Love the World

Broken friendless lying dying, lifts a hand for

-anything-

Walking talking presses buttons, flashes past within her world.

Why stop living in the mirrors, in the spotlight;
save lying dying friendless one?


.sneaky unseen creeping coughing, enters silent crownèd killer.


Broken homebound lying sighing lifts her hand for

-anything-

Walking talking, in his sunshine, stops outside her locked front gate.

Why not wave at silent windows, in the sunshine;
save lying sighing homebound face?


Then or now, we all are people;

Now or then, we all need love.

-Look around-

and nourish others

Smile, wave, and love the world.

photo of a person leaning on wooden window

Photo by Dương Nhân on Pexels.com

©2020 Chelsea Owens

Wandered in for Carrot Ranch’s prompt:

May 7, 2020, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story to nourish. The characters can nourish or be nourished. What else can be nourished? A tree? A setting? Does the sunset nourish the soul? Go where the prompt leads!

Respond by May 12, 2020. Use the comment section …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.

How Much is That Love in the Window?

One inch of glass was all that stood between them. She’d measured, knuckling her finger and squinting with her face against the cold, cold window. Still, one inch between her and her Tomàs meant little.

Some days -well, nights, really- she’d leaned a sunken cheek against her side and felt those serious, warm lips from his side. Her weak heart fluttered.

“Come away, child,” they told her; dragged her.

Stretching, grasping; she used what little strength she could muster. To stay. To keep watching.

To keep loving Tomàs, the paper boy on the corner who never turned her way.

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©2020 Chelsea Owens

Coming from a sad place, for Carrot Ranch‘s prompt this week:

April 23, 2020, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about distance dating. It can be any genre, era, or setting. Who is dating, and why the distance? How do the characters overcome, accept, or break up because of the distance? Go where the prompt leads!

Respond by April 28, 2020. Use the comment section …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.

Politics and Idiots

After composing a beautifully-worded rant against the stupidity of humanity, I decided the world would benefit more from a picture of my baby boy.

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This is from shortly after he began smiling socially -about two months ago, I believe. In all the chaos outside our walls, he is my motivation to stay well and my reminder to be happy with who and what we have in life.

—————-

And here’s my writings from the past week:

Wednesday, April 1: Thought about where things are going in “Let’s Make Some Order in This Chaos.”

Friday, April 3: Winner of the Weekly Terribly Poetry Contest. Congratulations to Writerinretrospect!

Saturday, April 4: Announced the next Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest. The theme is a senryu about a small, innocuous animal. PLEASE ENTER!

And, an update on Coronavirus and life happenings ’round these parts.

Sunday, April 5: “How to Wake a Teenager,” in response to Carrot Ranch’s prompt.

Monday, April 6: An inspirational quote by LA, of “Waking Up on the Wrong Side of 50.”

Tuesday, April 7: “Going Postal, IV.” Poor Ron.

Wednesday, April 8: Today.

I also posted on my motherhood site. I probably ought to log in and check that sometime… Apparently, I wrote “This is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things.”

 

©2020 Chelsea Owens, including photo

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest 2/28/2020

My apologies, as usual, for the lateness of posting. As such, no more dallying.

The winner is:

Anniversary threnody

by Bruce Goodman

Today is our anniversary
And I’m just writing to say
I hate your guts.
No ifs or buts;
I hate your guts.
And God knows
You’ve plenty of guts –
Not courage but great wads of fat
Hanging over the top of your belt
Like a petrified tsunami
Brought about by eating too much pastrami.

We had known each other for almost two whole days,
And when you left
I was bereft.
That was a week ago today
And although me and me dog
Don’t want to flog
A dead horse, on the way out you should’ve known
That you were driving over my precious drone.

Congratulations, Bruce! You are (once again!) the most terrible poet of the week!

