The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Good morning (for me) and welcome to the 32nd Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest!

Most of the time, I suggest you follow the advice I give in my how-to. This is because I normally seek clichés, mis-meters, and overly rhyming.

This week, however, use the following specifications:

  1. The Topic is to write a Little Willie poem. The name comes from a way of writing poetry that was popular in the early 1900s.
    From A Treasury of Laughter*:
    “Every paper began to print ‘ruthless rhymes,’ and every contributor tried to invent a catastrophe more gory in event and more nonchalant in effect than its predecessor. The favorite ‘hero’ was Willie, and although other characters sometimes crept into the quatrains, the terse lines became known as ‘Little Willies.'”
    I included three of the tamest examples at the end of this post.
  2. The Length is about four lines, a quatrain. Some were written as limericks or a double quatrain; but most were short, clever, and darkly humorous.
  3. Rhyming is imperative. These poems usually follow an A/A/B/B pattern.
  4. As I said, this week the poems are terrible because of their message. I expect darker tones, questionable humor, and stretches into creative venues writers never knew they had. If you’re sensitive, stay away. If you’re twisted, come on in.
  5. One might be tempted to up the Rating, but this is the sort of clever writing that makes readers uncomfortable but stays in the PG range.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (July 5) to submit a poem.

Use the form below if you want to be anonymous for a week.

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

Have fun!

 

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Willie fell down the elevator —
Wasn’t found till six days later.
Then the neighbors sniffed, “Gee whizz!
What a spoiled child Willie is!”

Little Willie from the mirror
Sucked the mercury all off,
Thinking, in his childish error,
It would cure the whooping cough.
At the funeral his mother,
Weeping, said to Mrs. Brown:
” ‘Twas a chilly day for Willie
When the mercury went down!”

Little Willie;
Pair of skates;
Hole in the ice;
Golden gates.

 

*Quote and poem examples taken from A Treasury of Laughter, Simon and Schuster, New York, ©1946

Photo credit:
Image by Robert Fotograf from Pixabay

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Sorry to keep everyone in suspense all day. It’s been a busy week!

The winner this week is Bereaved Single Dad.

Untitled piece

by Bereaved Single Dad

The US wants to build a really big wall
It’s to keep bad folk out maybe like Darth Maul
Paris is a beautiful place full of Yellow Vests
A great city to visit especially if you like protests
Canada seemed to have a charismatic leader
Now he seems tainted to the lay reader
The UK is run by a bunch of useless buffoons
Soon to become no more than Trumps spittoon
Clearly we are being failed by our politicians
Yet our rodents have untapped political ambitions
They want to address Climate Change
Rodents want positive action not wasting time on the golf range
They are not happy with our leaders looking after the rich only
Rodents will favour the poor and make sure the rich feel very lonely
They see that nationalism has disastrous consequences
Rodents will build bridges not really big fences
Politicians like to feed on your souls
Rodents like to munch on your toilet rolls
The ruling elite need to tremble
As its time for the Gerbils to Assemble

Congratulations, Bereaved Single Dad! You are the most terrible poet of the week!

As with every week (but a few) so far, I had a difficult time picking just one favorite. I read all the entries three times in differing orders, tilted my head for differing angles, and even tried reading aloud in differing accents.* Bereaved’s poem won for rhyming terrible rhymes every line, referencing politicians and various rodents, and having a generally roundabout point that somewhat resolved (in theory, perhaps) by the end.

Overall, I thought it the best. The rest, of course, will be appointed to various cabinet positions:

This rat’s opinion on political policies

by Bruce Goodman

The Desert Fathers – those ancient monks –
spent years trying to debunk
the notion that in order not to sin
one must have an opinion about everythin’.

They spent years purifying their hearts from worldly gain
so on most things had no opin-ian.
These days it’s easier (people scoff)
but I simply turn the TV off.

—–

Untitled piece

by Bladud Fleas

Squeak up!, little mouse
for your opinions matter
unless I disagree with ‘em
and call in The Ratter.

You want perfectly semicircular holes
put along the wall
at the bottom
and cheesy triangles, (more holes),
on traps if I got ‘em
but only ones activated by tomcats’ tails!
for once, you’re singing my song
little mouse, we’re going to get along.

—–

Untitled piece

by Deb Whittam

No more cheese, for those
Who don’t earn their keep,
Do as I say while I sit here and eat.
Objections, just wait a mo,
I need to consume this camembert
Then I’ll do as I please

Yes taxes are a part of life
What you don’t like my new kitty ride
So just scram or I’ll set the pussies free.

