Halloween Poetry Contest: Hosted by Writer’s Treasure Chest

Aurora Jean Alexander of Writer’s Treasure Chest is hosting her 5th Annual Halloween Poetry Contest.

According to her:

Every author and poet are invited to participate and deliver a “Halloween-Poem” to my email address: aurorajean.alexander@aol.com, together with their picture and a link to their website and/or blog.

There are a few rules to follow:

  • Your poem needs a Halloween theme.
  • Your poem needs a minimum of 99 words.
  • Your poem has to be delivered to my email address between October 10 and Halloween, October 31, 2019, at 9 pm Pacific Time.
  • Your poem has to be delivered together with your picture and a link to your blog/page.
  • Please avoid violence, bad language, and sexual content within the poems. It would be disqualified.

Every poem that meets the rules and is delivered within the deadline will be published here on “Writer’s Treasure Chest” together with the provided picture and link.

The contest starts October 10, 2019 06.00 am and ends October 31, 2019 09.00 pm Pacific Time!!

—–

Brew something special and submit it within the 3 weeks she’s allowed!

The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Welcome to the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest #47!

Are you confused about how to terribly poem? I’ve got you covered with a basic overview, here. Mostly, I seek the complete destruction of a poem’s construction over the revulsion of the subject.

Here are the specifics:

  1. At the excellent suggestion of Deb Whittam, our Topic is fractured nursery rhymes. Since I’ve done this category before, the rule is that you must take an existing nursery rhyme as your base.
    Mess up Mary’s lamb. Make Jack and Jill lose their heads; literally. Turn Little Jack Horner’s plum into a shark.
  2. The Length is determined by the rhyme you choose. No, you needn’t do every stanza of “Old Mother Hubbard.” It’s up to you.
  3. In terms of Rhyming, that is also dependent on the one you choose. All the ones I’ve read rhyme, so you can count on doing the same.
  4. Please, young writers, Make it terrible! Mother Goose will spontaneously molt at the very mention of your name and children everywhere will be permanently scarred for six months.
  5. The target audience is children, so a G-Rating is necessary.

You have till 9:00 a.m. MST next Friday (October 18) 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. Please also comment if you post to your site, since WordPress’ pingbacks are not reliable.

Have fun!

charles-2vfwtakdtio-unsplash.jpg

Photo credit: Charles 🇵🇭

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Boil, boil, toil and terrible! This week’s poems were enough to take the eyes off a newt or the wool from a bat. Yet only one poet raised a horrible enough incantation to incite the Wal-mart imps, and that was:

Crackles & Cackles

by Peregrine Arc

Tooth, fang, eye of toad.
Hurry, hurry, PETA’s on the phone!
Come, come, more evil things we need
To finish this spell, to hasten its speed.
What do we choose? Bloody armor, a bloody mary, or even unwashed unmentionables?
A rope, fresh from a hanging, the ectoplasm of a ghost or a wing of a bat?
Oh Heavens and Hades, we need something more evil than that!

Nay, bring me that tome from the vault, yes, the one right over there, in-between the mummy’s teeth and the vampire’s sash. But not to be confused with the earrings of Sinbad.

TERRIBLE POETRY 101, the spine reads in blood.
I cackle, I chortle; oh this is such fun!
Yes, that’ll do the trick. This spell is now done.

Congratulations, P’Arc! You are the most terrible poet of the week!

The head witch required multiple readings through all entries this week. After brewing a potion to revive her sensibilities, she selected P’Arc’s contribution as first by merit of its terrible meter overall. Where is the subject going? Does it have one? What in the name of spell-dom will this brew?

Well done, young apprentice.

Now; if ye need yet another chant after hers, here are the rest:

A Nasty Spell

by Trent McDonald

Boil, boil
A bit of basil
Add more olive oil
Some witch hazel
Tooth of hen
Toe of frog
Mud from the fen
And earwax from a dog
Some eye of Newt

No, not Gingrich!
Disgusting, you wit
Such a nasty witch!

We say the spell

And, ehhh,
That eye, Hell!
It’s watching you!

Remind me to never
Create a hex
With you ever
You don’t follow the text

—–

Untitled piece

by Bruce Goodman

O fortl tew hir jatl ebuvi the hurozum,
dicurelomg and chiiromg the isivelid
sphiri thi hed jatl bigam lu nuvi om;
gsolliromg soki the nurmomg tler – fass
uf sofi and tpsimduar and juy.
Bal, uh, whel e rivusaloum!

