The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Welcome to The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest, Week Seventeen. I went back and counted.

If you’re new, confused, and/or need directions; read the how-to about terrible poetry. Here, at The Terrible Poetry Contest, we strive to make the best of the best shudder and crawl back under a blanket of Shakespeare. We aim to offend, but in a very high-minded way.

Here are the rules for this week’s prompt:

  1. The topic is Under-the-Table Deals.
  2. For length, keep your poem greater than or equal to a haiku but less than Beowulf.
  3. Should you rhyme? Up to you this occasion.
  4. Most importantly, make it terrible. I want the back-alley agents of disreputable deals to turn themselves in, sobbing, just to get away from what you write.
  5. Keep it PG-rating or lower. You can do it.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (March 15, 2019) to submit a poem. Hey; it’s The Ides of March and my wedding anniversary. We just might make it to sixteen years.

If you are shy, use the form and I’ll get an e-mail. Leave me a comment saying that you did, so we cover our bases.

For a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments.

Also, please tell your friends. You can use your mouth, your phone, your blog; whatever. Let’s get the word out! The world needs more terrible poetry!

Have fun!

rosalind-chang-769222-unsplash

 

Photo credit:
Rosalind Chang

23 thoughts on “The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

  1. Under-the-Table Deal.

    Get up from under the table, dude!
    Said the guy whose shoes I was buying
    I haven’t got them on, right now, he said
    Though I think he was lying. See
    I was too quick to agree on the price
    he’d selected and once on my knees
    he rejected but I, quick as a flash,
    produced the cash and removing his
    shoes, stuck a rolled up note between his toes
    and the deal was completed and he was defeated,
    as were his shoes, no pun intended,
    for a fair price and money well spended.

    Liked by 4 people

  2. It happens in restaurants

    I suspect there’s a great deal more
    going on under that table over there
    than meets the eye.
    They not simply eating ice cream and blueberry pie.
    I bet they’re playing hanky-panky with their knees.
    I’ve a good mind to go over and whip the table cloth
    off
    to expose their chicanery for all to sees
    if you please.

    I think it only fair to surmise –
    and I wouldn’t be at all surprised –
    if before long they were both under the table smooching away,
    for every dog has its day.
    Next thing he’ll be feeding her custard
    with his own spoon. Shucks.
    What’s going on under that table over there is yuk.

    I hate going out to restaurants.
    My wife is such a flirt.

    Liked by 5 people

  3. A Poem So Terrible It Can’t Be Named

    Oh my, oh me
    I dearly have to pee.
    But alas, the Labrador fell asleep on me.
    So cute, so adorable, her face all wrinkled
    She lets out a stinky and my nose truly krinkles.
    Twenty minutes later, the air is fresh and new.
    My breathing and vitals back to normal, phew!
    “Dear,” I coo, wanting to get up.
    “Do you want a treat, my little duck?”
    Her amber eyes open and I’m up like a flash
    I nearly walk on water to the toilet in my dash.
    “Sorry, dear,” I call from the throne. “You’ll get a treat on the morrow–no interest on that loan.”

    Liked by 3 people

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  6. Deal

    Under the table
    blood drips onto the crackpots there under
    making a deal for blood-proof umbrella heirlooms
    with a star chart marking the space alien’s location

    Blood drips on the undercover policeman’s head.
    He says, “The poker deal is dead. I want hence
    grenades under an umbrella, and incense for ten cents.”

    But you have to bribe the dealer for a deal
    and the dealer was dead.

    The deal blew up in their faces, and
    they couldn’t save face with Adam Smith

    Liked by 3 people

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