What? This isn’t a dictatorship,
Throw him in that mouse trap
I won’t listen to his claptrap

I’m the President now
All the cheese is mine I say,
Hey don’t overthrow, it’s just a play.

—–

Hamster Hamster

by Joanne the Geek

Hamster Hamster
What’s your political opinion?
Hamster Hamster
Do you want to run for office?
Hamster Hamster
Do you want everyone to be your minion?
Hamster Hamster
Or at this game are you a novice?

Hamster Hamster
Are you a socialist?
Hamster Hamster
Maybe you’re a conservative?
Hamster Hamster
Though you’re probably a fascist
Hamster Hamster
Big fascist hamster with no relative

Hamster Hamster
Are you going to put us all in concentration camps?
Hamster Hamster
Are you going to close all the borders?
Hamster Hamster
Are you going to make us just use lamps?
Hamster Hamster
Or are we all going to become hoarders?

Hamster Hamster
Are you going to make us build you a giant hamster wheel?
Hamster Hamster
Or maybe we will toil in factories making you hamster treats
Hamster Hamster
Is your running mate going to be a big grey seal?
Hamster Hamster
Or maybe we will all be unemployed wandering the streets

Hamster Hamster
There in your little hamster cage
Hamster Hamster
I’m not sure I ever want to let you out
Hamster Hamster
What you might do to us is hard to gauge
Hamster Hamster
So just sit there and pout

—–

You Dirty…

by Michael B. Fishman

Mrs. Rat said to Mr. Rat: “Why aren’t you watching TV?”

Mr. Rat threw down his hunk of cheese and said: “Because I’m a rat and you’re a rat and everyone on TV is a rat.”

“But…?”

“But we’re good rats and they’re BAD and MEAN and ARROGANT and SELFISH rats. They’re NOGOODNIK rats!”

“You mean?” asked Mrs. Rat.

“Yes. Politicians. All of ’em. He’s a rat…” Mr. Rat said.

“She’s a rat…” Mrs. Rat answered.

“HERE A RAT…” Mr. Rat yelled.

“THERE A RAT…” Mrs. Rat yelled.

And in unison they said: “Everywhere a RAT, RAT” and ended with a two part harmony of, “And there’s no raaat in Democraaat and keep on eye, yes an eye, on the Mobocraaats.

Mr. and Mrs. Rat laughed and Mrs. Rat bent over and picked up her husband’s discarded piece of cheese and started to hand it back to her mollified husband but started nibbling it instead, dreamily thinking of a nice dollop of peanut butter on top of that chunk of cheddar. “Well,” she said. “Now I know why you turned off the TV.” She swallowed the cheese and said, “Hey, I feel better after our little duet.”

“I do, too.” Mr. Rat said as he eyed the piece of cheese clutched in her delicate and attractive hands. Suddenly he lost sight of the cheese as he focused on her long and well-groomed nails.

“What do you want to do now?” Mrs. Rat asked provocatively.

Still eyeing Mrs. Rat’s finely-boned hands and sensing her receptivity, Mr. Rat felt his vibrissae quiver and stiffen. He didn’t know if he could afford another dozen babies, especially after last month’s litter, but he didn’t really know if he cared. He’d think about that tomorrow. After all, he thought, tomorrow is another day. “Uh, I don’t know,” Mr. Rat answered. “How about you?”

—–

Untitled piece

by Nitin

I’m a fascist rodent in a moderate country
I stand as strong as the sentry
I believe what I believe because I believe what I believe and what I believe is believing in belief:
Belief that liberal hamsters will take their cheese someplace else
Belief that secularism will die! Die! Die
Belief that we’re comin for ya. Yeah, we comin for you little weakminded hamsters

—–

The Philosophical Differences In The American And German Approaches To Trade Policy (Rattus Rattus Version)

by Geoff LePard

Angela Merkel

The German gerbil

Dominated the world’s Rathaus.

She cleaned her whiskers

And bled her blisters

Caused by her love of Strauss.

Come on you chump

I’ll lead with trumps

Said the toe tapping rodent.

I find it’s the best

Way to road test

Which policies are the most potent.

If you only knew,

Said the pinched face shrew

Who pitched a wicked idea,

What the world really thought

About a rat without

A sausage and gassy beer.

The orange hued hamsta

More goon than gansta

Scoffed when told of her plans.

Sat on his white sofa

He fondled his gopher

And declared her ideas to be pants.