—–

Spell of Invisibility

by Joem18b

to become unseen first remove your clotheen
this spell does not work on your tutu or muumuu

if you’re a kid don’t you dare become bare
spells come from hell so you have messed up
get back dressed up

now that you grownups are naked it’s time to get bak-ed
find some prime chronic and smoke it like tonic

repeat that last step, beth, but this time with meth
now crunched, dude, you got to get krunked

repeat that last step, bloke, but this time with coke
now blowed, vato, you got to get throwed

and now you’re ready to go, baby
and i don’t mean maybe

walk out on the street
go on
no one can see you
but take it slow, bro

note: avoid invisibility cloaks. your feet hang out.

—–

Spell

by Deb Whittam

A pinch of aniseed
A clove of garlic
The urine from a deer
Newly departed

A touch of sauerkraut
A roasted black bean
A lock of Hugh Jackman’s hair
Newly cleaned

A touch of hops
A bit of fennel
A bit of dust from the
Nearest dog kennel

A pluck of onion
A scattering of rye
A brand new ipad
Thrown from the sky

Stir it up
Mix it twice
Then drink it up
Vomiting it really nice

Now thrown down the mag
Throw it down hard
I wish all that gossip was true
And Matt Damon was in my front yard

—–

Liar liar pants onfire

by Ruth Scribbles

Hocus locust

Holy smack

Sun of night

Moon of day

Shed your light

On this my prey

Curse the liar

Within my Lair

Burn the tongue

Of the young

Evil one

Begone!

—–

Orisha

by Aderonke

Moody voodoo
Angry Juju
Turn this happiness
Into blue
From the east
To the west
And the deep blue sea
Make these tears run
For all to see

—–

An Evil Brew

by LWBUT

Orcs from Moria,
Goblins from The High Pass.

Wraiths of the Nether-world
Nazgul, Servants of Sauron.

Footpads, ne’er-do-wells,
Conmen, liars and theives.

Schutzstaffel SS,
Brownshirts and Gestapo.

Blood-sucking vampires,
Zombies and the soulless dead.

Combine all together,
give them a common cause,

And one Lord to rule them,
who leaves his Dark Tower…

… Washington sure has changed lately.

—–

Gremlins: A Teenage Mythology

by Lifelessons

A sneeze is how a poltergeist gets outside of you.
At night a different stinky elf sleeps inside each shoe.

Every creaking rafter supports its resident ghost,
and it’s little gremlins who make you burn the toast.

Each night those tricky fairies put snarls in your hair,
while pixies in your sock drawer unsort every pair.

Midnight curtain billows are caused by banshee whistles.
Vampires use your toothbrush and put cooties in its bristles.

Truths all come in singles. It’s lies that come in pairs.
That’s a zombie, not a teenager, sneaking up the stairs.

—–

Many thanks for entering. Return on the morn, as the dial points to 10, for next week’s inspiration.

witch-2146713_1920

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

The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Hello, unsuspecting readers. Come! Come in! Welcome to the 46th Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest.

Ancient texts on bad poetry may be found in multiple tomes; including this one, here. Do not mind the bloodstains. Yes, that may be brain matter -but, most likely not human. Simply open the text and prepare your mind against what will arise from within.

  1. Our Theme, lucky mortals, is a poem of haunting. Specifically, write a recipe for a spell or brew.
  2. The Length depends on ingredients necessary and the language of your incantations (or, those of your Master).
  3. Some -say, of the Macbeth camp- choose to Rhyme their works. Although it may lend power to your process, ’tis fully voluntary to do so.
  4. In case you have not heard, Make it terrible! The ghouls, demons, and even imps of The Underworld (AKA Wal-mart) will appear from the depths of their hiding places (AKA the clearance racks) to moan and despair for the future of your poetic writing.
  5. The Rating may be PG-13 or cleaner.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (October 11) to submit a poem.

Use the form below to hide your identity for a week.

For instant fame amongst Earthly inhabitants, include your poem or a link to it in the comments. Do not depend on WordPress’ pingbacks alone, truly a work of those same Wal-mart imps we wish to avoid.

