WINNER of the Terrible Poetry Contest 11/30/2022

Geoff, the winner of November’s Terrible Poetry Contest, presented us with a unique challenge. Based on his suggested parameters and the theme of climate change, here’s the winner:

Untitled

by Ordinary Person

Oh
Oh oh
the climate
Is it changing yet?
Yes yes it is my friend yes
I don’t know if this is eleven syllables
Or twelve, the climate, climate, climate, climate, climate
Climate, climate, climate, climate, climate, climate, climate, cli-
mate (x whatever the next prime number is)
Climate climate…..

—–

Congratulations, Ordinary Person! You are the most terrible poet this month! Let me know what theme and form we’re to use next time.

The entries this time around were fantastically terrible. You’ve all done an awful job and I couldn’t be more proud. O.P.’s efforts stood out for boldly breaking form into repeating the dumbest part of his verse. His is certainly not the cleverest (whoever said that was the name of this contest?) but is quite bad.

All the rest were my second choice, losing only by a hair. Read, and enjoy:

Wet

by M

SIGH.
Really ?

This again

it never just rains
torrential downpours galore
FLOODS and MUDSLIDES and the sunken cars so deep

temperature pushes 70 in the North East
Snow, snow I get but it’s not snowing; it’s raining raining & raining
drip, drip, pitter, patter, whoosh whoosh whoosh, welcome to SPRINTER, not winter nor Spring
Is not normal people really, not normal: now I have to urinate really bad

—–

Toast to the Newlyweds: Climate Change and the Flat Earth

by Frank Hubeny

One (1)
and two (2)
then comes three, (3)
but climate change we (5)
all can see rhymes much worse than (7)
flat earth memes promoting free verse poetry. (11)

—–

Untitled

by Richmond Road

Gee
Can you see?
The living tree. On fire
Me. Just a bird on a wire
Half asleep. Flying backwards and so dreaming of forests long ago
Looking below. At another time. Branches to climb. Cut down in their prime.

—–

Untitled

by Doug Jacquier

The
bunyip’s
a legend
in Australia,
terrifying one and all.
A cross between emu and crocodile,
or a furry seal with terrible eyes and sharp teeth,
it preys on those unwary folk who stray near rivers and deep billabongs
venting its fury, like a giant platypus consuming an early lunch.

(Can’t post pics here unfortunately but you can see the products of some fervid imaginations if you search for ‘Bunyip pics’ in your browser.)

—–

Lustrum

by Not Pam

DOOM
Oh Man DOOM
Rain sleet floods pontoons
A burning inferno gloom
Where the hell is that air conditioned cold room?
TV on. Current affairs? Climate change? Dumb buffoons.

—–

Escape Plan

by Greg Glazebrook

Earth ֍ Mother ֍ Stick ‘em up! ֍ Gim’me all you got! ֍ Take, take, take, without a thought. ֍ Hands off the entire lot, it’s bloody well mine! ֍ I don’t care, leave it scorched, barren and beyond repair. ֍ In my rocketship, I’ll climb, leaving Mother Earth behind — Ciao suckas!!!

—–

True Story

by Jewish Young Professional

An
iceberg
breaks off of
Antarctica like
a star that the sky couldn’t keep
for herself, too weighted with water and gas,
leaving a hole sized like Greater London, but, good news,
“Not climate change,” the scientists say. But there’s other reason for alarm.

—–

Is it hot yet?

by Ruth Klein

Sweat
Slimy
Steamy land
Storms wild, childlike
Strength of nasty temps, up/down
Scientists mumble, stumble,
profess the doom
Stir up word muck throwing –
blankets piled or skin removed
Stay in the know, let the wind blow,
whatever rocks your boat, I
know right?

—–

Photo by Markus Spiske on Pexels.com

Thank you, terrible poets. Head over here in March to see what the next prompt is!

Nitin: Here’s your slightly-inaccurate badge you can post as proof of your poetic mastery:

terrible-poetry-contest

©2023 The poets, and their respective poems.

WINNER of the Terrible Poetry Contest: CHRISTMAS 2022

Merry Christmas!!

But, we’re not here to unwrap presents! We’re here to read who won the terrible Christmas carol parody for the Terrible Poetry Contest of Christmas 2022!!

Rudolph The Blood Nose Reindeer. (The Mike Hammer/film noir version.)

by Obbverse

Between Dasher and Dancer and Prancer lay the victim,
Of all Santa holds deer, why had the killer picked him?
This had been no close call-
There was blood all over his stall.

Rudolph, the aforesaid reindeer
Was Santa’s snitch, everybody knows,
And everyone in the herd who saw it
Saw Rudy had the brownest nose.

All of the Brother reindeer
Used to laugh and call Rude names,
They chose and froze out Rudolph
From joining their Sled Pullers Union aims.

Then one foggy Christmas eve
Santa dropped by his spy to say
‘Rudolph, if I heard your story right
This Union mob ain’t haulin’ my sled tonight.’

That’s when all the reindeer kicked him,
They kicked Rudy all about with glee,
If you spill secrets to Santa I fear
You’ll star in your own Christmessy murder mystery.

—–

Congratulations? Obbverse! You are the most terrible caroler! If you’re comfortable doing so, shoot me an e-mail and I’ll send you your present!

Unlike other terrible poetry contests, the Christmas one is all about a distinct aspect that stands out -no matter how much the poet pokes fun at tropes, cliches, etc. Obbverse wrote a very clever, terrible (as in, wrong) song; so, hey! He wins!

Winner or ‘winner,’ poetry or ‘poetry,’ this is my favorite contest of all. I hope you enjoy reading them all:

Santa, My Baby Wants a Pony This Christmas*

by Ian Kay

San-ta! You’ll never get my pony
in your sack.
San-ta! It’s only gonna break
your back.
Why don-cha ride upon it in-stead?
Why, it could even pull your sled!

San-ta! You better take a diff-rent tack!
San-ta! I’m tellin’ ya a sure-fire hack!
Send it via US mail,
Then your back it will not fail.
San-ta! You’ll never get my pony in that sack!
San-ta! You’ll never get my pony in that sack!
(ad lib and fade)

*sung to the tune of Silent Night.

—–

Untitled

by Bruce Goodman

Silent cholesterol, stealthy cholesterol.
Chocolates and cream make things digestible
Around the table the family has sat
Eating the turkey and getting quite fat.
I’m really huffing and puffing
Trying to finish this stuffing.

Silent cholesterol, stealthy cholesterol.
It will make your heart arrestable.
Eat lots of butter, eat lots of cake,
Pig out on pies and nice pastry flake.
Like the turkey I’m totally stuffed.
Yet I can’t say that I’ve had enough.