Just build a wall

To keep out them all

He declared with zero decorum

My ideas are a killer,

He addressed the chinchilla

Who chaired the NAFTA trade forum.

We’ll go it alone

He began to intone

And not plan but shoot from the hip

And we’ll play the white hat

And use a fat cat

To drive you rats from the ship.

—–

A Rodent Counteremployment

by Peregrine Arc

Hear hear, come to order and mind ye
That when we bang this here gavel we remind thee
That we did not cause the Black Plague, by any means!
‘Twas the fleas on my great Uncle Lou
who first carried the scourge to youse.
‘Twas none of our doin’.

And now onto Matter, Agenda Item, five hundred and forty three
We’ve saved a lot of your sorry behinds from death, haven’t we?
Being tested and prodded, killed and experimented
We’ve saved more lives than 911, you scurvy peasant.

And now, let’s see what the humans are after
Dear me, a wall, pollution, and clear disregard of natural disaster
A debt over a trillion; why when I last checked it was billions
And now they want, wait that can’t be true–surely they care about children more than who’s whom?
Disregard, disregard, onto House Bill Eleventy-Seven

All those in favor of banishing cats and birds alike–say aye!

—–

Crab Pot

by Violet Lentz

They call him Crabby Appleton
Tho’ his given name is Gerard
He holds no degree
from any university
He came up fast and hard.

Born just a common sewer rat
He learned at quite a young age
that slipping through cracks
and dealing out wacks
meant spending some time in ‘the cage’.

“There’s got to be a better way!”
He’d exclaimed to his man, Hench
upon his last release
for the quick cut and fleece
of some love birds on a park bench.

On a lark he decided on cracking a book
A thick one, filled chuck full of laws
twas there that he learned
a guy wouldn’t get burned
if he had him a slick set of jaws.

He caught a ride, straight out of the street
and into the house on the hill
by catching some wind
that a senator’d sinned
By messing round with some Judges, Jill.

From there the sky was the limit
as he had made all the proper connects
he won every election
as the only selection
For public servants who value their necks.

So, Vote for Crabby Appleton
Throw in with the self-saving lot
he smiles and he waves
an’ sends men to their graves
as he scales the electoral crab pot.

—–

Make Rats Great Again

by Michael of Morpethroad

The rat’s attack on the opposition was frightening,

He stood upon his soapbox

Promising everything to everyone.

The mice gathered at his feet

Stood aghast with disgust

‘The guys a liar,’ they whispered to each other.

Long the rat regaled them with what was wrong in society

The poor deserved to be poor,

The rich were deserving as they made the poor

Work tirelessly for them.

The mice muttered the rat must be insane

They wanted to shout their repugnance

Boo his policies

When to their left a chorus of cheers broke out

The rat had supporters,

Mice with banners, flags and a voice,

They cheered on the rat

They wore small caps with Make Rats Great Again

The mice looked at each other

Wondered what they might do.

The Rat smiled a malignant smirk

Nodded his head, urging his followers on.

—–

Rodents

by Ruth Scribbles

Rodents in the White House

Eating our cheese

Time to exterminate

Hurry…. please

—–

Thank you for entering! Come back around 10 a.m. MST for next week’s prompt.

my-name-57442-unsplash

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

 

*I did not read any of the poems aloud. I have small children. The accent-reading happened in my head.**

**Don’t ask.

Where the Wild Things Were

This is one of the most fantastic pieces I’ve ever read.

Lunch Break Fiction

I walk towards the exit, beneath the Homecoming decorations. Shoulders crash into me, feet tripping my steps. They call me ugly. Gross. A freak.

On good days I’m ignored by the monsters. By teachers, by girls, hopefully by Tate Spiller. In the locker room, I dodge spitballs and wads of toilet paper thrown at my back. Then I go outside, walk the track and wait for the whistle.

I want to go back. To sail for weeks and through a day. To leave this forsaken place, where they are all the same. The same wicked smiles and the same stupid faces. The world all around is the same.

The things warned me not to leave. And I should have listened. I told them to be still and they stilled. They were frightened, rapt with wonder. I should have stayed and been a great king. In the wild I was a…

View original post 472 more words

Have You Any Guilty Pleasures?

I find guilty pleasures amusing.

Yes, I know those secret sins could involve someone with a very serious addiction, ruining his life behind the back alley of the strip club while his family suffers starvation at home. Obviously I do not find that situation funny.