May arcane inspiration bear you to greater depths of atrocity.

witch-2146713_1920.jpg

Photo credit: Image by loulou Nash from Pixabay

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

The world thought it had experienced the worst in pumpkin spice once cinnamon and cloves crossed over into Cheerios, Twinkies, and SPAM. If only the general population had anticipated this week’s terrible poetry…

Of which, at long last, there is a winner. And that is:

Spicing the Pumpkin

by The Abject Muse

Autumn aroma

fills the air with Halloween

making one nauseous:

too much candy and chasing

it with ten beers then puking.

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

Everyone who entered brought their worst. I had such trouble choosing from all the wonderful, beautiful, bad poetry. Susan’s poem won after my third reading of the entries, and my deciding it made me cringe the most.

Since the theme was a tanka, hers stood out as one that appeared to be a typical tanka yet was most definitely not. She made me think it a serious sample with her “Autumn aroma” beginning; but, by the end, we were puking. Great work!

Even more pumpkin spice is to be had! Read the rest of the poems below:

A Coffee Snob Tanka

by Heather Dawn

Pumpkin spice coffee
Is the worst kind of coffee…
When from Tim Hortons,
Or other fast food places.
But I like it at Starbucks.

—–

Something spicy in my pumpkin

by Bruce Goodman

Pumpkin spice! Pumpkin
spice! Syllable counting in
Germanic languag-
es is a meaningless pro-
position. It works in the

Romance languages
however, where syllables
matter. Which is pos-
sibly why we eat pumpkin
as a vegetable over

here, and to think of
it as being something in a
dessert is a fair-
ly repugnant thought! This then
is my triptych tanka. Yeah!

—–

Untitled piece

by Deb Whittam

Undernourished, the
Pantry’s bare, no there’s something
right up in the back
Relief … what is it? Let me
Reach … Pumpkin spice, hunger strike

—–

Love Tanka

by Joem18b

oh my dearest love
i want to give you my heart
but how to do it
rip it out hand it over
or sprinkle with pumpkin spice

—–

Pumpkin Spice (A Poem)

by Not Sheep Minded

Vanilla sweet spice

Pumpkin puree and whipped cream

What is that brown stuff?

I can’t be sure but It might

Be nutmeg or cinnamon

—–

And Then There Were Six

by LWBUT

“There’s a new spice in

town”. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“and it’s Pumpkin Spice!”

“So tell me what you want. ” “What??”

“What you really, really want.”

—–

Yuumy

by Ruth Scribbles

October oraange
English muuffins flavored sooo
Puumpkins grow on vines
Lattes and coffee oooh my
Hot Pumpkin spice soups are too

—–

Untitled piece

by Gary

sunset orange with explosive hot red
unsettling and overpowering
angry and sickly sweet arrogance
rule spiced by lies
sick of Pumpkin Heads presidency

—–

Pumpkin Spice, A Terrible Tanka

by Jim Sponseller

Pumpkin spice is great,

I mean it tastes really good

Add some to coffee,

Or that milky thing, latte?

Then drink it down, no regrets!

—–

Untitled piece

by Cheryl

Pumpkin latte eww

Pumpkin soup would be better

Pumpkin candles nice

Everything October likes

Carving a pumpkin is fun.

—–

Terrible Cook. Look. Worse poet.

by Richmond Road

Peel it. Slice it up

A cup. Of sugar or two

You. Boil it to hell.

For smell? Scented candles get.

Yet more spice. Pumpkin slice. Nice.

—–

Tanka about Pumpkin Spice

by Joanne Fisher

Pumpkin Spice is nice
I’m told by people who drink
overpriced coffees
I’ve never tried it and won’t
I’m too judgmental of them

—–

Hopefully, we’ve not put anyone off their favorite fall treat. Thank you to all the fantastic poets who entered; come back around 10 a.m. MST for next week’s prompt.

heidi-kaden-JjxAasj1_uA-unsplash

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

The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Greetings, mortals, and welcome to the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest #45!

Sometimes as writers we take ourselves too seriously. We take writing too seriously. Poetry is the worst medium for that, attracting snooty nose-raises and accusations of not being in tune with raw Nature. So; take off the shackles of your beret, read my basic outline here, and live a little!