—–

O, Climate Change (Sung to the tune of O Christmas tree)

by D Wallace Peach

O, climate change, O climate change
The mountain beetles dining
O, climate change, O climate change
The Christmas trees are dying

Your boughs, on fire in Summer-time
Stay charred and black in Winter’s rime
O climate change, O climate change
The plastic trees are thriving

O, climate change, O climate change
The mountain snow’s declining
O, climate change, O climate change
The reservoirs are drying

The blizzards land on arid plains
And flooding hits the coast again
O climate change, O climate change
Real Christmas trees nose diving

—–

Favorite Things, A Parody

by Herb

Butter on hot toast
And bacon a sizzlin’
Coffee pot perkin’
And drippin’ and drizzlin’
When my morning starts out with caloric flings
I’m thankful for some of my favorite things

Biscuits and gravy
And fritters and donuts
Are all so tasty
They just make me go nuts
Of pancakes and waffles and syrups I sing
For these are just some of my favorite things

There’s leftover lasagna
And pizza in fridges
And hot dogs and burgers
And Ruffles with ridges
Chocolate chip cookies from the oven they bring
Food is just some of my favorite things

When my doc nags
About my weight
It kinda makes me sad
It’s then I remember my favorite things
And I don’t care if I’m fat

—–

The teacher and the little dumber boy

by Doug Jacquier

Hey, you down there, yes, you, chewing your gum.
I see you down there and stop sucking your thumb.
What gift did you bring for me? Stop scratching your bum*!
To thank me for being kind and not telling your Mum
About sucking your thumb
And scratching your bum?
Is that all you brought, just a packet of gum?
Telling your Mum!

*Australian slang for backside, not a US king of the road type bum.

—–

Australian bloke’s Christmas

by Doug Jacquier

(I’ll spare you the usual build up)

On the twelfth day of Christmas
My girlfriend gave to me
Twelve budgie smugglers*
Eleven crafted beers
Ten shower gels
Nine armpit anti-smells
Eight shirts for wearing
Seven barbie* tools
Six steaks for sizzling
Five onion rings
Four kanga bangers*
Three chicken kebabs
Two token salads
And a bar fridge near the gum tree!

*Budgie smugglers – men’s underwear
*Barbie – barbecue
*Kanga bangers – Sausages made from kangaroo meat

—–

Untitled, To the tune of “I’ll Be Home For Christmas”

by Frank Hubeny

I’ll be late for Christmas.
Please don’t count on me.
Keep your snow and mistletoe
and eggnog by the tree.

Christmas Eve the reindeer
ran away again.
I’ll be late for Christmas.
You might as well sleep in.

—–

Untitled, Sing to the Tune of ‘Jingle Bells’

by Not Pam‘s The Door People

Smashing Through Your Door
On A One Seat Open Fork
An Employee Of Yours
Driving Like A Dork
Bells On Our Phones Ring
Spirits Not So Bright
Your Roller Door Is On The Floor
And You Can’t Go Home Tonight
The Door People The Door People
Please Come And Fix Our Door
8445 8445 Great Service That’s For Sure
The Door People The Door People
Will Save You Once Again
8445 8445 You’ll Consider Us Your Friend

—–

Untitled

by Ordinary Person

Pum pum pum,
Pum pum pum,
Jingle Bell Rock
Oh I won’t trade it for a sock
Pum pum pum pum pum
Pum pum pum
That’s the jingle bell rock!

—–

Untitled

by John W. Howell

Dashing through the snow,
In our brand-new electric car.
Is there any way to know,
If it will carry us as far
As we really need to go.
The blinking red light gleams
On the panel made of glass
Might be trouble, so it seems
Sure wish we stuck with gas.

—–

Unjingled Bells

by Michael Fishman

Driving fast, driving hard, the cop is on my tail.
Gotta shake ‘em loose cuz I don’t wanna go to jail.

Oh!

Driving fast, driving hard, I’m pushing 90 now.
I wonder if I dare to pass that really slow snowplow?

I follow UPS,
and take the gifts he leaves.
I’m just another one
of those nasty Christmas thieves.

But this time I was seen,
by the cop just driving past,
and I’m not sure I’ll lose him
cuz I’m running out of gas.

Oh!

Driving fast, driving hard the cop’s still on my tail.
I don’t want to have to spend this Christmas Day in jail.

But-

I got caught, I got caught, I’m in Graybar Hotel
I’m sitting in a holding cell not feeling very well.

The lawyer said, “Don’t dread,
I’ll get you out tonight.
The only thing you have to do
is chill and just sit tight.”

It turned he was wrong,
and I’m sure you will agree,
with the judge who grinned when he sentenced me
and he threw away the key!

Oh!

Woe is me, misery, there’s nothing I can do.
I guess I should have thought before I stole those gifts from you.

Oh!

Ho, ho, ho, here I am, I’m on the prison bus
I’m wishing you a happy day and a very, very, merry Christmas.

(And New Year, too!)

—–

Two Teeth

by Ruth Scribbles

Everybody stops and stares at me
My two teeth are STILL HERE- oh say can you see?
I don’t know who’s at fault for this catastrophe
But my one wish on Christmas Eve is as plain as can be

All I want for Christmas is my two teeth OUT
My two teeth out
See my two front teeth
Gee, if I could only have my two teeth OUT
Then I’ll be the object of your pouting.

—–

A Slap Happy Christmas…

by Matt

It’is ya no “THAT” time of year
Left o’er, cheese starts; smelling
Eeryone yelling ” Yo!!! We ran outta beer”
the crap, crappiest, season ya, know

Wid those h’Omoerotic feelings and slaphappy greetings.
When fiends bring they’re damn kids who start to ball
it’s the crap crappiest seesawing ya know

dippers need changing
fur nature rearranging
and
wheel we wish you a crappy
Christmas
a Slap Happy Christmas
and a scrappy News year

Now take your squeeling kids
stinky limburger
sordid thoughts
and don’t come back
unless you bring us a case of beer
Marry Chris Mouse !!!!

—–

Photo by Marta Wave on Pexels.com

Merry merry Christmas, more so for the entertainment!

©2022 The poets, and their respective poems. Special thanks to Greg for the cool badge/logo:

WINNER of the Terrible Poetry Contest 11/30/2022

November’s prompt for terribly poeming was brought to you by Jon of Missionary Sojourn, the winner of September’s contest. Jon suggested a clean limerick on lost and found. Without losing another minute, then, let’s find the one who limerick’d best:

Untitled

by TanGental

All hope’s gone, all is lost.
She loves me, she loves me nost.
I gave her flowers. a sort of red.
They had thorns, so she bled
Out. Now she’s a gost…

—–

Congratulations, TanGental! You are the most terrible poet this month! Let me know what theme and form we’re to use next time.

You may be wondering how I chose a winner out of such excellent entries. I’ll tell you: I don’t know. I’m also wondering how I picked, given that most entries tied for cleverness and included some distinctive element. I believe the winner won me over with that broken/continued line of ‘bled/out’ and with his terrible word choice.