I had a good four or five poems I considered for the winner. They used different terrible elements, though all included a terrible subject. Bruce rose to first for his continued, annoying rhyming of “guts/buts/guts/guts” and his mis-metering overall.

If you’re looking for more love and nostalgia (and have issues), here are the rest:

Transcripts Used by the Defense at the Trial

by Trent P. McDonald

Happy Anni, my dear
Let’s celebrate and have a beer!
I know you like fine wine
But tonight a Bud is fine
I’ll even pay the fine since double-“A” says “No!”
That’s one club I think I’ll blow
I’m not off the wagon, dear one
I just want a little Anniversary fun!
Yeah, I know keeping me straight is your mission
Maybe I’ll just sneak some booze when I’m out fishin’
Didn’t I tell you about it?
The guys rented a boat and seven of us will fit!
Yeah, it’s later I’m going to catch some fishes
And you can stay home and wash all the dishes
Since I invite the gang over for lunch
Hurry and cook something for my bunch!
What’d you mean I’m leaving my paddle as I go up the creek
Since we’ve been married just a week?
You should dance and sing a song
I’ve never committed to anything quite this long!
So happy Anni, my wife
And just think, this is how it will be the rest of your life!!

—–

Love Puppies

by The Abject Muse

And they said it wouldn’t last.

Some days went so fast!

But others went so slow

I wanted to slit my throat.

All in all as time goes by

with lots of other fish to fry

and as I end another fling

I wonder what the next six will bring.

Perhaps we’ll fall deeper in love,

with lots of help from Up Above.

Or perhaps like Charles Bukowski penned

“Love is a Dog from Hell,” (Amen).

—–

Anniversary

by Bryntin

there have been many mrs bryntins
I think you are the fifth
but you’re the one that’s lasted best
and didn’t run off with the blacksmith
like the last three did
what he lacks in wit
he makes up for with width
but they only really run off with him
because he rhymed with fifth

anyway

we have made it to ten years
which for me is new frontiers
and I know for you
it is also new
so how have we lasted so well?
I don’t know, I must be hell
to live with
but you are largely
the woman of my dreams
you make great tea
and bring it with custard creams

do you remember
when you made me propose?
and due to mitigating circumstance
like the pain for example
I said yes
and asked you to marry me?
can’t believe that ten years
has passed without too many tears
of frustration so well really

we go together
like fish and chips
you all crinkly
and me battered
like strawberries and cream
you fat and full of calories
me fruity but likely macerated
like punch and judy
which also doesn’t work out for me that well

so happy anniversary my love
I know you’ll be expecting a present
so…
what do you mean it’s not till next month?

bugger

—–

Anniversaries

by Deb Whittam

It was love at first sight.
I knew you were for me.
The moment I tugged you on.
My heart expanded and I ceased to be
Without fear, without heartache,
You were so perfect, I could not
Believe. That I had chosen you,
And you were there for me.
We went everywhere together,
Up hills, down hills, onto the dirt.
Round the corners. In the rain, the wind,
The hail, the sunshine, the darkness ….
You were such a right fit, I felt
Like I was floating away but now as we
Reach our 3 month anniversary
We have begun to drift apart.
Seams are fraying, your soul is growing
Hard, you have lost your bounce and I
Am losing mine. So perhaps we should
Part? I will remember you always,
As Adrenaline 22/11/2019 – 429km
Buy Runners. I will love you always.

—–

A gem of a marriage

by Geoff LePard

We married young and liked our fun
As do healthy boys and girls
We stayed quite flirty at year thirty
Romping on a bed of pearls.

We didn’t brag cos we were glad
To bounce around like newbies
We’d kept it naughty at year forty
So we deserved those rubies.

Time has passed, we can’t be arsed
And faking it’s not clever.
Still the wife’s still frisky at year sixty
So these diamonds are for Eva.

—–

Perce P Cassidy and the Sunblock Kid

by Doug Jacquier

60 years they been ridin’ together
only these days they ride by rail,
Perce’s face like Nebuchadnezzar,
The Kid a whiter shade of pale.