Here are the specifics for this week:

  1. The type of poetry I’m interested in is a tanka. Colleen Chesebro runs this form (and a few others) every week for her popular Tanka Tuesday challenge.
    A tanka is very much like a haiku, but uses the format 5/7/5/7/7.
    On top of that, our Topic is PUMPKIN SPICE.
  2. What’s the length? I already told you: it’s a syllabic pattern of 5/7/5/7/7.
  3. Rhyming is not allowed. Scented candles are.
  4. The most important part is to make it terrible. Madame Chesebro herself must apply to WordPress to have my site banned from the internet, burned, and buried with cloves to ensure we never attempt to write tanka poetry again.
  5. Pumpkins and their harvest seasonings can stay rated at PG or tastier.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (October 4) 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. I highly recommend commenting and not just depending on linkbacks if you write one.

Have fun!

heidi-kaden-JjxAasj1_uA-unsplash.jpg

Photo credit: Heidi Kaden

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Here’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for: the winner of this week’s Terrible Poetry Contest.

And that is:

Perpetually Deployed

by The Abject Muse

Kim’s ol’ butt:

As big as a barrel,

Round like a

Double-Stuffed Moon Pie

And wobbly as Jell-O.

Sort of like a

Humongous Air Bag.

If ever there were

An automobile accident she’d

Never feel a thing.

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

Honestly, almost all of the entrants this week were too GOOD. Many topics were terrible; but meter, word usage, and the way it all tied in worked in strangely cohesive ways. You all need to lower your standards, though (as always) that’s not necessarily a bad thing…

Madame Muse’s poem won for being the worst. Her winning points were her comparisons of Kim’s ample posterior to several unappealing and humorous objects, coupled with a poetic pattern abandoned at the end.

Here are the rest:

Poem

by Joem18b

Plug your nose
Hold your nostrils shut
Instead of breathing in
Loads of coke
Instead of air
Please
So you don’t
End up
Young but dead and
Mourned
Or also
Using that stuff
Right into your veins may give you a
High
Over the moon
For a while
Faster then the nose route but
Man while it’s
A wilder ride you will
Not be alive at its end

—–

This hill is famous (i.e. a celebrity)

by Bruce Goodman

Taumatawhakatangihangakoauauotamateapokaiwhenuakitanatahu!
Ah!
Utterly long is the name of the hill not far from where I live.
Many shorten it to something
Actually a lot less difficult to pronounce:
Taumata.
And that’s where I’ll stop.

—–

Terrible Acrostic Defying All Logic

by Not Sheep Minded

Do not pass go
Or collect two hundred
Nailed to a cross
Another martyr mother Hubbard
Looking in the cupboard
Didn’t find what he’s looking for
The dirty bits on Biden
R they under there?
Under where?
Mister Trump just
Peed in his underwear

—–

Laughably Outrageous tRIckster

by Ruth Scribbles

Laughably Outrageous tRIckster

Lounges Outside in her Ugly Gangrenous
Haughty Linen Incremental Naughtiness

—–

FATS

by Deb Whittam

For those times when being politically incorrect wasn’t an issue, hey it was almost embraced

And he wrote real cool songs too

Though the suits became a bit blasé but what are you going to do

Send someone to the shops, it was the 1960’s for goodness sakes

—–

Untitled piece

by Gary

Arrogant
liar
extremist
x-rated
a charlatan
New Yorker
deluded
egotistical
racist

Brexit will make him millions
ought to make his pals billions
remain was always his position
it changed to suit his self mission
self deluded craving celebrity privileged Eton boy

Destined to play as Nero with his new burning country toy
england should be for the English he proudly shouts
privately whispering he’s actually not from these whereabouts
Funding his lovers and friends with public money
easily avoiding the rules like some corrupt Easter Bunny
fibbing and lying is his way to con the masses
flippantly poking fun at those from the working classes
evading visits from the police to one of his shouting matches
lovers are kept quiet maybe with gifts paid for from our hard earned taxes

Jovial and bumbling are what the media laps up
only reporting the fake image and never about how he is so corrupt
he said he couldn’t live on his huge ministerial wage
no thought for us as he takes us back to the Victorian Age
so a man without principles or any human decency
only interested in one person and slayer of our democracy
not a man of the people just a wannabe celebrity member of the aristocracy

—–

Anachrostic/Celebrity

by The Bag Lady

Gorgeous

Elegant

Older

Romantic

Gregarious

Exceptional

Charming

Likable

Oooh, just

Outstanding

Nice

Enjoyable

Yum

—–

Thank you all for entering! You are the highlight of my long, long week.