Again; that’s not to say one should only read the winning entry. Peruse all the poetry, below, and see which is your favorite:

Grumpy

by RuthScribbles

There once was a grumpy old man
He lost his way to the can
He turned on the light
And had a huge fright
He’d found a coon and away he did ran

—–

Untitled

by Ian Kay

I’ve gone lost the end of my limerick
I didn’t know whether I’m dim or thick
I looked down the sofa
But nothin’ yet so far
So how will I finish this poem?

—–

Untitled

by Ian Kay

A man got a message, it read:
There’s something on the back of yer head!
He put his hand there
But only found hair
And that was the end of the thread

—–

Lost Meat

by John W. Howell

There once was a man from New York,
Who purchased two tons of dead pork.
He wished he had found,
Good beef that was ground.
But lost his chance to a quick dork.

—–

Larry the monkey

by Soberbunny

I once had a monkey named Larry,
He liked to bite and was hairy,
One day in the park,
He escaped after dark,
And now he belongs to Mary.

—–

Untitled

by Richmond Road

I was aimlessly fooling around
When I fell from my boat and then drowned
Deprived thus of breath
Woke in life after death
Simultaneously lost and yet found

—–

Untitled

by Doug Jacquier

There once was a man from Straya
As a walker he was a fair dinkum stayer
Went past the Black Stump and beyond it
Got lost, fell into a billabong, it
Was a shame his swimming was a failure.

Glossary
Straya – rendition of ‘Australia’ by many Australians, similar to Americans who live in ‘Mecca’
Fair dinkum – genuine
Black Stump – mythical far distant place where civilisation ends (along with American spelling) and the unknown begins
Billabong – an isolated pond left behind after a river changes course

—–

Untitled

by Frank Hubeny

There once was a writer of verse
Who got lost as his writing got worse.
He was found by the bay
Singing songs of dismay:
La-dee-loose la-dee-lease la-dee-terse

—–

Lost Cause

by Obbverse

Write a clean limerick, they promptly said!
But I’ve found clean limericks are rarely read,
A limerick ploughs common ground,
Within limericks innuendoes abound,
Something gets lost if cheeks ain’t left red.

—–

A Boy Named Luck

by Greg

There once was a boy named Luck
Whose folks didn’t give a… HOOT.
“Go jump off da pier
‘n don’t come back ‘roun’ere!”
But they didn’t have that kinda luck.

—–

The Ring

by Greg

He brought out the champagne with a blush,
“Bottoms up!” It was down in a rush.
Before he could sing,
She’d swallowed the ring,
Now they gather to scrutinize each flush.

—–

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

Thank you, terrible poets. Come back at the beginning of January to learn what the new prompt will be!

Geoff: Here’s your slightly-inaccurate badge you can post as proof of your poetic mastery:

terrible-poetry-contest

©2022 The poets, and their respective poems. Special thanks to Greg for the cool logo I used as our featured image!

WINNER of the Terrible Poetry Contest 9/29/2022

First, I wish to pay tribute to a longtime contributor to poetry contests of the past: Hobbo. May your family receive comfort and may your sons publish your works posthumously. You will be missed.

Oh Heck

by Hobbo

Seems like a case of bad luck to me
In agony, needs appendectomy
Flash of the blade
Incision is made
Surgeon thinks it’s a vasectomy.

—–

Now, we’re off to a new start with the Terrible Poetry Contest! This month’s challenge was to write a poem in any form, about accidental love. So, after a month of deliberation, WHO wrote our winning poem?

Love of Mishap

by Jon

Some love to complain
But all are attentive
to a train
wreck.

—–

Congratulations, Jon! You are the most terrible poet this month! Let me know what theme and form we’re to use next time.

Wow. Just wow. I read through all the entrants and hadn’t a clue which to pick. There was humor, there were awful subjects, there was such cleverness! -but what we always aim for in terrible poem-ing is a mockery of overused poetry elements. These include trying to sound mysterious, breaking lines in odd places, rhyming incessantly with novice vocabulary, utilizing poor spelling and grammar, and trying for free-verse or haiku whilst butchering the effort.

Jon’s poem is short, broken, and surprisingly complete. It spoke to me as terrible because it checks the boxes but is wholly disappointing. Well done, Jon.

Truly, though, you must read all the poems. This month’s collection is highly entertaining:

Accidental Love

by John W. Howell

We never meant it,
But somehow it came to be . . .
My braces her gum.

—–

I Only Wanted Her for Her Brain

by Trent

It started mundane
The usual Earthly pain
The doctor wanted meat
Whole, from head to feet
Taking a body from a grave is boring
I can do it even while snoring

But then he said he wanted a brain
That could think really, really profane
Well, he said profound
But I misheard that sound

So I stalked a naughty lass
Who smoked a lotta grass
Often spoke really crass
And had a very nice
Hairdo

But then I fell
Right in front of Ms. Jezebel
And to my surprise
She looked at me with dewy eyes

OK, they were bloodshot from the pot
But they watered a lot
As she laughed her head off
Until she started to cough

With no time to think
I asked her out for a drink
And I bet you can guess
My surprise when she actually said
“That’s a joke, right?”

Drat, I was out of luck
So I pushed her in front of a speeding truck
But with that shove
She fell in love!

As she passed, she said she’d always love me
So I had to do something, you see?
Trying my hardest I did all I could
If not what I morally should

So although her body is gone
She will always live on
Always at my side
Try as I might, I can’t hide

She constantly says she loves me, quite the feature
This endearment coming from the lips of Dr. F’s 8 foot tall, male creature

—–

Moonless Lunacy

by Frank Hubeny

One moonless, dreary, dismal night
I accidentally fell in love.
A mermaid using starry light
bewitched me from above.

I loved her true and she loved me
enough to eat me whole.
Now I am dead and she’s well fed.
I guess this tale’s been told.

—–

Downward Spiral

by Brian Keith Mino

Failure has become accepted,
and mediocrity praised, while greatness is
Despised, as the masses grope around,
Totally dazed.

—–

Yo soy Diego y esta es Frida

by Tnkerr

I first wed the girl – nineteen twenty nine
her hair was dark, loosely curled
she was fairest in the world

she gave me a shove so I pulled her hair,
accidentally fell in love
fit together, hand in glove

married now, at least a couple of times
love we’ll sometimes disavow
me, Frida, her unibrow

—–

But, I’m not a homosexual

by M

How do love her ?
BY NEAR, bye far
counting ways to stars
I count curves
and long eye lasses
I count to ten
twenty
thirty
forty
fifty
sixty
with pen I wrote this love knote, I’m am no timid mouse
folded as such
and; dropped it
in her.
Mail slot, I lover here oh so muchly
shit! Wrong house!

—–

Bus stop dreaming

by Doug Jacquier

I did but see her
through the glass darkly
of the sliding doors of the train to nowhere
but I knew I had to make her mine, make her mine, make her mine.
I raced along the platform,
past the compulsory dwarf and mardi gras dancers,
knocking over old ladies
and trampling on children
until I could leap onto the train
as it left the Stations of the Cross.
On the train
we ran through fields of wildflowers
as if in slow motion
until she leapt into my arms
heels in the air
and we kissed with the heat of the night
until the conductor asked me for my ticket
and I woke up at the bus stop.

