay.’
The speaker seemed surprised at George’s apparent compliance. ‘You don’t mind? Most seek something a touch more flesh and blood.’
‘Not really,’ said George. ‘It’ll be change.’
‘A change?’
‘I rather thought I’d like to be a statesman but if that’s not possible at least this way I’ll be in a position of power. The socket, I think.’
Geoff LePard

—–

“The shock and horror as their mother tries to make the sparks fly between herself and every random passerby…”
Writerinretrospect

—–

“Oh no, did you see the size of that plug!!!”
Deb Whittam

—–

“😩 Wah 😩 wah 😩 Where’s mommy?”
Ruth Scribbles

—–

“Everybody together now…ready?”
“We’re ready!”
“🎶PLUG IT IN, PLUG IT IN! 🎶”
Peregrine Arc

—–

“Apparently this is a new service from the Supermarkets. Its sockets so you can charge up your robotic limbs. But it’s expensive, they charge an arm and a leg for it.”
Gary

—–

“Oh no! Here he comes again; I can feel those shocks going through me already!”
The Bag Lady

—–

“The Plastic Heads of Electricity Island”
RawGod

—–

“One of these things is not like the others…”
RawGod

—–

Thank you all for the hilarious photo captions! Come back tomorrow morning for the next week’s prompt.

Charlie: Here’s a new badge as proof of your hilarious skills:

HilarityContestBadge

©2020 The writers, and their respective captions.

 

WINNER of the Weekly Hilarity Contest 5/8/2020

I asked for hilarity on the subject of birds, and the one that made me laugh the most was:

My Tits Looked At My Bottom

by Ellen Best

My Tits live in a nest hidden in a tree,
I like to watch them daily
They also take a peep at me.

They caught sight of my bottom
when I stepped upon my skirt
I tripped and heard them chortle
my pride was really heart.

My Tits looked at my bottom
and I will never be the same
I know I heard the raven
Calling out my name.

The Raven told the Robin
that he saw my bum
The Robin told the Lark
that all the birds should come.

The Tits shall not get any supper
or a lardy mealworm for desert
I believe it’s a fitting punishment
for my pride being sorely hurt.

I don’t know what I unleashed in this contest, by the way, because there were 24 entries! You are all very clever, and I had a good, quiet smile over many. I laughed aloud at four or five of these.

I think this is a great new contest. I invite you all to read them all, and have a good laugh for yourself:

What about my tits?

by Pensitivity101

The council cut the trees down in our road so I sent a message asking where my tits were going to sit.
I had a very nice response and a few days later found a hawthorne tree in a bucket by our door with the council’s compliments.

Original post here


The Birds

by Doug Jacquier

My shop is called The Birds, partly because it’s unsettling Hitchcockian overtones amuse me but mostly because I only sell birds. Customers flock to my avianorium, where only the best of the nest will do, so that they can pin a feather in their cap and cock a snoot at less discerning buyers. One day, a preening peacock of the human variety entered my shop and looked down his not inconsiderable beak at various of my wing-ed wonders and trilled thus:

‘I had hoped to find feathered treasure but, alas, I feel let down. Nevertheless, I will take that vaguely presentable kookaburra to give my friends a laugh.’

‘$500, cage included.’

‘Oh, you are a hoot. $200 is my best and final offer.’

Taking my silence as lack of consent, he turned theatrically and made for the door, before pausing and turning.

‘One last chance to change your mind’

I gave him the bird.


Untitled piece

by Deb Whittam

Flying high above,
Went the little dove.
Splat into the wall,
What a way to fall.


The bird-hog conversation

by Doug Jacquier

Bird: … and you’re out here swimming because …?
Hog: It’s Thursday.
Bird: How do you know what day it is?
Hog: Because I always go swimming on Thursdays.


The Long Sentence Bird

by Ian Kay

Frankie the Parrot is
facing thirty-three years
and that’s an awfully
long sentence for a bird.

You ought not to have done
the monkey nut heist
explained his honour,
Bubbles the Bonobo
in summing up.


The Queen

by Matt Snyder

What’s that bird doing over there ?

Squatting about as everyone stares.

Heading now, towards that stoop.

OMG, now taking a poop ?!

Senility has set in for this royal multimillionaire.


The Birds

by Nitin

The birds sleep late into the morning these days and then cry out for brunch. And then, after a wholesome meal, they chirp contently with bulging bellies. We listen to this strange sonata of fulfilment at noon and wonder if our lives have turned upside down. Then we see that we’re wearing masks and sanitizing the doorknobs and realize that we are indeed walking on fours while the birds enjoy our privileges.