Come back tomorrow around 10 MST for the next theme.

ahmet-yalcinkaya-aNrRsB2wLDk-unsplash

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

The Darn Sock Connection, a parody

Why are there so many
Socks in the dish pan?
I think that the boys have lied.

Socks aren’t a weapon;
Aren’t doilies or dishes.
They shouldn’t be balled up or tied.
So boys’ve been scolded; I doubt they
Were list’ning.
Their feet will be cold, wait and see.

One day I’ll miss it:
The clothes never flying;
And dishes, instead of hos’ery.

©2019 Chelsea Owens

The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Welcome to the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest #44!

Not sure about churning out something poetic and terrible? Read my basic outline here. Enter at your own risk.

Here are the specifics for this week:

  1. It’s time for another Acrostic Poem. Let’s pick a Topic of Celebrities.
    An acrostic is simple; write a word (say, like the celebrity’s name or favorite habit) down the left side, and then do a haphazard job of filling in with your poem.
  2. Length should be dependent on the word you pick, and how verbose you feel at each letter.
  3. Rhyme if you wish. Don’t if you wish.
  4. Make it terrible!! Make our eyes beg our brain to stop reading, just stop. Please; they would rather read grocery tabloids than whatever you just churned out.
  5. Celebrities and their choices can get a bit racy, so we’ll up the Rating to PG-13.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (September 27) 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.

Have fun!

ahmet-yalcinkaya-aNrRsB2wLDk-unsplash.jpg

Photo credit: Ahmet Yalçınkaya

 

Also, if anyone wishes to select a topic or be a judge for a week, I’m open to consider either.

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

After a day beginning with vertigo, middling to read many (many!) entries, and ending with the usual, busy parenting; this judge is finally ready to announce a winner.

And that is:

Yard Sale Blues Number 397

by Trent P. McDonald

what is
a kumquat peeler
a device to strip citrus
or an x-rated toy
and please
let me know
how to use an endive fork
a thing I never knew
was a thing
until now
someone else’s garbage
is my
garbage
but you are happy
a sign of yard sale is heaven
isn’t it
a lunchbox from a sitcom
from 1973 that nobody remembers
is only 95
dollars
thermos included
an earwax washer
only slightly used
a grey frilly table cloth
once white
a mexican poncho
from sears roebuck
really
You peel out the bills
like a kumquat
and fill the car
with junk
we’ll never
use

Extra points if you catch the reference to Frank Zappa 😉

—–

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

I received a bumper crop of rotten poetry this time around, which was fantastic! The downside of this, of course, was that that many poets increased competition. I began setting mental rules like not rhyming, staying on subject, and mimicking free verse enough to make a recitation painful.

Trent’s poem just barely beat out at least 5 finalists because it reminded me the most of a free verse poem; but in a terrible, terrible way. He and others threw in random secondhand junk. He and others rambled at what may have been a story. He and others utilized terrible elements. I’ve said it nearly every week and I’ll say it again: good job, everyone! This decision was very difficult to make!

Don’t believe me? Read on, if you are able:

Second hand sale in a garage

by Bruce Goodman

I went to a second hand sale.
It was in Peach Street.
It was in someone’s garage.
There was an old broom with a few bristles missing.
There was a garden fork with some of its prongs gone.
There were a couple of old cushions with the stuffing coming out.
And there was grandma!
Grandma! Grandma for sale!
Maybe your own grandma has croaked
and you want another.
Buy grandma!
She might be second hand,
but she can be a grandma to your kids
if their own grandma has kicked the bucket.
Also she knows how to help with the dishes.
And cook.
Although I’m into antiques
I didn’t buy her
because she wasn’t in very good condition.
But I certainly will be keeping an eye out
at other garage sales.
Besides, she was too expensive,
and I haven’t sold the kids’ maternal grandma yet.
Grandma! Grandma for sale!
Maybe your own grandma has croaked
and you want another.
Buy grandma!

—–

It was today, in fact:

by Jon

Dozens of us, gathered in one place hoping to divest
At least a part of the clutter gotten from yet another
Medium channeling second-hand nick for which
They had a knack, a paddy full of wack, whatever
Those are.