—–

Dick And Jane In A Spot

by Obbverse

See Dick trundling ’round Walmart,
See Jane selecting a shopping cart,
See dick searching for a parking slot?
Does Dick see Jane in his blind spot?

See Jane hear her phone go ‘bing?’
Well, now Jane won’t see anything,
See Dick’s head turn side to side,
See Dick’s patience being tried?

See Jane gaze raptly at her screen?
Hear Dick mutter something obscene!
See Dick’s head all but swivel ’round?
Not an accursed park to be found.

See Jane cross behind Dick?
See Dick’s cheek start to tic?
See Dick see a most welcome sight?
Ahead, a Dodgy Neon’s reversing light!

See the smile on Dick’s face!
Dick has found his happy space!
See Dick’s foot hit the Jeep’s brake!
Let’s see, which path Jane will take?

See Jane talking and walking,
Concentrating on talking, not walking,
Dick has stopped, Jane’s not slowing…
Can we see where this is going?

The Neon vacates the parking bay,
Dick’s at the wheel, sawing away,
Dick can’t get his Compass aligned,
Dick reverses without glancing behind.

The VERY FIRST day at Drivers Ed
What do they drive into your head?
Chapter One in their good book-
‘Before going forth, first LOOK.’

But Dick does not remember Jack;
With Dick there’s no looking back,
Backing back out into the lane,
‘Dick in Jeep, meet Chatterbox Jane.’

Jane, holding wobbly wheeled trolley
Perfectly placed to compound Dick’s folly,
See Jane, lost in a world of her own
Rattling away, eyes on her iPhone.

What a moving sight they both fail to see!
See Jane’s trolley! See Dick’s truncated Cherokee!
Dicks not-so-tuff plastic bumper, mangled,
His Jeep and her trolley, sorrily entangled.

Dolt Dick agreed it’s all his fault,
Luckily Jane suffered just the jolt,
One broken fingernail, no broken bones,
And Dick’s insurance covers cracked phones.

So, after names and details were taken
Dick discerned Jane looked pale and shaken,
Said he’d treat her to a hot sweet latte;
Today they marry, a year to the day.

See Dick and Jane say their nuptial vows!
Though the venue raises actual eyebrows!
A Walmart wedding might sound perverse?
If you know their journey, quite the Reverse.

—–

So, what’s up mutha?

by Deb Whittam

She was so hot, she set me alight,
Soldier stood to attention, ho, man what a delight.
She was sweet like cream, I ain’t leavin til I get a bite
Ho, you dudes can dream, she’s going home with me tonite.
Yo, I’m bad ass, I can make chocolate melt on a cold ass day
But your so fine mutha, you and me we could so, like, play
Me and my bling, you with your tight ass thing
We could go horizontal, ho, you know what I mean?
Your such a fine mutha, you got it going on
You and me, back at my place, now don’t get me wrong
This ain’t no one night fling, I could see you wearin’ my bling
You and me, doin’ it morning and night
Boys tongues hanging, you just so fly
C’mon on mutha, I’m gonna be your guy.
Ain’t no time to waste, this ain’t no accidental love,
C’mon on, let me have a taste.*

—–

Gain Flings

by Greg

there she stood
unkempt and crude
her family lines
a sickly brood
her sweats all stained
with God knows what
brown and smudged
across her butt
but in the light
of twilight time
hot damn, my Lord
she looked so fine
through the years
and many a stain
she stole my heart
my love she’d Gain

—–

Accidental Love

by TanGental

She elbowed my nose
Trying to make sourdough.
It broke. My nose, that is.
‘It’s just a dent…’
An accident
She took the car
To test her new glasses.
‘The tree came out of nowhere.
It’s a little bent.’
An accibent
The nice man with the moustache
Sold her a shiny bond
And cleared us out.
‘Every flaming cent.’
An accicent
We got it back on insurance.
She lent it to her brother
To start a platypus farm
In Adelaide
With a former Love Island contestant
Called Bouncy.
They don’t return her calls.
An accilent
I love her for her baking, her resilience, her openness and her family loyalty.
They say I’m mental.
I say it’s an accimental love.

—–

Photo by Khoa Vu00f5 on Pexels.com

Thank you, terrible poets. Come back at the beginning of November to learn what the new prompt will be!

Jon: Here’s your slightly-inaccurate badge you can post as proof of your poetic mastery:

terrible-poetry-contest

©2022 The poets, and their respective poems.

WINNER of the Terrible Poetry Contest 6/9/2022

Not Pam placed first last time we poem-ed and challenged entrants to write a sonnet about soup. At long last, let’s see who served up the winning poem:

SOUP DU JOUR

by M

Vichyssoise is the soup du jour today
cranberry, pineapple, pine nuts and peas
potato and leaks and cream take-away
thats not soup, that is garbige if you please

mushrooms,more mushrooms, more mushrooms for me
withsome cream and salt and pepper to taste
cant forgot the crootons and sharp, cheese
seriously kid that sounds, like; such a waste

you have yours and I have mind now shove off
fighting words to, me just you weight and see
oh yeah? PUNCH to the gut I, make you cough
peas, leeks, ghee dumped! In your bowl with great glee.

I hate you grandma with all of my heart!
Oh billy, just eat your damned soup which you know in your heart will give you incredibly stinky smelly nasty mushroom farty farts. Kids, today.

—–

Congratulations, Matt! You are the most terrible poet! I’ll be contacting you about your grand prize!

As usual, the poets in this kitchen were too clever to be terrible. Of those who served a questionable bowl, judging the best recipe proved difficult. M’s won for his cringe-worthy misspells, his “mushrooms, more mushrooms, more mushrooms” bit, and for that truly terrible final line.

The rest of the menu’s worth perusing, although I’d leave your appetite for dessert:

A soup of a sonnet

by Bruce Goodman

This soup tastes like you got it out of a can
And by “can” I don’t mean like Andy Warhol painted.
This soup should come under a ban.
I just about fainted.

Has anyone ever told you that you can’t cook?
So not only are you fat and ugly you are also a fake.
Some faults are possible to overlook,
But your soup-making incompetence takes the cake.

One sip of this undesirable brew
And I was under the table in the throes of death.
If I was Johnny Depp I would sue;
The smell is enough to make me hold my breath.

And yet you claim soup-making to be your forte.
If you’re going to cook stuffed cow’s udder stick to sauté.

—–

Here is mine in eight lines. The title is In my Bowl

by John W. Howell

Shall I compare you to a summer’s day,
or sit guessing as to your content way.
The window to your soul so darkly kept,
A hint of substance will stay hidden yet.
To dip a careful spoon below the scum,
May help unmask a hint of nature done.
To all who wonder what happened next,
The spoon was eaten by an unknown beast.