I’m sure, at first, the sight of deserted lanes and unfrequented alleyways shocked the birds. They must have readied themselves as usual for the pollution, the noise of traffic and construction, and the voyeur who spies on them from his rooftop. They must have looked forward to the usual cacophony of plates and curses at eight in the morning. But I look at them now and understand that they’ve changed their entire rhythm.

They lounge around at two, bathing in the green and insolently chirp when they spot a nervous gas mask-wearing, modern Rambo, scuttling like a cockroach to collect his supplies. They’ve grown fat and love the languor of the afternoon, and mockingly sing when they spot the voyeur – without his camera and bizarre instruments – sitting in the confines of his bedroom, thereby giving him a taste of his own medicine. They are also wise enough to stay away from mad protestors who selfishly demand rights, and Presidential tweets because they’re content with their tweets which aren’t inspired by the need to brag or compete or present an image.


Untitled piece

by Dumbestblogger

I’ve heard a story about a bird who flew. I don’t know anything about that. However, as I was driving down a back road the other a barely distinguishable animal scurrying across it forced me to come to a complete stop in order to avoid hitting it. Upon closer examination I realized what kind of animal it was. I do not know why the chicken crossed the road, but I can wholeheartedly assure you that it did.


Bird $h*t

by Melanie B Cee

Oh dearest bedraggled rain soaked birdie

Perched precariously on my window sill

I see you there, huddled in your misery and think “Oh Lordie”

And wish some comfort I could instill

Aside from seeds and shelter – is there bird Advil?

You look so cold and lonely there, a sparrow in the rain

I know you come equipped with water proofing and you are not ill

Well not as humans understand the notion, be it plain

You fluff and preen, hop tiny foot to tiny foot and shed a quill

Maybe two, small treasures lost but not oft missed; and at least you can easily drink your fill.

The rain falls steadily, silently into our world

Refreshing us with its constant steady stream

Might even raise some hope – a small banner unfurled

Absent in these grim days – almost a dream

As we pretend things are normal, but not as they seem.

The sun peeks through the darkened clouds

High in the sky, off loading their wet burden

I see Mr. Birdie flex his wings and push his breast out, proud

But did you have to leave something behind, O Mr. Verdin

Maybe you think it’s payment or a gift; but me? I only know your bowels unburdened.

Oh bird poo upon my sill

Left there by yon feathered avian

I’ll have to scrub and clean until

The brick is bare, shorn and shaven

Free of germs again, although this time it’s not your species fault, this flu, this internal alien.


The Crow

by Theceaselessreaderwrites

Grown weary of merely watching,

from the comfort of my covered deck,

the furtive scheming and solemn antics

of a murder of somber crows careening

from tree to skeletal tree,

I determined to lure one in,

if I could, to keep as my very own pet.

The plan, devised around research revealing that

crows bear grudges and recognize human faces,

required time, patience, persistence, and food.

If they can bear a grudge, thought I, surely they must

            also be capable of good will and attachment.

I ventured down from my lofty perch,

scattered generous handfuls of seed along

the border of their wood, retreated

but only a little, then daily repeated, retreating

less each time, watched closely for signs

of which ones might be warming, won over

by my beneficence, willing to suffer

my further encroachment.

They cawed amongst themselves without surcease,

a symphony of rough sawblades at work,

saying things like, I imagined, “This guy’s alright”, or

“I don’t trust him,” and “My, he sure is handsome!”

as they all grew fat and lustrous.

On a chill and rainy day, I swear one, set apart by

his notched beak and a particular glint

to his gaze, as frigid water sluiced

down the gutter of his beak-scar, and

he sidled closer, hopping, eyeing me,

said, “I am so damn ready to bust outta this woody prison!

No crow here gets me, I don’t fit in,”

he lamented, pecking seed from my palm with

more vigor than usual, raising his wings,

and I knew he was The One.

He walked up my arm, perched on my shoulder,

proceeded to preen my windblown, rainsoaked

curls with gentle beaky tugs and his tough, blue tongue.

Slowly at first but with growing assurance, I

turned, walked, mounted stairs, paused on my porch.

I could not welcome him into my home unchristened,

so with thoughts of his fabled distant cousin,

the raven, in fact, so aptly named by my

long-departed poetic hero Mr. Poe, I asked,

“How do you feel about the name Nepenthe,

noble crow, since I anticipate your presence

will bring me peace?”  He lifted midnight wings,

fluffed iridescent feathers, raised his princely head,

and cawed, magnificent, “Forevermore!”

So in we went.


Untitled piece

by Peregrine Arc

“It’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s…a case of a bird brained optometrist giving me the wrong prescription.”