Despite all that Hollywood drivel
These two are indefatigable
Although The Kid has developed a dribble
And Perce has a ring that’s inflatable.

Just when The Kid thought he’d forgotten
Perce flourished a diamond ring
It’s origins of course misbegotten
But The Kid always loved the bling.

Now don’t go round town flashin’
that ring, old Perce he roughly croaks
Folks might get the wrong idea, Kid,
That we’re not pure manly blokes.

The Kid smiled and said he’d ne’er tell
And closer to Perce he did scootch
And whispered into his ear-like shell
‘Oh, Perce, you were always so Butch.’

—–

Anniversary

by Joanne the Geek

I want you to really know right now
This day I’m going to make you go wow
Surprise! It is our anniversary today
We’ve been together for one whole day!

I treasure every moment I’m with you
And I really hope you feel the same way too
I just love following you around
Even when you seem to go to ground

I just can’t wait when we dine tonight
With your skin looking lovely and white
I love it so much I’d wear it myself
Or possibly leave it dangling from a shelf

Anyways, this night I have a big surprise in store
It will probably make you drop your jaw!
I’m going to ask you to marry me
Because I think we are truly meant to be

So please say yes because I don’t know what I’d do
Without you, say no you’ll really end up in the poo

—–

Cheers

by Peregrine Arc

Annually I greet thee
Laying among the leaves scattered on the ground
It’s almost winter here now, you would have liked it.
Frost in window corners, school buses making their rounds.
It’s too bad you smacked your lips one too many times at the dinner table
And belched Beethoven’s 5th at every chance you had.
Maybe I could’ve overlooked that and the many other troubling manners you possessed.
If only you had faster reflexes than I when I sat behind the wheel…

Ah, well, ’tis life.
Ten feet to you under ground, I toast my wine glass to you above.
A delightful pig lies here, sending up a treadmarked, contented burp.
I picked Merlot this year.
From me to you, cheers. 🐖

—–

Little willie

by Ruth Scribbles

Little willie got married
He always felt harried
He said to his wife
Just stab me with a knife

Sixty years later
He said to his mater
Why did you marry me
You could have had Larry

—–

An Awful Anniversary Assembly.

by Ellen Best

Sixty years, well here’s to it, I raise a glass; into it, I spit.
Jerk my head to call him near, passed his glass feigned a cheer.
He swallowed with greed; saliva and all. I curl my lip; soon he’ll fall.

A drunk, a bully full of hate; tonight, they will see his colours
spread out on the dinner plate. I served tripe and jellied eels.
This food, both banal and grey; like him, had seen a better day.

I smile at those around my cloth. His cronies and the hangers-on
those that doff their cap, those that think him a super chap.
“Please sit” I cry. Having previously dressed his tripe
with little crushed garlic to disguise the arsenic’s taste.
It was with finality he gorged in ungentlemanly haste.

—–

Thank you all, so much! These were a great lift at the end of a busy day. Please check in tomorrow for next week’s prompt.

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

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©2020 The poets, and their respective poems.

The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest 2/22 – 2/28/2020

Welcome to the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest #60! I can hardly believe we’ve lasted this long. There’ve been some rough patches, some thrown dishes, but I think we’ve reached a mutual affection along the way.

Although we’ve had a long relationship, you may wish for some instructions regarding bad poetry. A brief, helpful outline may be found here. Bad poetry is an art, much like sculpting with peanut butter or coloring with tomatoes.