—–

Scottish Soup: A Sonnet

by Ruth

My Scottish senses love the cooking smell
Of soup that starts with deeply smoked ham hock
Boiled up with split red lentils, seasoned well
Traditional good food from fresh-made stock

Or leek and tatties make the perfect base
With chicken bouillon, carrots, onions too
Add herbs and salt and pepper judged to taste
A little milk to finish – that’ll do!

Pearl barley thickens broth like fattened rice
With cheap-cut beef and root veg simmered low
Soup fills you up at such a decent price
Well-blended flavours make your tastebuds glow

A bowl of love with thick-sliced bread to eat
Now that’s a hearty dinner hard to beat ♥

—–

Silly Soup

by Frank Hubeny

Today I fear they’ll feed me silly soup
to help my nightmares scare up some disease.
With windows open breathing summer’s breeze
I dream the ground is dizzy, in a loop.
I dream of ropes and jumping through a hoop.
I’m doing more or less just as I please.
My nose as well’s deciding should it sneeze.
While waiting in the chair I start to droop.

The soup contains assorted sorts of beans,
some once-white rice and onions, too, I guess.
There’s stuff in it I can’t identify
to add some color to the grassy greens.
I spilled the soup. Oh, my. I made a mess.
I’m force fed now with silly soup. Goodbye.

—–

Untitled

by Richmond Road

Soup – a bit like food
A bit of a waste
Like dressing up in the nude
It’s lacking in taste
Broth – a bit like a meal
But from food an estrangement
Nothing to feel
But a rearrangement
Of nutrition
And now that you’ve looked
A suspicion
It’s a bit undercooked
So much less than a stew
When there’s nothing to chew.

—–

Cravings

by Not Pam

My thoughts turn as the winter’s chill descends
To mushroom soup, on what joy it does bring
It is lush, it is rich, it makes amends
Just thinking about it makes my heart sing

Into the kitchen I merrily go
Thrilling a sing to cull my appetite
To search my cupboard but what do you know
There isn’t any mushrooms, oh what a blight

To venture out, and join the endless queue
The idea certainly doesn’t appeal
Perhaps another flavour soup will do
Wait, what about asparagus and veal

Bother, its only mushroom soup I crave
I’m going to bed, stomach just behave.

—–

Untitled

by Simon

There was a ship named Tilly
Rumour was spread around town Kelly
The gore news tightened their Belly
A ghost from Kelly sells soup in Tilly

Wonder What is so silly about a soup?
Whoever sells the soup it’s a coup
Free marketing, let’s buy a Scoop
Said the man in blazers named snoop

It’s a religious town people are scared
No man gets in the ship to stay sacred
For the people, I’ll go alone. He dared.
People stared, he glared, he cared.

Dared, he ordered a soup named Silly
Waiting for order is not so long. Chilly
Was the soup commented by Billy
He was the protector of town Kelly

What is so gore about it? That rumour?
Billy said, the soup menu is a Humour
Eat your own tongue, stay Calmer
Just the name of the soup, is that Rumour.

Think it sounds silly?
Why don’t you Visit Tilly
Read review from Billy
Fill your belly.

—–

The Naming of Soups

by TanGental

There’s a type of soup called Vichyssoise

Sounding posher than mulligatawny,

Hinting perhaps of a little French class

With a touch of something porny.

That’s how it is with those old soup names,

They’re weird and a little bit freaky:

There’s one that recalls this old man’s shame

When it speaks of his cock-a-leekie.

And, truth be told, I’ve sampled broths

That are nearer piss than porridge

As well as ones that stop all coughs

Even though they’re downright horrid.

Let’s cut the crap; no more this soupish snobbery

Accept the truth: both yours and mine’s a strone.

—–

Soup Kitchen

by Obbverse

The joy of mash and chicken soup-
Won’t that warm my dark cold soul!
‘Yes’m, soggy spuds, gimme a scoop,
Slop up my plate and fill that bowl.’

‘Look lady, I come here for the food,
Your sole job is just to fill my cup-
Say, Sister, you can call me drunk’n’rude
But if you just prayed for me, back it up.’

‘You see another broken down bum
But I see a Miss priss with a ladle,
I’ll say ‘thanks’ but I don’t welcome
Your airs and graces at my table.’

‘I’ll take your free tray and gladly eat it
But spare me mealy words- now beat it.’

—–

What is Soup?

by Greg

The sorcerer’s mirepoix, the witches roux,
with bone and water forge a mystic blend,
add salt and spice, merely a pinch or two,
elements together, combine, transcend.

Cast iron cauldron yields to fiery kiss,
stir and simmer, cooking slowly in time,
bubbling, boiling, with wisps of steaming bliss,
filling the fragrant air with spells sublime.

Chick’n noodle, chowder, gazpacho on ice,
mullugatawny, bisque and gumbo too,
potatoes, pasta, or a spot of rice,
some so thick they’re more akin to stew.

What is soup? You’ll find you have to conclude,
soup is the liquid version of solid food.

—–

Untitled

by Shauni-Michelle Chadburn

Mushroom recipe, for total catastrophe, lockdown curiosity turned into insanity. A Hallucination interpretation with a twisted sense of humour, exploitation an observation a naieve, unsuspecting consumer. Not a substantial bliss, psychosis a diagnosis that’s ferocious, somewhat precocious totally atrocious like being inflicted with some hellish hypnosis. Digesting the fungi when did the fun die, out in the garden it grows, or in the haystacks it’s time I face facts this was not how it was supposed to go! Totally mad, slightly insane, revisiting and reliving all the emotional pain, it is trauma it has engrained, it would have been safer to, do, cocaine.

—–

Soup

by Richmond Road

that I scoop out of the entrails of our love
the little bits of pre-digested nourishment
that fall like manna from above
our love that travelled the universe like a comet
with all the colours of a parrot
oh, wait. that’s vomit
and I think I see a bit of carrot
floating around in there
somewhere
with the noodles and oodles of emotion
I have the notion
to express
like milk from the breast
all the best, to us
with love
Brutus

—–

Ode to a hammock (sorry) ham hock

by Doug Jacquier

Oh, soup of green split pea and ham

(no, never, thrice never to Spam)

shall I compare thee to a cabernet,
cellared long in boiling heat in the loading bay?

Do I dare take a sup

from the pig-leg supping cup (or the ladle)
after gorging full well of peach melba
on a rolled-up ragged-trousered beach?

Or should I await the tourist bus

filled with them (and not with us)

disgorging ag-ed crones of Japanese

desperate for their afternoon peas?

Nay, fie, upon the soup-less have-nots!
I will gluttonise the whole damn lot

and leave them gasping in my tomorrow’s wind.

—–

Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com

Thank you, everyone! It’s been a blast for me; I hope you’ve had fun as well.

M: Here’s your badge you can post as proof of your poetic mastery. You’ve got quite the collection now:

terrible-poetry-contest

©2022 The poets, and their respective poems.