Badum, kschhh…🥁


Bird Poem

by Stine Writing

Birds are wild
birds can sing
Male birds have
no ding-a-ling!


The Aspirational Seagull

by Writerinretrospect

There once was a bird, was a seagull
He tried very hard to be evil
But he wound up being like Smeagol
And now gets his fish from a cave pool.


Birds Aren’t Real

by H.R.R. Gorman

What are those creatures flying in the winds?
No other feathers bear, none else do dive.
They’re strange for a reason: The Man – he sends
These drones out to monitor our dull lives.

Yes – those eyes are cameras, watching you vent
While you eat, walk, play your video games,
Or plan to overthrow the government.
The birds, battery-powered bots, take aim.

Have you ever examined their “feathers”?
Clearly, they are just recycled plastic.
Feel them – are they scales, skin or leather?
They’re neither natural nor fantastic!

So while we wait indoors for Covid’s end,
Remember – their lithium batteries
Are charging now, then our lives they’ll attend
And tattle on our overdue book fees.


Untitled piece

by Heather Dawn

If I was a disgusting sky rat, undeserving of my graceful stance above the earth, what better hobby than to poop white sludge upon those annoying dwellers upon my turf!


Flight Risk

by Obbverse

I see the ranks of homing pigeons swoop and soar,
There’s gotta be a flocking thousand of ’em or more,
Wheeling o’erhead, hovering high above the low building I let,
Leasing the ‘penthouse’ out too cheap is one deep abiding regret.

I was glad to sign the lease for that seedy top floor-
A two-year ironclad deal’s what a landlord prays for,
But concern is building due to his installing a pigeon coop aloft,
It’s not the constant cooing from on high, more the elevated waft.

The whirring of the wings above is impossible to ignore,
The sourness of signing off on a bad deal sticks in my craw,
As birds keep landing on my landing my dim view’s turning dark,
Its not all their swooping but their pooping that’s leaving its mark.


Birds

by Bryntin

grab some handy doves
fill them with helium gas
voila, some haiku


Untitled piece

by Ruth Scribbles AKA Ruth Klein

There once was a bird who was seen
Hopping about on the green
He hopped on the feeder
And pooped on the weeder
The bird is no more he’s been creamed


Something to Crow About

by Geoff LePard

‘Hello?’

‘Sorry? Did you…?’

‘Speak? Yes.’

‘But you’re…?’

‘A crow. Yes.’

‘How…?’

‘Right now “why” is more pressing.’

Jim Pale stood back. This was a joke. Some teen’s trick. Or one of those TV shows making a fool of him.

‘I’m neither a trick nor spoof TV.’ The crow sounded quite put out.

‘Did you read my mind?’

‘More your expression. It helps us survive to know what predators think.’

‘I’m not a predator.’

‘Not now you’ve got Lidl and a taste for cottage pie, but it’s not that long ago you ate my ancestors. A millennium is nothing in the life of a crow.’

‘You’re not one thousand years old.’

The crow grunted. ‘All I’m saying is I have to be desperate to speak to a human.’

Jim stepped back. ‘Why aren’t you flying?’

The crow sighed. ‘At bloody last. The “why” question.’

‘Look. If you want help, sarcasm is hardly going to encourage it.’

‘It’s in the name, moron. “crow”. It’s what we do. We could have been called sneers or eye-rolls but we stuck with crow as the name. It’s suggestive of superiority.’

Jim began to turn away.

‘Oh all right.  I’m sorry. Okay? Does that make it better? You’re the dominant bloody species and I’m a sodding bird yet your skin is as thin as an anaemic slug.’

Jim coloured. ‘Sorry. How come you’re…? Actually, what are you doing? Hovering? Floating?’

‘I’m stuck. Frozen. Rendered immobile.’

‘Does that happen often?’

‘Really? You need to ask that? Geez, are you really as stupid as you look?’

‘I’m off.’

‘No, hang on.’

‘Why should I? You’re a foul-mouthed…’

‘Are you saying I look like a chicken?’

‘Now who’s a numpty? Foul, with a “u”.’

‘It was a joke? Of course I don’t have a chicken’s mouth.’

Jim checked his watch. ‘I need to get on.’

‘All right.  Bloody hell. Look, one minute I’m swooping down for that burger crust there, the next I’m here, in mid-beat like one of those ridiculous porcelain ducks you love to stick above your fireplaces.’

‘No one has flying ducks anymore.’

‘You looked in number seventy-two recently? She even has antimacassars. Can we stop this redundant intimacy? You said you were busy. Just see what’s stopping me flying, will you?’

Jim stepped forward. He looked around the suspended crow. ‘It looks like you have two strings holding you in place.’