What I do snicker about is the idea that a person sneaks around for a mild pleasure. You know, something like “Encounter in the Alley,” a story I wrote based off Stephen’s prompt last August.

All right; I may be alone in this.

But humorous or not, guilty pleasures are indulgences we can understand. Maybe we can even relate to them because we have a few of our own…

I have. Most of mine involve food. Like, that one time I purchased a char-grilled hamburger and french fries for just myself and enjoyed every dip of fry sauce while the kids were in school. Or the night I ran to the store for groceries and treated myself to a Reese’s Sticks candy bar. Or when I recently added a $1 frozen pizza to our groceries whilst on bed rest and savored all the crispy badness.

The non-food indulgences are still related to being alone: reading the last dregs of a novel in the closet, writing a blog post in the safety of my car, or snickering quietly over a clever quip I read online.

By myself. Just me. Alone.

So, maybe that’s the secret. Maybe a guilty pleasure is one we feel we ought not to enjoy but do, and therefore indulge in when others are not around to judge.

What do you think? Have you any guilty pleasures or know others who do? Besides the …more disgusting ones, are you willing to share?

thomas-kelley-j5DeBxBUwHw-unsplash.jpg

—————-

I’m about 16 days behind on reading all my favorite bloggers and have 10 extra house guests this week, but here’s what I accomplished so far:

Wednesday, June 19: Wondered: “Are Food Cravings Always Specific?

Thursday, June 20: Entered Anisha’s raw poetry contest.

Friday, June 21: Winner of the Weekly Terribly Poetry Contest. Congratulations to Nitin!

Saturday, June 22: Announced the 31st Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest. The theme is the political views of rodents. PLEASE ENTER!

Celebrated the second birthday of this here blog!

Sunday, June 23: “Adult Swim,” in response to Carrot Ranch’s prompt.

Monday, June 24: Shared a quote I read over at C.S. Boyack‘s site about blogging compared to writing a book.

Tuesday, June 25: Nothing.

And, posted “How to Break the Cycle of Abuse Within Your Own Mind” over at The Bipolar Writer Collaborative Mental Health Blog.

Wednesday, June 26: Today.

I also sort-of posted all this week at my motherhood site. I wrote “No One Likes the Dentist, But Some Kids Have Special Needs,” “Where Do We Sleep on a Road Trip with Kids??,” and “The Most Loving Sight.”

 

Photo Credit:
Thomas Kelley

 

©2019 Chelsea Owens

“Your blog is like lounging around the house and watching TV, maybe picking up some sticks in the yard. It’s you, and you have a casual vibe going on. A book is like going out for a big evening. You want your hair, nails, and makeup right. Maybe you spring for a new dress, which is like your cover art.

“You may not like the work that goes into it, but you’re going to like the reception when you finally get to the party.”

-C.S. Boyack, “So it begins

Adult Swim

“I can’t stand no longer,” I tell Mama, but she gives me That Look; so I wobble and watch the grown-ups flop around slowly like old, fat whales-

“Maahm,” I start. Now Janie shoots me The Look an’ it’s just like Mama’s -but I can tell that Janie wants ’em to hurry jus’ as much as me, ’cause up she goes on her toes then back down.

The whole line of us kids is bobbing and dancin’ -I think maybe the lifeguard sees; for, jus’ when I know we’re gonna jump, we fin’lly hear the whistle.

An’ we run.

beach-children-enjoyment-870170.jpg

Finally delivered for Carrot Ranch‘s writing prompt this week.

June 20, 2019, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about having to wait. Who is waiting and what for? Think about how the wait impacts the character or the story. Go where the prompt leads!

Respond by June 25, 2019. Use the comment section below to share, read, and be social. You may leave a link, pingback, or story in the comments. If you want to be published in the weekly collection, please use the form.  Rules & Guidelines.

 

Photo Credit:
Photo by Marc Richards from Pexels

 

©2019 Chelsea Owens

Happy Second Blogiversary!

I’d like to interrupt everyone’s regularly-scheduled program to acknowledge my blog’s second birthday. It’s growing up so fast!

2 Years Blogging

Two years ago; I timidly typed, edited, edited, edited, edited, and edited my first blog post. The idea behind it came from a dream. I stressed so much about what people would think and how many awards I would garner from its publication…

I also set a goal to publish a blog post every day. To get myself going, I re-posted thoughts and stories I’d originally written for Facebook.

After a few months, I broke out and started swimming on my own. Everything I type is original and formed solely for the blog these days. If not, I note otherwise.