WINNER of the Terrible Poetry Contest 5/19/2022

What fun! Geoff won last contest and suggested we take the first line of a famous poem and rewrite the rest! So, at long last, which poet wrote the ‘best’ terribleness?

The Dentist and The Crocodile (Not Roald Dahl)

by Not Pam

The crocodile, with cunning smile, sat in the dentist’s chair.
He had a devious plan to broker, which would scare
… And he didn’t care.
He sought a partner in crime, one almost as shrewd as he,
It was all quite divine
Blood would be spilt, you see.
They had discussed it at length, while gnawing an old thigh bone
There was no planning left
It was time for them to go it alone
They crept down to the village, the dentist and the croc,
They had plans, they didn’t intend just to throw a rock
The town folk were in for a dire shock.
In the dead of night, the dentist tore their teeth free
While the croc scared them in a stupor, and you better believe me
Blood was spilt a plenty, it was quite something to see
But though the town folk were blood less, tooth less, lifeless, they didn’t cease to be
Their flesh turned into steel, and they went on a killing spree
Now there’s one thing on their diet, that croc and dentist better flee.

—–

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

The entries were far too clever for me to dub any ‘terrible.’ I had to read through again, pick those who intentionally clichéd, or misspelled, or were just plain painful to read through. Not Pam’s piece beat out the competition for utilizing those elements. I mean –gnawing on an old thigh bone and blood less, tooth less, lifeless. Terrible!

Everyone else did a fantastic job, as I said. Read below to see for yourself:

“A Psalm of Life” stolen from Longfellow

by John W. Howell

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
That someone has used all the cream.
For an idiot so wonton makes for wonders,
Of why we let it on the team.

Coffee is real! Coffee is earnest!
And true black is not our goal;
Thief thou art, and best returnest,
That half and half in its bowl.

—–

Untitled

by Richmond Road

Mary had a little lamb
She had a goat as well
She had a cat, a dog, a skunk
(with it’s distinctive smell)
She had some tigers and some bears
She had some lions too
With elephants and a giraffe
She had a private zoo
She took them all to school one day
So that teachers could be met
She was a very charming girl
She was the teachers’ pet
But the teachers they became alarmed
To hear the lion roar
They ran into the classroom
And they locked the classroom door
To Mary this was hurtful
So she left in some dismay
She gathered up her animals
And led her flock away
She went in search of somewhere else
To let her creatures roam
And came upon another spot
Her Nan’s retirement home
She found a room where all looked bored
Called ‘Geriatric Care’
So she pushed her pets right through the door
And let them loose in there.

—–

Fiery Ice

by Frank Hubeny

Some say the world will end in fire.
That sounds nice.
For veggies burning ever higher
It’s best to use a roaring fire.
Beans I hear you should fry twice
Though why one would I would debate.
Crispy, fully charred is nice
And now I wait
For fresh-burnt rice.

—–

For Whom the Wave Rolls
Not by John Donne!!

by Trent

No man is an island,
At least I hope.
A body may float a while,
Though drift afar.
If some clod be washed away by the sea,
He might sink.
As well as a big boulder would.
Then again, as I said before, he just might float
Though a floating body is no island.
Each man’s death diminishes me,
If he sinks or floats.
Therefore, stay away from the sea
For whom does the wave roll?
It rolls for thee.

—–

SONNET LXVI
(First line by Pablo Neruda)

by M

(I do not love you except because I love you)
because if I love you, then I love that I love you ?
Because love is what is considered
the opposite of hate & I’d hate to deeply hate you with the hatred of hate that you can only find within what is deemed love!
The love of hate of the hate that I love is my soul desire,such a fool for love & hate.

—–

The Unshaven

by Obbverse

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
After many a gin sunken I’m found slumpen ‘pon the floor
Dryly heaving, stomach clenching, regretting my night out wenching,
‘Tis all quite gut-wrenching, but I’ve known of its ilk before,
Muttered I, ‘I’ll go out and get pi- pie-eyed no more,’
Mutedly, for my skull be ever sore.

Ah, painfully, in a head yet tender I remember, ’twas quite the bender;
E’en as each clang of pain in my brain rings down to its sodden core
Uneasily recalling that I and that barfly signora put away a plethora
Of gin, oodles of Boodles resulted in a sinful night worthy of Gomorrah,
Now that fair maid lies sleepily sated, a beauty without flaw,
Yet I shudder at her ev’ry snore.

Oh, the pain- teeth gritting, hard hitting, never quitting, head splitting,
In the mirror, pale and pallid, I see the sorriest wretch you ever saw,
The red rimmed eyes a ‘gleaming, the mind silently screaming,
A drunk with a liver past redeeming, ’twill need a miracle to restore,
But I’ll drag myself back to that familiar door-
I’ve slammed it behind me a time or two afore-
And retake the AA Pledge once more.

—–

The Second Coming (It’s Huge)

by Doug Jacquier

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The Tweeter cannot be on Twitter;
Things fall apart; all his calls are on hold;
So Truth Social is launched upon the world,
The brain-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of intelligence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate conspiracy.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Biggest Ever Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image (it’s huge) out of Mar-A-Lago
Troubles my sight: somewhere from the swamps of Florida
A shape with a Teletubby body and the fake-tanned head of a man,
A gaze blank and clueless, like a bum,
Is moving its slow thighs, (it’s huge) while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant Democrats.
The darkness drops again; and now I know
That after twenty months of rally speech
Rises again the nightmare from the FoxNews cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round again,
Slouches towards Washington to eat Dorritos and drink Diet Coke?

—–

Stomping My Woods in My Round This Morning

by Greg’s Blog

Whose woods these are I think I know
Their place is on the golf course though
He Rory‘s up a Tiger tail
In anger bent and gave a throw

My little cart may think it Strange
To watch him stomp around insane
Swearing, cursing and Spiething nails
Please end this round and end the Payne

My caddy’s head begins to shake
As if to say it’s a mistake
Rolled up cuff, the language Fowler
As he waded into the lake…

At the next tee, I’m Jacked to see
If I can hit the green in three
And now my woods wrapped ’round a tree
And now my woods wrapped ’round a tree

—–

Photo by Mike on Pexels.com

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

Deb Pam: Here’s your badge you can post as proof of your poetic mastery:

terrible-poetry-contest

©2022 The poets, and their respective poems.

WINNER of the Terrible Poetry Contest 4/28/2022

Frank won last time; he suggested we write a common four-line meter in a nursery rhyme. Sounds simple enough, right? But… who did it the best and is the winner of this contest?

Nursery Rhymes For A Post Pandemic Utopia

by TanGental

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
When a man with appal-
-ing taste in novelty knitwear
Pushed him off and told him
To sit on his own wall.

Little Miss Muffet
Sat on a spider.
She said, ‘Tuffet-chic is so last century.’
The spider declined to comment.

Jack and Jill
Went up the hill.
Everyone said,
‘It’ll be downhill from here.’