‘Strings?’

Jim peered hard. ‘Actually there are more than two.’

‘Is it some sort of net?’

‘Noooo, more like puppet strings.’

‘I’m no one’s bloody puppet.’

Jim reached up and tugged at one. The crow’s left wing beat slowly.

‘Hey, stop that! Bloody cheek.’

‘You’re trussed up like a ch…’

‘Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it! Just cut me down and I’ll be on my way.’

‘How do I know I should? I mean I don’t know who you belong to, do I?’

‘Oh that’s great. I’ve just undermined your whole belief system by talking and showing you I can mind-read…’

‘Face read…’

‘Stop bloody quibbling. And now you question if I’m someone’s pet.’

Jim nodded. ‘Yes. Fair point.’ He reached up and touched the nearest wing.

The crow jerked away. ‘That tickles. Be firm, will you?’

‘You are touchy, aren’t you?’

‘Do you really need an answer to that?’

‘No, I suppose not. Here,’ he unhooked a string. Then another. After less than a minute the crow stood by Jim’s feet. ‘Better?’

‘I just want to know who did this. Bloody nerve. Right. I’d better be off.’ The crow turned and stretched its wings.

Jim said, ‘Are you going to say thank you or anything? Show your appreciation?’

The crow twisted its head and held Jim’s gaze for a moment. Then he took to the air and flew in a wide arc. As his flight path crossed where Jim stood he emptied his bowels in a white stream of avian faeces that hit Jim slap on the forehead.

Jim staggered back, stunned. ‘What was that for?’

The crow curved away cackling. ‘I thought you lot considered that to be lucky? Well, be lucky, Jim Pale. I hope it’ll mean you’ll have something to crow about.’


Birds

by Gary

Blimey what are those birds doing
Oh it’s such seedy x-rated viewing
Really, on our back garden fence as well
Is it not behaviour best saved for a seedy motel
Surely they are spoiling our gorgeous farmland view
Interrupting our peaceful world with something so taboo
Spending every day exchanging birdie pleasantries
Always trying to make so many more feathered babies
Fooling around as if there is no tomorrow
Oh having such fun and never showing any sorrow
One overriding thought about those feathered huggers
Lashings of rummy pumpy, those lucky little buggers


Plucked

by D. Avery @shiftnshake

Some birds we exalt, poeticize their flight
Romanticize both hawk and dove
Recognize in each their might
See in them what we most love.
Feathered birds with mythos, we heartily imbue
But hungry folk give a flying f***
When flights of fancy wheel towards food
Which fowl they might come to pluck.
Any bird, perched ‘pon the plate
In that bald, unfeathered state
will do.
In such a foul state we find ourselves
All together all alone
Even those with well stocked shelves
Might choke on eagle bones.


A Bird Flew into My Mouth

by johnlmalone

A bird flew in my mouth.
I gulped in horror.
If it were a mozzie,
A blowfly,
No worries
But a bird
A wattlebird at that.
It panicked in the echo chamber of my mouth.
I wrestled it with both hands
Trying to pry it loose.
Suddenly it plopped out like a fish.
It staggered in the air.
I staggered along the path.
A bird in the mouth is worth two in the bush.
My friend quipped.
So how was it? He asked.
Surreal, I clucked. Surreal


A silly poem

by Di

A bird shat on our window pane,
Freshly washed, it took careful aim,
Streaking down the shiny glass
Jettisoned from its feathered a**,
Hubs was not impressed at all
The bloody thing having such gall,
‘Next time’, he said, ‘I’ll see you shot
As you’ll fit nicely in the pot!’


Thank you for entering!! Come back tomorrow for next week’s prompt. I intend to try a caption contest for that one.

white and gray bird on the bag of brown and black pig swimming on the beach during daytime

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Ellen: Here’s my brand-new badge you can post as the winner:

HilarityContestBadge

©2020 The writers, and their respective works.

 

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.

 

Someday We Will!!

Guys!! Guess what came in the mail today??

That’s right: bills and advertisements.

Okay; also Pam Webb’s new book!!

Modified Address

The generous and highly intelligent (and talented, modest, gifted, amazing…) Madame Webb gifted me a copy after I left a comment on her online book release. She even addressed the inscription to my mother, whom I gave the book to today.

20200427_124537

The book is about what activities the grandparents look forward to doing with their grandchildren.

20200427_124309

So perfect. Thank you, Cricket Muse!

 

(Click here to pick up a copy from Amazon!)

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.

 

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest 4/17/2020

Kevin’s going to kill me, but the winner of the best Coronavirus song parody is:

“Close Yourself”
(“Lose Yourself” by Eminem)

by Dumbest Blogger

Look
If you had
One cough
One fever temperature
That could possibly mean COVID-19
With no treatment
Would you stay inside
And not take a trip?