I’d like to thank Charli of Carrot Ranch, Geoff of TanGental, James of The Bipolar Writer Collaborative Mental Health Blog, Stephen and Fionnuala of Fractured Faith Blog, Nitin of Fighting the Dying Light, P’Arc of Peregrine Arc, and Frank of Frank Prem Poetry for giving me opportunities to share my writings to their sites. You helped me feel my creations might be valuable.

I would also be remiss in not acknowledging all of the friends and fellow writers I have made since beginning. You know who you are, especially since I know I’d miss specifically naming a few due to Pregnancy Brain. Thank you for e-mails, complimentary messages, sarcastic comments, and camaraderie.

And (unless I forgot anyone else), thank you to my real-life friends who actually read what I write and don’t shun me publicly. You’re the best.

The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Hello poets, and welcome to the 31st Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest!

Read the basic how-to about what we do around here if you’re confused. If you don’t want to click a link and read an outline, that’s cool. You can also stay up all night and write whatever comes out before drinking coffee.

Besides that, here are the specifics for this week:

  1. Just to be inclusive, the Topic is small rodents’ opinions on political policies.
    I am a moderate and do not approve of anyone shaming, judging, hating, or blaming others for their views; but the politicians themselves are free game.
  2. Don’t filibuster for too long. Keep the Length to 200 words or fewer.
  3. Rhyme if it makes your constituents happy. Or, just promise to.
  4. Most importantly: Make it terrible. In fact, make “Make it terrible” your slogan. Slap “Make it terrible” stickers on babies and kiss their sweet mothers for the camera.
  5. I realize this sort of thing can raise some blood pressures, so keep your poem PG or cleaner. After all, in rodent politics they don’t actually want fur to fly.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (June 28) to submit a poem.

Use the form below if you want to be anonymous for a week.

For a more social experience that’s high in vitamins and minerals*, include your poem or a link to it in the comments.

Have fun!

my-name-57442-unsplash.jpg

Photo credit:
My Name

*The Terrible Poetry Contest is not actually high in vitamins and minerals.

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

I have never been so irritated in my life, except for the time I had to sit very still during nerve surgery at the dentist. Good work, poets.

As is the case every week, however, only one may be crowned the victor. This week that winner is: Nitin.

Untitled piece

by Nitin

This is the thirtieth time I’mma say this,
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,

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

I don’t know whose idea it was to take one of my least favorite things and have everyone poem about it, but that person needs to be fired. These poems were so difficult for me to get through. Just when I thought things couldn’t be more tortuous, I rescued a lone poem from my Spam folder. It may have been marked as such because the poet repeated the same message thirty times.

Thirty times!!!

Way to take the theme, wipe it all over the walls, and smash it into the judge’s face, Nitin.

And, to the rest of you, I award a tie for second place. You are all terrible:

To celebrate Number 30 or 5

by Bruce Goodman

To celebrate Number Thirty
I thought I’d write something dirty
but thirty’s not my favourite number
so I’m going for something humbler.
How about choosing Number Six?
It’s got an eS, it’s got an eX.
It almost seems to rhyme with flex
especially if you pronounce flecks like flicks
but I’m not an Australian.

And so I’m choosing Number Four
as in fourward and four goodness sake
and befour and God foursake-
en. Oh blow it! I’m going back to Number Thirty,
all other numbers make me waffle
which is offal.

So here, to Ms Chelsea, I present 30 roses
in a poesie
to congratulate on Number Five well on the way
that happiness and joy will be every day
and in a Million ways not just Thirty
which is flirty
and dirty
and shirty.
Five would be the number I would deign
to use if I had to start this poem again.

—–

2, By Juan Two

by Jon

Two knew there were only two.
Two who were. Two we rue.
Too much to do to those two;
Clearly too few, this we knew.
Two steps forward, back one plus two.

Deux you have to be too rude?
Maybe, nearly, twice as crude.
Twirly, twirly, twain tutu.
Two against two others skewed
Dos into moral turpitude

Two times kitty, kitty too.
Twice meowing, two mew, mew
Two too many. Many twos…
Two times two I bid you…
Adieu, Adieu! Adieu, Adieu!