Little Jack Horner
Sat in the corner.
Plotting…

Jack Spratt would eat no fat,
His wife said, ‘You’re a prat, Jack.’

Mary, Mary
Wasn’t that contrary.
She just liked saying her name twice.
Like Bond, James Bond.

The Grand Ol’ Duke of York
Is so called because he spends several grand
Buying silence.

Ring a ring A Roses
To place your next order
For that important person
Who you’ve pissed off.

London Bridge is falling down
Due to sheer weight of traffic.

Georgie Porgy
Is unlikely to get bail this time.

—–

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

I LOVED the poems this time around! The ‘nursery rhymes’ were so amusing; one of my sons read over my shoulder and kept snickering. Geoff’s poem used many elements others’ did: a few references to other rhymes, unexpected endings, and some current events. He narrowly beat out at least two others with his take on “Georgie Porgy.”

I won’t deprive you of reading the others any longer:

Untitled

by John W. Howell

Frankie is a little trim,
Who never wears clean clothes.
All the piggies follow him
Wherever Frankie goes.

On the way to school one day,
He stopped to smell a flower.
The piggies looked at each to say,
Let’s all do a boy devour.

—–

Chris Gets A Hand

by Obbverse

Will, he had a little slap,
Rock reeled back from the blow,
Will wouldn’t say ‘Chris, shut your trap;’
To no more Oscars Will he go.

—–

Jack And Ill Will

by Obbverse

It was ON
‘Tween Amber and John
Their freak-show biz deal Deppinitely over.

After many years,
Crossed words, crocodile tears
Their lawyers settled, finally in the clover.

—–

Sing a Super Confusing Song of The Old Money

by trentpmcd

Sing a song of sixpence
A pocket full of change
Money has no meaning
In such a tiny range

There were four and twenty black birds
Is that two whole shilling?
Can we just please switch to decimal?
I’m more than willing!

The king was in the counting house
Looking quite confused
Six is a half a shilling, or a fortieth of a pound
Is this stupid system still used?

The queen was in the parlour
Eating milk and honey
I guess in the promised land
You don’t worry about money

The maid was in the garden
With the Jack of Hearts
Oh, wait minute
Isn’t that how a Bob Dylan song starts?

From here it gets even more surreal
An a land with a never setting sun
But at least Britain moved to a system decimal
Back in 1971!

—–

Blackout

by Not Pam

iPhone, iPad, iWatch, and iDon’tKnow
iWatch, but iDon’tKnow
iPhone, iPad, iWatch, and iDon’tKnow
iWatch, but iDon’tKnow
And Facebook, and Twitter, and Instagram, and TikTok
iPhone, iPad, iwatch and iDon’tKnow
iWatch, but iDon’tKnow

Hickory Dickory Spock
Exhale, and take stock
It’s a blackout
No need to shout
Hickory Dickory Spock

Hickory Dickory Spock
Watch Grandma mock
As you forlornly wail
The power must prevail
No gadgets? What a horrid shock.

—–

Untitled

by Frank Hubeny

Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall.
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the King’s horses and all the King’s men
Had breakfast that morning.

—–

The day

by Michael B. Fishman

The day is bright as cooked brown rice,
the winds as calm as tea.
The birds alight on edelweiss
and
because I haven’t eaten in some time
well, wouldn’t you know,
I’m as hungry as could be.

I ate my rice with ketchup.
I ate my rice with beans.
I ate my rice while looking at a map of Manila,
the capital of the Philippines.

I’ve never been to the Philippines,
I’ve never been to Indonesia.
But wait! I could have been, and I don’t know,
because I could have, ‘ya know, amnesia.

My kitty lies over my other kitty,
He does it for all of us to see
My kitty just got off my other kitty.
I hope they don’t have a baby.

—–

Bought the Farm

by Greg’s Blog

Sadie rushed out to the barn,
A whip with her cowgirl charm,
The animals arranged,
An ending deranged,
Now Sadie’s done bought the farm.

—–

Fad Diet

by Greg’s Blog

Fat Larry began a fad diet,
With an eye for sweet apple pies,
He followed the plan to the letter,
And promptly when up one size.
Undeterred he continued to eat,
For the losses he’d soon realize,
Until a peek in the mirror did show,
The pie had gone straight to his thighs.

—–

Photo by Pixabay.

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

Mr. Le Pard: Here’s your badge you can post as proof of your poetic mastery:

terrible-poetry-contest

©2022 The poets, and their respective poems.

WINNER of the Terrible Poetry Contest 4/14/2022

The challenge was to write a free-verse poem on bad driving, compliments of last contest’s winner, Matt! So, at long last, who was the ‘best’ at ‘worst?’

Bad Driver

by Frank

I told my shrink that the cops brought me here because of my bad driving and he said I had no record of ever driving a car in my life and I told him, not car, spaceship, S-P-A-C-E-S-H-I-P, and he said I had no spaceship and wasn’t an alien because my DNA test, D-N-A, showed I’m human enough and I told him, well, then why am I in that padded cell and he said I wasn’t in any cell and I asked him if he was trying to drive me crazy and if he was he wasn’t doing a good job of it and then he said I was brought in because I was scaring the neighborhood kids and the judge assigned me to him and I told him that I had a lot of fun turning my head 360 degrees like an owl and he said I couldn’t do stuff like that and I asked him whether he ever saw me and he said no and so I asked him if he wanted to see me turn my head 360 degrees and he said, “Sure, Marvin, go ahead turn your head 360 degrees like an own, go on show me” and so I turned my head 360 degrees like an owl and he called the exorcist.

This poem is in imitation of Gerald Stern’s American Sonnets. There “sonnets” have no rhyme nor meter (and often no sense that I could detect). They are all one sentence long allowing the reader to put in line breaks or not. I would call them terrible American sonnets, but he won some award for them and they are occasionally entertaining.

—–

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

I was AMAZED at the poems this week. AMAZED! Way to make my highly-prestigious judging difficult, everyone. The poems were terrible, plus they were terrible -making fun of a typical free verse, adding a twist or two, using humor or surprise, and adding in cliché poetic elements.
I think Frank’s stood out after all that because of his unique form. How annoying, really. You said Gerald Stern “won some award;” well, now you have.

Don’t stop there, though. Go ahead and enjoy the others:

First Time on the Highway!

by trentpmcd

the flowers of spring
and the newly green grass
animals frolicking
after the long winter
I smile as I wonder
how did I get here
to this little slice
of paradise
the torn-up turf
gives a clue
as does the broken windshield
oh, the joy
of freedom
did I tell you
I received my drivers license
yesterday?