Yo
His plans were ready, two weeks, temperature steady
He’s coughing on his dear aunt Betty, she’s not ready
Needs nurses, clean surfaces, soap and water
Will right wrongs, but sometimes he forgets
To just stay home, he wants to go out
He makes up a route, but can’t even buy trout
He’s breathin’ loud, everybody’s worried now
Masks help in reality, no room now for leavity
Oh, here’s a pandemic, no joke
He feels bad, it’s so tough to be sneezy! Oh!
He can’t have it! No, not COVID, he hopes
To make the curve flatter. At home, he stays there out of soap
It’s so flagrant. The Pope, he wants ventilators in Rome. Hey what’s this?
Back to the lab again yo, make a vaccine ready
Better let go of this Pangolin and hope he don’t eat it

You better, close yourself in you home, your apartment
You know it, you better never, ever, ever go!
You only have one cough, but sneezing is how it grows!
This COVID-19 could end somebody’s lifetime
You better

He sure like’s vaping, could be better at breaking
The lung’s for COVID’s taking
What a fling, China likes the World Health Org’ers
The staying home is boring, and now we’re really closing the border!
His breathing gets harder, fever gets hotter
He blows his nose harder, He knows he should stay in
Host to host blows, he could be a major infector
Lonely homes, job market slows, he’s chosen working from home, near the larder
He stays home, and barely even hears his own laughter
He blows his nose, and here comes the old farter
The store doesn’t have it no more, no toilet products
Virus moved to the next soul it goes, his nose roves and he needs sanitizer
So soap bill just grows, and slows, I hope this whole COVID, the virus goes on
Da-da-dum, da-dum, da-da

You better, close yourself in you home, your apartment
You know it, you better never, ever, ever go!
You only have one cough, but sneezing is how it grows!
This COVID-19 could end somebody’s lifetime
You better

—–

Congratulations, Dumbest Blogger! You are the most terrible poet of the week!

Hands down, these are some of the best parodies out there. For those who didn’t ‘win,’ I hope you publish yours and get YouTube famous (Ritu’s already on her way). Dumbest Blogger, I just couldn’t not recognize the incredible effort you put into parodying so much of Eminem’s famous rap. I mean -“dear aunt Betty”?? Genius.

For a different sort of singalong, here are some chart-toppers:

“If this doesn’t make you sick, then nothing will”
(“Theme from The Love Boat“)

by Richmond Road

Love, exciting and new
Come aboard. we’re infecting you.
Love, let’s all get in close.
My holiday romance, can I give you a dose?
The love boat, with passengers old and vague
The love boat. Soon we’ll be spreading another plague
Set a course for the hospital
Your mind on rewriting your will
And if I don’t survive this then I sure as heck won’t pay the bill.

Love. That won’t go away.
In the cabin next door
They didn’t wake up today
Love. That we can all share
And finish our cruise in intensive care
The love boat, we’ll soon have the world on its knees
The love boat. Let’s incubate love and disease
Now please step away, ’cause I think I am going to sneeze.

Love. What a wonderful cruise
Where life becomes cheap
Just like the booze
Love. A ménage a trois?
Let’s cough on each other down by the bar
The love boat. Don’t ever pay them in cash
The love boat. More than an embarrassing rash
And if we don’t find safe harbour they’ll be throwing us out with the trash.

—–

“Space For Mom”
(“Stacy’s Mom” by Fountains of Wayne)

by Obbverse

Stacey’s mom, she’s got it goin’ on,
Stacey’s mom, she’s always been the one,
Stacey’s mom, since adolescence has begun,
Stacey’s mom, in my dreams she’s coming on.

Stacey can I come over after school (after school)
Can I lay by your pool thinking of your mom (and drool)
Stacey has your mom come back from her New York trip?
The thought of her returnin’ makes my hear flipping skip.

You know, I’m not the little boy you used to see
I’m all grown up, boy, it’s painfully obvious to me.

Stacey’s mom she’s got it goin’ on;
In short, she’s the one for whom I long,
Stacey when I look at you you’re just a girl to me,
Yes, its wrong and creepy, but I’m sweet on Stacey’s mom.

OH- Stacey’s mom has got her hot bikini on,
Guess I’m laid up till my temperature has gone.

Stacey do you ‘member when I mowed your lawn? (your lawn/)
Your mom came out with but a tea towel on (hardly on)
I could tell she liked me from the smile we shared (smile we shared)
I love to see those big beautiful bountiful teeth bared (big teeth bared)

And i think its more than an adolescent fantasy-
But since your dad skipped out, howsabout me as your step-daddy?