The iris bulbs we labored to pull from the stubborn
Crowded soil. Those went best, one dollar a dozen.
Most of the rest sat like a lump or hung from the rod.
Going nowhere. Everyone had much the same kind of
Unneeded stuff.

At least the local helper of the disadvantaged poor
Brought their empty trailer and left it parked.
I can feel good that the surplus winter gear can
Keep someone warm when they would otherwise
be exposed and freezing.

Best of all, I didn’t have
To take any of it back home.
Next time, we will go straight to give
Completely bypassing sell again
Altogether.

—–

merciless

by Deb Whittam

dawn, sun glinting just above the horizon
cars, chariots of the road, engines revving
it is a blood red sky
but green is the color of their eyes
they roam the highways, the back lanes,
parking on easements, with pure disregard
trolling through bins, bags, boxes, basements
hardened hearts, no regrets
mercy is not a word they comprehend
bitter voices, bartering, harsh words, recriminating
scuffle, hands grasping, eyes like chips of broken glass
victory doesn’t favor the brave, it favors them

—–

Yard Sale

by Joem18b

first light on the first day of the rest of my life.

i leap from my bed and fling up the sash.

my heart also leaps from its bed and flings up my mood.

the sun and birdsong and automatic-sprinkler sounds hit me in the face.

i fling off my pajamas and some lingering doubts.

skip breakfast although it’s the most important meal.

go out front and pull up the croquet wickets and collect the newspaper.

i’m clearing the front yard.

hurry to telephone poles around the neighborhood and tack up my signs.

and back home, roust out the kids and feed them.

and finally, out front with them where i attach all the price tags.

they’re expensive but worth it and even if i sell only one it would be a great start.

—–

Nothing

by Tiredhamster

One day I went to a garage sale where
a man was selling his nothing. “What
is it?” I asked him. He pointed at
his empty garage and said, “don’t
you see? It’s nothing. And it can be
all yours!” I looked at the nothing
then back at him then back at
the nothing. “What does it do?”
He looked at me. “Nothing. Nothing
does nothing.” I nodded. Makes sense.
“Well, what can you do with
nothing?” “Well,” he said, “you can
stare at it. You can walk around in it.
And you can even pretend that it’s
something.” After a moment, I said,
“how much is it?” “It’s free, nothing is
free.” “I don’t know if I have room
to put it.” He smiled. “You can put
it anywhere. After all, it’s nothing.”
Finally, I said, “no thanks.” “What?
Why not?” But, I didn’t have
an answer.

—–

Untitled piece

by Gary

Wandering round the stalls and jammed full car boots

Sellers imploring you to hand over your hard earned loot

In one car boot an autobiography from Donald Trump

Read that, no way rather have a session with a stomach pump

Then a special offer on CDs from U2 and Bono

Give you money for that, you got more chance of seeing a flying Dodo

Then a car boot with a portrait of a politician, Jacob Rees Mogg

I’d rather have my leg humped by a rabid flee ridden Rottweiler Dog

Some numpty called Farage is selling knocked off cheap French red wine

He bought the bottles with loose change from his European Pension goldmine

Then finally a chance to buy the actual Boris Johnson our countries so called leader

I bought him for 10p he’s now planted pretending to be a Japanese ornamental Cedar.

—–

Ode to Sweat

by The Abject Muse

O, Saturday Tag Sale:

my Nirvana, my Shangri-la.

The anticipation makes me euphoric:

all that junk to riffle through,

not to mention smelly, worn clothing!

My God, it makes me hot.

So, so hot; ain’t nothin’ hotter

than when the sun beats down

on my bald spot

mercilessly, and then

the salty sweat gets in

my eyes, runs down

my neck and back

and finally trickles,

(oh so delicately!)

into my shorts.

The sensation makes me want to squeal.

But I don’t.

—–

Me and Our Stuff

by Ruth Scribbles

Garage, I mean garbage sales blarg…
Flea markets be d*mned
If no garage available use your yard
If no yard, the front steps will suffice
My garbage is your treasure, really?
Have you ever tried to sell your garbage to the public?

I have had two garage sales
Maybe three if you count when I sold my toys
Without my mom knowing
And the toy store around the corner sold me crap

Garage sales hurt one’s back
Be careful what you say when browsing
Someone may hear you and start crying,
or snatch the treasure out of your hand
You get the item home and it stinks
Cigarette smoke galore
Oh the stench
now on the heap for the next
Bulk pickup

Freecycle anyone?