—–

Untitled

by Richmond Road

When we start
It is odd
Is it not?
That the pause in the flow
Might somehow show
A teasing hint
Of thought so deep
Of thinking, not sinking
into sleep
An inner confusion
Leading to the illusion
Of footsteps
well trod
But just rot
Pretending to be art

—–

Untitled

by Dumbestblogger

Steering wheel
Gas pedal
Brake
I’m not sure which is which
I prefer abstract philosophical principles
To hard-headed empiricism
Those colored lights they put over the intersections are really pretty

—–

Road Ragin’

by Gr8bigfun

Driving down the road 🛣️
Minding my own business
When buddy flips me the bird 🦜
I know free verse don’t rhyme
But this guy’s a real turd 💩
With my ego now bruised
My brain explodes 💥
And my senses go blind
What’s this clown’s 🤡
Problem anyway
Step on the gas ⛽
I weave through the rush
My window recessed 🪟
As I pull up to your ride
I start waving my fist 👊
Rhyme a curse at the lady inside
Don’t call the cops 🚓
That’s not meant for you

I got the wrong car 🚗
Mistaken identity I swear
I’m totally raging 🤬
As I punch it again
Blast past a school bus 🚌
This rhyming is insane
I catch a glimpse 👀
As you make the left
I race through the turn 🏎️
And ‘round the bend
Caught in my web 🕸
️The thrill of pursuit gone
What do I do now ❓
I take a deep breath and
In a moment of zen ☯️
My road rage does pass
I rhyme one last time ⌚
And realise, I’m the real ass!

—–

THE BIRD

by Matt

Your blinker
is on
Still…
Oh
How much
Slower must I
go to get
You off
My
Ass!
Veins they but protrude
Shades of red flush my face
Cut me off
The hell ?
Holy
Shit a
Spider in front of
my face!
Smash Boom
Crash
not me, thankfully
we is stuck
behind rubber
neckers but you, you!!!
Pass everyone by on
the
shoulder yield
does not
mean
stop
every single one of y’all
gets the bird!

—–

Untitled

by Tangental

My driving is perfection.
I know this because I drive a Ford Cliche,
And have one aim when behind the wheel:
to remove the worst driver in the world,
Arthur Goode, from Britain’s roads.
In my car, I am perfection,
I am the enemy of the Goode.

—–

Bad Driving

by Michael B. Fishman

For, I say; fore.
Out of my way for I am a bad driver.
Four violent torso twists, the club a blur of polished wood, and the ball barely moves

but my back hurts.
For what it’s worth –

to toot my own horn –

I’ll say that I’m not bad with
irons,
or putters,
but drivers,

I am a bad driver.

Drivers are the chink in my Armour bologna Cracker Crunchers
lunch with a Butterfinger candy bar fun size dessert armor.

I ate at an Italian restaurant, name now forgotten, and I was so taken with the bombolotti, that squat little powerhouse noodle that expertly trapped the slightly sweet sauce and diced onion and, I think?

Parmigiano or pecorina cheese as a culinary captive to caress my …

my…

no provincialism here: my slobbering mouth. So I had to

compliment the chef directly.

I drove myself, chest first, proudly displaying my all’Amatriciana sauce stained shiny Sahara sand satin shirt to the kitchen,

but,

before
I
could
say anything:

The chef, garbed in his winter jacket,

for it was
winter whence
we
met, met
me
at the door and said:

“I cannot unlock my car door”.

I, taken aback, said: “Why not?”

He said, “I have gnocchi.”

I drove him home. I only exceeded the speed limit once,
very briefly,
to make a light.

—–

Poor Parking Parable

by Obbverse

What a dazzlingly bright sizzler of a triple digit day
It was down at the Crucible Mall
What a joy it was to be beneath cloudless azure skies
In a Midnight Blue Horizon
With no fu…nctioning air-conditioning
Not a park to be found within spitting distance
Of the Mall’s shady walls
Nary a one
Thanks to one selfish bas- parker
who had left two half spaces on either side
Of the fat-wheeled Ford F150 parked athwart the middle line
Of the only two miserably designated Disabled car parks
Lolling In his F150 sat
A fat-as slack faced cowboy
Hairy mitt draped on the wheel
Cab wreathed in vape smoke
He paused but for a second to chug down his Bud
Before leaping down agilely and
Lightly-
Lightly for such a heavy gutted hombre-
Onto the asphalt
Belched heavily
And strode back into the Booze Barn
For ‘nother nourishing six-pack
No Disabled card on view
Nope, not right nor fair but…

Never mind.

After parking way out back in the back of beyond
Out in the furthest and farthest
Rarely traversed reaches of the car park
Far from the Mall and the madding crowd
I gamely sweated my way across
The shimmering tacky asphalt
Trekking towards the far-off
Sliding doored cold comfort of
Krogers
My journey through Hades proved to be well worth it though!
Oh
So gratifying it was to see our invalid invalid
Looking fair fit to be tied
Getting roughly cuffed and arrested by someone
Healthily buffed and in a well-stuffed XL black uniform
And
As a bonus
Our cow-poke’s big-as truck getting all
Set to be towed
I joined in with the surrounding crowd
Easing in beside
A finely groomed and elegantly dressed elderly gent
‘Another ass who believes it’s his right to use not just one
But two Disabled parks’ he offered
Eyes hard as tempered steel
‘It’s rare to see such justice playing out before our eyes’
I croaked agreeably in my parched cracked voice
Seems all about us most folks agreed
And as the baddest example
Of good driving I’d seen in quite a while
Was hauled away
Everyone enthusiastically yet oddly waved him ta-ta’s
All with both hands
But sans fingers
‘Cept for middle digits
I bade the elderly gent a hearty good day
And walked
away
He went gladly off on his way
His wheelchairs wheels
Making one Hell of a deep impression along the
Fords flanks
Which made for quite the racket too
But everyone in the vicinity
Who should have witnessed this
Had to have been deaf-finately handicapped

If not deaf, blissfully, smilingly unaware.

—–

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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

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

terrible-poetry-contest

©2022 The poets, and their respective poems.

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

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

Tom’s Mistake

by Joanne Fisher

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

—–

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

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

Read the rest for more cleverness:

Terrible Limerick – Grain

by Frank

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

—–

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

by Frank

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

—–

SOBRIETY

by M.

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

—–

Untitled

by Richmond Road

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

—–

Field Of Dreams

by Obbverse

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

—–

RATastrophe

by Greg G

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

—–

Lady of Skye

by Bruce Goodman

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

—–

Tasty

by Nope, Not Pam

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

—–

Brave Little Train

by Dumbestblogger

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

—–

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

by TanGental

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

—–

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

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

terrible-poetry-contest

©2022 The poets, and their respective poems.

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

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

My Story

by Dumbestblogger

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

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

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

—–

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

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

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

TRY A LITTLE KINDNESS (Glen Campbell)

by Matt

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

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

—–

A Cento Animico

by talesfromthemindofkristian

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

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

—–

Untitled

by Not Pam

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

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

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

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

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

—–

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

by Frank Hubeny

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

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

—–

For Our Children

by Gr8BigFun

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

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

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

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

—–

A Great Reaping

by Obbverse

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

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

—–

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

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

terrible-poetry-contest

©2022 The poets, and their respective poems.