Stacey’s mom, she’s got somethin’ goin; on,
Call me slightly sick, but this puppy’s love is strong,
Stacey, I swear she’s blushing bright at me!
Woah, Stace, she’s feverishly flushing, I was wrong,
Sorry Stacey’s mom, this guy’s busy gettin’ gone.

—–

“Barfing on Dad’s old army pants”
(“MacArthur Park” by Richard Harris)

by Doug Jacquier

The bus was never waiting for us, girl
It always left when the driver said
We stayed too late at the dance
It departed and we were depressed
In the closet, hot and stuffy,
Along with Dad’s old army pants.

We barfed there in the dark
All the Coke and pizza flowing down.
Then I had to walk home in the rain
Caught a cold, I can’t shake it,
so next week I can’t make it
Cos I’m locked down with the Covid once again.
Oh, no!
Oh, no
No, no
Oh no!!

—–

“Coronabug”?
(“Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go” by Wham!)

by Deb Whittam

Coronavirus
Coronavirus
Coronavirus
Coronavirus

You put the wheez, wheez into my chest (Cough, cough)
You sent my temperature sky high with your kiss
Social isolation was sending me insane (yeah, yeah)
Guess we were all feeling the same.
But something’s bothering me (ha-ha, ha-ha)
Something ain’t right (ha-ha, ha-ha)
My best friend told me you went out last night (ha-ha, ha-ha)
Left me sleepin’ in my bed (ha-ha, ha-ha)
I was behaving, but you when partying instead (ha-ha)

Wake me up before you go-go
We can still go in pairs, if we lay low
Wake me up before you go-go
I mean I’ll get it from you anyway, ain’t that right?
Wake me up before you go-go
Fever’s not much fun when it’s done solo
Wake me up before you go-go
Covid19 we’ll see you tonight
My fever’s gonna get so high (yeah yeah)

—–

“My Corona”
(“My Sharona” by The Knack)

by Kristian

My Corona
My Corona
Ooh, my little deadly one, a deadly one
OK, at the moment I feel…. Fine, Corona
Ooh, you make my fever run, my fever run
Sweats running off me is that a…… Sign, Corona?

If I don’t ever stop, going out, I’m going out of my mind
I’ll get infected from the touch of the unwashed kind
My, my, my, ay, ay, woah!
M-m-m-my Corona

Don’t Come any closer, huh, ah, don’t ya, huh
Not Close enough to look in my eyes, Corona
Keeping six feet away from me,

or you will see, that everyone dies, Corona
If I don’t ever stop, going out, I’m going out of my mind
I’ll get infected from the touch of the unwashed kind
My, my, my, ay, ay, woah!
M-m-m-my Corona
M-m-m-my Corona
Na, na, na, na, na-na
My Corona
When you gonna get to me, get to me
It is just a matter of….. Time, Corona.

—–

“Lockdown”
(“Downtown” by Petula Clark)

by Bryntin

Now you’re alone and your house isn’t homely
you can always blame – lockdown
when your still in your jimjams and your mouth is all furry
it’s easy to blame – lockdown

just listen to the silence of no traffic in the city
don’t linger on the sidewalk ‘cos the bug’ll get you dicky
happy to booze
the lights are much safer there
you can forget all your troubles, not bother with your hair

because of – lockdown
things will be smelly because – lockdown
no better place for wine – lockdown
you just need a corkscrew

don’t hang around or let your relatives surround you
plenty of movies on Netflix lockdown
maybe you know little places to go to
take your bottles and never close lockdown

just listen to the sirens through the pain of your hangover
you might join in with ’em too before this thing is all over
outside again
your clothes will be tighter there
‘cos you forgot all your diets, forgot all your cares

so go – lockdown
where all the socialites are light – lockdown
TV dinner for one tonight – lockdown
you’ve just got to sit tight now – lockdown

Lockdown…
Lockdown….
Lockdown….
(etc. etc. chorus fades out to a final deathly silence…)

—–

“Yesterday – A Spoof”
(“Yesterday” by The Beatles)

by Trent McDonald

Yesterday
The Covid Virus seemed so far away
Now it looks as if it is here to stay
Oh, I believe in Yesterday

Suddenly
I’m locked inside instead of free
There’s a facemask hanging over me
Oh, yesterday came suddenly

Why I had to hide, locked inside, I couldn’t say
I coughed, is something wrong?!??! Now I long for yesterday!

Yesterday
Meeting friends was such an easy game to play
Now I need a place to hide away
Oh, I believe in yesterday

Why I had to hide, locked inside, I couldn’t say
I coughed, Something’s wrong!!!! Now I long for yesterday!

