The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Welcome to the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest #57!

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

Here are the specifics for this week:

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

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (February 7) to submit a poem.

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

If not, and for a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments. Let me know if your link doesn’t show up in the comments after a day.

Have fun!

wyron-a-n2PMAQxi-GM-unsplash

Photo credit: Wyron A

45 thoughts on “The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

  1. Pingback: Sometimes Love – The Abject Muse

  2. The Morning of My Love

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

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

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

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

    Liked by 7 people

  3. Pingback: The Prickly Pear – The Abject Muse

  4. Be still my swell-ed heart
    by Shake’s peer (aka Doug Jacquier)

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

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

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

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

    https://sixcrookedhighwaysblog.wordpress.com/2020/02/02/be-still-my-swell-ed-heart/

    Liked by 4 people

    • For those mystified by the word ‘quid’, this does not refer to a piece of chewing tobacco. It is English/Australian slang for a pound (the currency, not the repository of feckless dogs) and was the basis of the now fast disappearing Australian saying denoting positivity i.e. I wouldn’t be dead for quids. Australia converted to decimal dollars in 1966 and the English laggards converted in 1971 but kept the pound. Following Brexit, it is fully expected this change will be reversed.

      Liked by 1 person

  5. Pingback: Terrible Poetry Contest – Ruth Blogs Here

  6. Pingback: The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest – LOVE, LOVE, LOVE – Twenty Four

  7. The Green Love

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

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

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

    Liked by 5 people

  8. Pingback: Author: Terrible Poem About Love💚 – Peregrine Arc

  9. Pingback: Official Terrible Poetry Post: Garage – O4FS

  10. Pingback: How I Do Love Thee (Terrible Poetry) | Michaelsfishbowl

  11. Roll over Shakespeare

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

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

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

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

    Liked by 3 people

  12. Dear Bruce

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

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

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

    – Binky

    Liked by 4 people

  13. Pingback: My Take – The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest #57 – Ruth Scribbles

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

    Liked by 3 people

  15. Pingback: Terrible Poetry – A Dad trying to cope with the loss of his Partner and becoming a single parent.

  16. Pingback: Let Me Be Your Sponge Mop (Terrible Poetry Competition) – joanne the geek

  17. You asked for it: Let Me Be Your Sponge Mop

    Girl let me be your sponge mop

    just squeeze me and I’m ready to pop

    full of moist love for you

    I know you feel the same way too

    Let me be your sponge mop

    I’ll absorb your tears once they drop

    I know you often have to cry

    when you’re finished, just squeeze me dry

    So let me be your sponge mop

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

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

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

    Joanne Fisher

    Liked by 2 people

  18. My Beloved.

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

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

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

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

    Liked by 1 person

  19. Pingback: My Beloved. – Lucy's Works

  20. Pingback: Terrible love | paeansunpluggedblog

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