Got it? Oh, well. Here are the specifics for this week:

  1. Apparently, the big six-oh means DIAMONDS. So, your Topic is anniversaries. You can write about #60, #80, or even #6 months -you romantic fool, you.
  2. Keep the Length between 5 and 205 words.
  3. Rhyming isn’t everything, but can help the cringe level of a poem.
  4. Geez, man; just make it terrible. Make your 80-years-strong sweetheart question the day she said, “I do,” even after 80.08333 years of putting up with you.
  5. This is about love and anniversaries, right? I’m therefore cool with a G-Rating. (You can be clever without being explicit. You’ve been at this 59 times, ya know…)

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (February 28) 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. If you link back from your blog, leave a comment if it doesn’t show up in a day.

Have fun!

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Photo credit: Adika Suhari

I Love Your Perfect Crow’s Feet

I love your perfect crow’s feet,
With crown-and-implant smile –
Your smooth-soled orthopedic tread;
Your pref’rence for ar-gyle.
I need my medications
When you commandeer your ‘chair,
When you wink behind trifocals,
When you comb remaining hair.
There’s something sweet and tender
About shouting, “What’d you say?”
Or asking for my keys, because
You put them “somewhere safe.”
I love a man who’s up all night;
Who naps by afternoon.
I’m crazy ’bout “that government”
And soft and mild food.
But, most of all, my dearest,
I really love the way
I never see the wrinkles ’cause
You haven’t aged a day.

 

©2020 Chelsea Owens

Love and Marriage and Practicality

There’s some sort of commercial event coming up this Friday. I’m not sure what’s it’s all about; judging by the stores, there’s a lot of red and pink and hearts involved. There’s also chocolate, which I can always get behind.

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Only try this if you want to crash.

From what I can gather, like with Christmas; if we spend enough money on presents, we love someone.

The facial expressions of the men shopping on V-Day tell me otherwise. Every year, I see an unusual number of men in end-of-day work shirts and khakis standing in line at the checkouts. All bear flowers, balloons, chocolates, or plush animals holding hearts. And all bear a resigned grimace.

Hopefully all that annoyance pays off for them later…

As for me and my husband, we’re practical. I have never demanded flowers, chocolates, and a romantic evening on February 14 (at least, not lately). I’ve not insisted Kevin spend a certain amount for an anniversary gift. I certainly do not expect a puppy on my birthday.

Most of that is because he wouldn’t do so without my asking, so I feel bad when he shows up with commercially-prompted merchandise. Such gestures make me feel like someone put him in a headlock and forced him to purchase roses.

Where’s the love in that?

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I hope her shoes are more sensible than her dress for hiking in the woods.

I trace our practicality back to our engagement. We were …young. We hadn’t much money. We went shopping for everything together, from our apartment to our kitchen table to our bedding. I watched our meager incomes disappearing into rent, food, car payments, school costs, utilities…

Then, we went ring shopping. This band with a bit of shiny rock cost an apartment for a year, while that band with a smaller shiny rock could buy us food for a month while this band with a very tiny rock was our car payment, due that Thursday. Metal and stone hardly seemed worth the price.

We had a small, simple wedding. We honeymooned a couple of hours North. And life resumed.

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Am I the only one who thinks she’s going to fall off -or be made into a vampire?

Our dates were World of Warcraft and Diablo II, at home. Our romantic getaways have been an overnight stay for anniversaries and two trips out-of-state in the last …never-you-mind-how-many years.

Perhaps if “exciting” weren’t synonymous with “expensive,” Kevin would get me a dozen roses and a cruise to The Bahamas. Perhaps if “impetuous” didn’t need to include the five children he values most in life, we’d dine on lobster and wine and make violent love on the evening of a cute holiday.

It’s true that our romantic life is a bit flat because I’m recovering from being a whale and being cut open to remove our adorable offspring and we’re already dealing with having four active fighting demanding mess-making boys…

but the romance won’t be because Wal-mart told us to.

It will be, quite practically, because we love each other.

What of you and yours? Do you observe the official holiday of Valentine? Does practicality trump spontaneity, or are you hopeless romantics?

—————-

This here’s what I wrote this week:

Wednesday, February 5: Talked about Approval Addiction in “Oh, No: It’s That Irritating Need to Please Everyone Again.”