Yesterday
Meeting friends was such an easy game to play
Now I need a place to hide away
Oh, I believe in yesterday
MM mm mm mm mm mm

—–

“Black Bird”
(“Blackbird” by The Beatles)

by Matt Snyder

Black bird coughing every day and night

his temperature is high, it’s quite a site

Why oh why. did Covid 19 have to come into your life ?

Black Bird feeling sicker now

huddled in your nest in that big oak tree

Why oh why ? Did Covid 19 have to come in to your life

Black Bird don’t die

Black Bird don’t die

You will break free and you then will see

that Covid 19 won’t be your destiny

Black Bird feeling better now

Normal Body temp every day and night

But boy you gave us a fright

Covid 19 is no longer part of your life

Covid 19 is no longer part of your life

—–

“Nights During Lockdown”
(“Nights in White Satin” by The Moody Blues)

by Geoff LePard

Nights during lockdown
Never seeming to end
I’m being driven
Right round the bend

People I’m missing
Beyond the front door
Another night with the missus
Oh what a bore!

Cos I’ve Covid
Yes I’ve Covid
Oh I’ve got Covid

Gazing at walkers, six feet apart
Distanced by Covid, not by my worst fart
I’ve taken up jogging, I stop for a breath
People dodge round me, I’m exhaling death

And it’s Covid
Yes it’s Covid
Sodding Covid

I think I’ve caught Covid, my breathing’s all manky
Even the dog starts to panic when I gob in my hanky
My hair’s a right mess, my armpits are smelly
There’s nothing else for it, save to blob by the telly

Cos of Covid
Bloody Covid
Effing Covid…

—–

“Sick House”
(“Brick House” by The Commodores)

by Michael Fishman

<Funky bass and drum groove. You know the kind: the one that makes you get up and dance with the window shades open because you don’t care who sees you doing your thing, even if you haven’t worn anything but underwear for the last month.>

Mmm, mmm, mmm…

Oh, it’s a sick house.
He’s just wearing underwear and letting it all hang out.
Ah, it’s a sick house.
Coronavirus, means he can’t go hustle about.

Oh, it’s a sick house.
Those funky symptoms makes her have to quarantine
Yeah, it’s a sick house
Makes her stop and think about her hygiene.

They know they got everything
that a couple needs to ride this thing out.
Toilet paper, wipes and bleach
and 36 pounds of frozen lake trout.

Cause it’s a sick house.
They make a porridge with broth and crushed black beans
in their sick house
cuz they read it cures COVID-19

Oh, it’s a sick house.
Nervous break
Nervous break
Nervous break
Nervous breakdown.

Need a mask
and some gloves
and a gown now

Nervous break
Nervous break
Nervous break
Nervous breakdown.

Need Purell
Need some bleach
Need Lysol
Gonna bawl now.

Nervous break
Nervous break
Nervous break
Nervous breakdown.

—–

“Itty Bitty Virus”
(“Itsy Bitsy Spider” by Mother Goose)

by Ruth Scribbles

The itty bitty virus 🦠
Climbed in the human’s mouth
Down to the lungs
It settled right on in
Up with the cough to
Infect the rest of you
And the itty bitty virus 🦠
Goes round and round the world

—–

“The Corona Splits”?
(Theme from “The Banana Splits“)

by Gary

Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.
Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.
Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.
Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.
One infected, two infected, three infected, four.
Four infected make a pandemic and so do many more.
Over hill and highway the corona buggies go
Comin’ on to bring you The Corona Up The Shit Creak Show.
Makin up a mess of life

Makin up a mess of jobs
Lot’s of free time for everyone.
Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.

Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.
Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.
Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.
Four infected, three infected, two infected, one.

All not allowed to play outside in the bright warm sun.
Flippin sick of our leaders, poppin like a cork
Guarding the bog rolls with a Pitch Fork
Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.

Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.
Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.
Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.

—–

“Lots Of It Around” – The Wet Wet Hankie version
(“Love is All Around” by Wet Wet Wet)

by Obbverse

I get snotty fingers when I blow my nose,
Folk are all around me, and so the virus goes,
It’s spitten in the wind whenever my nose blows-
As they glove up and gown me, a gnawing worry grows.

You know I sniffle I always will,
My runny nose’s never been that big a deal,
Its just a sinus infection but I can’t pretend
This cold’s a nasal nightmare, snot without end.

I see your masked face before me as I lie in my bed,
I kinda regret spreading all the things I spread,
Someone gave a dose to me, I gave it on to you,
Now I’m hyperventilating, feelin’ sad ‘n’ lookin’ blue.