—–

Untitled piece

by Pensivity 101

Stalls left and right,
Goodies to be seen and had.
Certain things for pence or a pound,
A bargain if you knew what to look for.
Look at that!
I had one like it,
Time to get me a pair
If I can remember where I put the other.
Bookends or doorstops,
I’ll make use of it.
Ten pounds goes a long way
With Christmas coming,
Rubber ducks, paperbacks,
Toys and games in battered boxes,
Glasses, ornaments,
Something for everyone.
Beggars can’t be choosers,
Nice to be remembered
And it is the thought that counts.

—–

Fleas In My Basket

by Lou

I’m going to a yard sale today
I’ll come back with fleas in my basket
But I don’t mind about bugs
I think they are cute
With their bubbly eyes
And their vampire tendencies

I’m thinking about a new t-shirt
Or a bohemian floral dress
But I won’t try panties on
Because I’m not that poor
I make my own money ya know?
I’m kinda proud of this

If I had more cash on me
I would avoid the flea market
I would go to Nordstrom instead
And fill up a gigantic shopping cart
With Chanel makeup and… and…
And other unnecessary stuff!

Then, after an exhausting day
I would sit in front of the TV
With a pack of Oreo cookies,
And wait for my favourite cartoons
To magically appear on screen
Let the Moomins begins!

—–

Sailing

by Tedstrutz

I used to know a guy in Michigan
He asked me if I would like to go sailing with him some weekend
I asked what kind of boat
He said he used a pickup truck not a boat
I thought that was weird
What lake I asked
No lakes, garages he said
His name was Bruce
This is a true story

—–

The Garage Sale

by Michael

Tables roughly set,

All the junk I can find

Set out haphazardly

A mad woman’s breakfast, you might say.

At dawn, they begin to assemble

The junk dealers, predators

Looking for a free bargain,

If they can get it.

Haggling over the silliest things

Want something for nothing

Watch for the pilferers.

Grandma’s old vase, cracked and crazed

Still partially covered in sixty years of dust

Has a presence it hasn’t entertained in so long

The buyers understandably ignore it

I was thinking it would go in a flash

But no at days end it sits alone on the far table

Just as its always done,

Neglected, lonely, making a statement

No idea what,

“Grandma had poorer taste than I thought?”

No matter what we got rid of stuff

People happy to pay to take away my crap.

—–

The wonder of the Internet – the Electronic Age!

by LWBUT

No longer do we need to drive for miles

to buy that missing piece we need to fill up holes in our lives,

or just find something that amuses us.

No longer a need to trawl hundreds of tables, trays,

boots or booths full of random junk others have deemed

no longer worth keeping

(was it ever in the first place?)

so’s to strike it rich finding

the ‘one thing i really need today’.

No! – now we have e-Bay!

E-Bay, where everything in the entire world

(North Korea possibly excepted)

you could ever need,

and even more that you never will,

is categorised, alphabetised, price-listed (up or down!),

even auctioned –

(Starting at just 99cents – Ends in 3 days time!)

Best of all – it can be posted

with no need to leave your living room,

or bedroom for that matter,

depending upon lifestyle,

or lack of.

—–

More Than What You Bargained For

by Peregrine Arc

Yes, ma’am what we have here is a bonafide Tupperware collection of warped plastic. They were used to store the leftover bread from the feeding of the 5,000.
And over here? Well that’s my collection of Pet Rocks. They all have Ph.D.’s. Piled High Deeper, you know. That’s a rock thing.
Oh, that milk jug there? Glad you asked. Lincoln drank out out of that. And that toothbrush? Made out of Washington’s false teeth, the wooden kind.
This here gun was used in the Revolution; and this necklace? Worn on the neck of the queen herself. Queen Cleopatra that is. Victoria’s sold yesterday, I’m afraid.

Well here, how about this book : it’s an ancient copy of Chelsea Owen’s “Terrible Poetry Guide.” It was printed nearly a hundred years ago. She defines free verse on page 63.

And this ain’t it, son.

—–

Thank you so much for entering! Please, come back tomorrow around 10 for next week’s prompt.

phad-pichetbovornkul-m2iqRdVGprU-unsplash

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