—–

One One

by Deb Whittam

One wondered how one one the day
When it wasn’t there to be one anyway
One thought one might be confused
One often is to tell the truth
One then scratched one’s head and looked around
One wondered if one should hide underground
But one had one so one must confess
What one had one was anyone’s guess

—–

Furor over four

by Trent McDonald

Don’t think I’m a bore
To sing the praises of number four
For four is at the forefront of my forward fortress
Forever my numerical mistress
Ah four! Fortune smiles on four!
Sure, there’s four horsemen of the apocalypses
But does four graves make a necropolises?
Forget it, just sing praises for four!
Two squared is four!
Two plus two is four!
Two times two is four!
Two times two times two minus two minus two is four!
See, four ways to make four from two!
And the last had four twos for four!
Forever fortunate in math, four!
How do I love thee, four?
Let me count the ways!
One, two, three, four!
OK, no more
About four
The number
I adore
Four

—–

Untitled piece

by Bereaved Single Dad

Two years for Brexit
Two years and still no exit
Two Prime Minister candidates left
Two Blokes from the right
Two Privileged Backgrounds
Two supporters of hunting with Foxhounds
Two so called men of the people
Two big personalities who loath the townspeople
Two prize A buffoons
Two politicians so easy to lampoon
Two conservatives who love the tycoon
Two elitists who exist for the silver spoon
Two visions which only bring despair and gloom
Two numpties living in a policy vacuum
Two muppets who are so out of tune
Sadly one to be PM in June.

—–

🐜 The Irritated Ant 🐜

by Ruth Scribbles

There once was an ant named Pyzant
Who loved to sing loathsome pop songs
His family hated those cheesy peezy bongs
Sounding like thunder and marching ants
Did you know ants march?
One by one and never done
Ants are not sluggards
They are drunkards
And they keep singing
“The ants go marching five by two”
And they never ever tie their shoes
So irritating. Now I can’t get that out-
Of my head
And it’s time for bed

Zzzzzzzz

—–

Euler’s Number

by Magicquill17

E equals mc-squared,
Oh wait, fudge, it’s a poem about a number and not a physical quantity
So actually e equals 2.718281828459045
And on and on and on and on…
Until the end of time and space
If they have an end, that is.

So what’s the big deal about this e?
See, e raised to x is a very special function
Called the exponential function
But that’s not what’s special about that, no
(Though that could be, at least annoying if not special
Because in childhood they taught us that exponent is just repeated multiplication of a number by itself
Like 2^3 is 2×2×2
Which equals 8, by the way
(Not that it’s relevant)
And you would think that exponential function is x raised to some number
But no dear, oh no,
Exponential function is e raised to x
Annoying, ain’t it?
I know, I hate Maths too)

So the special thing is that the derivative
Of e^x is e^x itself
And so is the integral
(The slope of the function
Is the function itself
And the area under the function
Is the function itself)
Ain’t that clever? Ain’t that amazing?
Look me in the eye and tell me
That that’s not the most beautiful thing ever.
(I know you can’t because I’m behind a screen
Hehehe)

So yeah, e^x is also the inverse of log
Not the log burnt to cook food in primitive times, silly
The logarithm, logx to the base something
Usually- yes- e
Which is 2.718281828459045
Which is asking the question, to what power
Must I raise e
To get x?
See, Maths can be philosophical too.

So e, 2.718281828459045,
Is a very useful number
Because it makes calculations simpler
And that’s counterintuitive
Because you wouldn’t expect such a complicated number
To make things anything but difficult,
But trust me on that,
Because even though you probably don’t
Use it in real life,
I’m a science student.

So e, 2.718281828459045
Is hidden in nature
In spirals of shells, and butterfly wings
And other things people say to
Make themselves sound smart
Amd observant
When really they’ve just googled
‘Number e in nature’
To show it off to friends.
And so did I.
(Such candor.).
Honesty is the best policy,
Or should I say, polic- e?
Not the police that pulls you over for overspeeding, silly,
Policy, polic- e, get it?
I’ll just e myself out.

—–

Thanks again for playing, and come back tomorrow.

johannes-w-249542-unsplash

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

Release, Renew, Rebirth

The dancing, licking, crackling flames grew ever higher in the charred witches’ pot; convincing her they would writhe and rise above the rim.

And yet, they did not.

To a mirrored dance within her fascinated gaze, the fire merely danced and licked and crackled ’round its assigned artifact: the last human’s heart.

Yes, she breathed.

Hardly blinking, she and shifting wall shadows watched the smoky Samba churn and char the once-beating organ to a new and better form.

Gasping at the fresh-forged heat, she reached in to eagerly release her new heart.

maxim-tajer-1174592-unsplash

Mixed and forged for Girlie on the Edge‘s Six Sentence Story.

 

Photo Credit:
Maxim Tajer

 

©2019 Chelsea Owens