—–

“Imagine”
(“Imagine” by John Lennon)

by Ritu Bhathal

Imagine there’s no bog roll
It’s easy if you try
No real tissue to wipe with
Gonna have to air dry
Imagine all the people without a bidet

Imagine no MacDonalds
No Costa, KFC
On no, what will you eat now?
Gonna have to cook your own tea
Imagine all the people raiding ASDA

You may say I’m a dreamer
Actually I’m not, it’s really on
I hope, some day this Coronavirus
Will feck off and just do one

Imagine kids home schooling
Parents trying to teach
Controlling all their offspring
Voices raising to a screech
Imagine all the adults reaching for the gin

Ooh oh ooh

You may say I’m a dreamer
Actually I’m not, it’s really on
I hope, some day this Coronavirus
Will feck off and just do one

—–

“A Whiter Shade of Pale”
(“A Whiter Shade of Pale” by Procol Harum)

by Trifflepudling

I skipped the nightly newscast
Turned cartwheels ‘cross the floor
I was feeling kinda seasick
But still I ate some more.

And the stocks were running lower
As the evenings flew away
So I called up to Just Eeeeat
And the biker brought my trays

And so it was later
As the Miller told his tale
That my face at first just greenish
Turned a whiter shade of pale.

So now my cupboard’s empty
And the truth is plain to see
Just a jar of antipasti
And a plate of frozen peas

I’ll just have to try much harder
Or I’ll bust right through my seams.
And although Joe Wicks is on the telly
My eyes might as well been closed

And so it was later
As the Miller told his tale
That my face at first just greenish
Turned a whiter shade of pale.

—–

Thank you all.

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

terrible-poetry-contest

©2020 The poets, and their respective poems.

 

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest 4/10/2020

That’s it. You are all fired. I asked for terrible! Terrible! You are all too good to be terrible! Even the terrible poems worked well!

I had to pick a winner, of course, and that is:

Senryu

by Joem18b

the slow loris moves
so slowly … s l o w l y … s l o w l y
it’s why it’s called that

AND

My really bad Senryū

by Bruce Goodman

My fluffy pet moth
Flew into the candle flame on my dining room table
And went Szzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Congratulations, Joem and Bruce! You are the most terrible poets of the week!

Since all y’all are fantastic poets who can’t seem to drop that skill for this highly prestigious contest, I chose Joem and Bruce for being the best at some mis-meter play in their senryu.

Congratulations, all the rest. You are hilarious and wonderful, too:

Hammy

by Susan Zutautas

Hammy the hamster
Was such a little prankster
He hid in dad’s shoe

When dad stepped into
Are you ready for this one
Squish, Hammy no more

—–

Sayonara

by Ruth

Under rubber treads
Grey fur mangled and matted
Roadkill rat squashed flat

—–

The Daredevil

by The Abject Muse

Armadillo lies
in the middle of highway
plays chicken with cars

—–

Untitled piece

by Jon

slimy salamander
vivid yellow patterning
in dank dark earth

—–

Untitled piece

by Trent McDonald

Like Lennie he kept mice
But he didn’t like the soft fur
They were for his snake

Fly safely lands near him
Gentle mind behind gentle eye; eats grass
I shoot damn thing dead

—–

Untitled pieces

by Doug Jacquier

In senryuility,
I can hate baby meerkats
openly at last.

Spring brings things
incredibly edible to my mouth
like suckling duckling.

Bees sleep in honey
queening it over us all
and then sting in spring.

—–

Samurai

by H.R.R. Gorman

I lay down beneath
Falling Sakura blossoms.
I’m best samurai.

—–

Animal Senryū

by Rob Stroud

Lacking lemming views.
One rodent eschewed the cliff.
Choosing life instead.

The sun warmed his skin.
Mom said to stay underground.
Robins welcomed him.

Praying mantis grooms,
Plus cannibalistic brides.
Make short marriages.

—–

Untitled piece

by Deb Whittam

night turns midnight black
i am lulled into slumber
eyelids close, frog croaks

—–

Animal Senryu

by Bryntin

tiny like a mouse
with intermittent squeaking
wife loudly ages

my dog has no nose
how does it smell then? you ask
it doesn’t really

madly itch and scratch
tiny passengers leap off
the fleabag miaows

—–

Current Address

by Obbverse

Wee mouse, at home in our wall
Gnawed at our wiring
Such a shocking end.

—–

Disguise

by Ruth Scribbles

Grandmothers are old
Disguised mothers of youngsters
Not able to crawl

—–

Thanks for poeming! Tune in tomorrow for next week’s prompt.

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

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©2020 The poets, and their respective poems.