Thursday, February 6: Throwback to my large feet in “Plus-Size Podiatry.”

Friday, February 7: Posted the winner of this week’s “Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest.” Congratulations to Doug and Joanne.

Plus, shared Esther’s story competition and book launch.

Plus plus, shared Susanna Leonard Hill’s Valentiny children’s story contest.

Saturday, February 8: Announced the 58th Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest. The theme is that awkward first poem to that awkward first crush. PLEASE ENTER!

Sunday, February 9: Wrote “Fred’s Best Friend” in response to Carrot Ranch’s prompt.

Monday, February 10: An inspirational quote from Rethinking Scripture.

Tuesday, February 11: People-watched and came up with “2 Short Stories.”

Later, haiku’d “Winter Haiku (Snow).”

Wednesday, February 12: This post.

And “Need Help? Go On and Ask for It” over at The Bipolar Blog.

—–

Wrote some at my motherhood blog, like “Unintentional One-Armed Typing.”

©2020 Chelsea Owens

Photo Credit: Everton Vila
Scott Broome
Cristian Newman

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

How do I love thee? I don’t think you want to know… What you will want to know is whom to avoid this V-Day when considering requesting a sonnet.

For, this week’s winners of the most terrible poetry are:

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?”

–and–

Let Me Be Your Sponge Mop

by Joanne the Geek

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

—–

Congratulations, Doug and Joanne! You are the most terrible poets of the week!

The rest of the contestants, save one that is too sweet to be terrible, were so very very close to all being named winners. Yes, I’ve chickened out and done that before. I finally decided to give Doug’s poem the recognition it deserves; not only did he sonnet, but he took it to the form and the language. Joanne -well… Joanne, that was too terrible to ignore.

I laughed and laughed and cringed at the rest. Read, and enjoy:

Sometimes Love

by Abject Muse

Sometimes…

Love is like a dirty sock.

You smell it a mile away

stealthily hiding beneath a rock.

But you turn it over anyway

to find bugs and maggots crawling ’round

but you don’t mind the stinky bouquet

because it’s love you finally found.

Other times…

Love is like a thug

jumping on you in the dark

beating the crap out of your heart

and leaves you smiling in a pool of blood.

Wondering what will happen next?

You get a nasty screw-you text.

And Then Sometimes…

Love can feel just right

until the day you realize

you were blinded by the phony light

of truths turned into stinking lies.

You feel foolish and oh, so dumb!

And then your heart fades to numb.

—–

Demented Love

by Deb Whittam

I love you like a bee loves beer
I love you like red wine loves white carpet
I love you in so many ways
Even when you have the audacity to sneer.
I love you like a wedding and diarrhea
I love you like two years old and hearing aids
I love you in so many ways
Though I may seem obsessive I swear there’s nothing to fear.
Ok yes I strangled a wife back long ago
But she was not what she seemed
And yes I pushed one off a cliff
But she just wouldn’t stop with the cheer
And anyway it is you I love now
So bite back those tears
Of joy and come here
I ran this bath just for you my dear.

—–

The Morning of My Love

by Trent McDonald

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

—–

The Prickly Pear

by The Abject Muse

My love is like a prickly pear

Stuck inside my underwear

Its bittersweet pain reminds me

this love was not meant to be.

Yet on we go, the sting ignored

until we both got really bored.

And so one day, we parted ways

in spite of sometimes happy days.

As for that old prickly pear,

It’s no longer in my underwear.

That nasty sting forever gone

just like my love, forever wrong.

—–

Sweet Ambivalence…

by Ruth

I love milk chocolate, smooth and creamy thick

Could eat a houseful, yummy brick by brick

Till gorged by cocoa, melty-warm and slick

Pure liquefied indulgence makes me sick…

—–

The Green Love

by Peregrine Arc

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.

—–

warm garage

by Bryntin

my ears assailed, your comments so cruel
in my head I can question my own name
its not the satnav who you overrule
you get jealous of the voice they call jane
and so you may explore the world my love
bravely taking strange roads in our motor
me never knowing the heading, sort of
to the sounds of my poetry quota
for you I recite some favourite keats
or try some sonnets from the bard shakespeare
let it travel, sent with love twixt the seats
if it deters you from slapping my ear
we smile, home, I dare not to sabotage
car, at last, nice and warm in the garage

—–

How Do I Love Thee

by Michael Fishman

Do I love thee, you really want to know?
Like those idyllic, serene summer days,
when I see your face I begin to glow,
for in truth your face looks like mayonnaise.
As I stare deeply at your sleeping eyes
I wonder just what the hell I’m doing.
I think about my friends, those lucky guys
and wonder if another wife I shouldn’t be pursuing.

I can’t write you a sonnet. I can’t even kiss you. Specifically speaking: no serenely stormy split second spit-sticking smack on the shoulder. Nay, you naughty nonsignificant, knotty-nosed, norepinephrine-needing nudnik. Never no nibbles upon thine neck.

Forsooth (for anyone if soothe isn’t available) free me from this foul fraudulence.

Alas, you stir and turn your black orbs, dripping with eye boogers and brimming with heated demonic lust to mine. Those haunted eyes that lured me to seemingly eternal wedded

bliss.

You part your pulpy lips, an invitation to one innocent sensual deep kiss
as sweet as molasses
Lost, I ignored what was amiss
and I find myself once again in . . .

. . . an abyss.

We part.
You smile.
I smile.

Your morning breath –
– ugh . . .

Good morning, my love.
Happy Valentine’s Day, my treasure.
Sleep well?
(No, not next to you) Next to you is there any other way?
My prince.
How I do love thee…

###

Note: this is not based on a true story.

—–

Roll over Shakespeare

by Bruce Goodman

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.

—–

Dear Bruce

by Nitin

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

—–

Love is Unattainable

by Ruth Scribbles

Roses are red
The pain in my head
Makes me giddy
Chocolate can’t compete
My stomach is churning with butterflies
I love you to the toilet and back

Will you be mine?

—–

Untitled piece

by Gary

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.

—–

My Beloved

by Lucy

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.

—–

Terrible Love

by Punam

My beloved, I curse the day I said yes to you,
It was my prerogative, no doubt
It could have been sooner my beau
I so fell in love with your pout!

I am sick and tired of your explosive anger
Your wearisome stubbornness and defiance
To your alien ways I am no foreigner
Honey, what would I be without this alliance!

How do you think we will manage with your income meagre
Your stupid scruples you follow inexcusably
My love, to sacrifice for you I am always eager
I love how you still acquit yourself admirably!

You are the inspiration for this third class verse,
My love for you colours my vision for better or worse!

—–

If I could only tell you

by Ivy

I wait for the night to hear your voice,
every day to see your face.
Your charm’s got a hold on me,
even when you are not around.

Your voice makes me feel you right next to me.
You make the distance seem an arm’s length away.
I may not tell you how I feel,
Fear of losing you has weighed in on my fragile mind.

I’m a coward to my feelings,
Alone wandering in my thoughts of you.
My mind knows you more than my lips,
The tip of my pen more than my words.

My thoughts run rampant on you.
They halt on interventions.
They halt when my mind gets busy.
My mind stays stagnant at your smile.

My heart would want you nearby.
Only to love you,
Only to take care of you,
Never to leave you.

If I could only tell you,
How much you colored my world.
How much you made for long for you
How much I’d dream of falling into your arms

—–

Thank you all for the painful laughs! Come back tomorrow around 10 a.m. MST for next week’s topic.

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

Yes, Doug, I’m working on a new graphic. Still.

 

©2020 The poets and their respective poems

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!

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Photo credit: Wyron A