WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Mother Goose ain’t got nothing on this week’s terrible poetry contest, yet another event where I found myself torn between at least five entries.

What’s the fun of a contest without a designated winner, though? And that winner is ….Violet Lentz.

Mary McGrath

by Violet Lentz

I once knew a girl
Named Mary McGrath
Who’d do anything
To avoid taking a bath

She’d run and she’d hide
She’d slip and she’d slither
Till her father was fit
And her mom in a dither

A brown crust it settled
Between the cracks in her toes
Wax dried in her ears
And snots in her nose.

Her hair a birds nest
Even fleas would avoid
Her breath so atrocious
Even dogs were annoyed

This went on for years
Her games and her ploys
Till one day she grew up
and discovered boys!

Well that changed it all
Today she couldn’t be neater
All plaited and pressed
And she smell so much sweeter!

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

As I first read through everyone’s terrible, horrible, no good, very bad entries; I thought to give a tie to two who trashed everything our inner child held dear. Ultimately, however, I decided to turn to The Rules.

When I introduced the contest last week, I specifically said, “This week… I wish to be more about a clever take and subject than about a rotten execution.” I therefore changed my judging glasses out for a pair that looked for rhymes that could be of the nursery sort, though hopefully no parent would ever recite them to his child.

Violet’s fit the bill, which is no surprise considering how very talented a poet she is.

Not to be outdone, of course, are all the rest. I laughed, I cried, I groaned; and I felt terrible for not being able to award so talented a crowd first place all around.

Don’t believe me? Read for yourself and see:

Hush Now

by Donna Matthews

Hush now my cantankerous one
Have you lost all your fun?
You’re as enjoyable as the flu
Your attitude smelling like poo
Relax and chill out
Or get the hell out.

Hush now moody and blue
Or else, begone and say adieu
Go on and get lost
before you get tossed
Better improve your mood
Or you’re gonna be screwed

Hush now my beautiful one
I’m tired and more than done
Now really…I mean you no harm
Come here into my arms
Ain’t nobody got time for this
Now be sweet and give me a kiss

—–

Untitled piece

by Greygirlieandme

Jack and Jill
Looked at the hill.
Where there was a well.
For Mary’s little lamb needs water.
Jack said well
It’s the task from hell
And Jill said ‘Yes it is, sort of.

Mary’s lamb is always thirsty,
She’s fed up of its antics.
It follows her everywhere she goes,
She’s got an ovine stalker.

Jack huffed and puffed
When Mary cried and Jill
Had a temper tantrum.
He got an idea
Of what life is like
With two premenstrual women.

He cursed the lamb,
Damn you lamb.
Damn you sheep.
You haunt me in my sleep.

Mary and Jill
Skipped up the hill.
They said ‘Typical man
To not water the lamb,
Or see the site’s potential.
As long as you could get planning consent.
Which is really hard.
We’ll have to see the council.

Mary and Jill
Now live on the hill.
Their restaurant’s famous
For lamb navarin.

Jack ran away
To discover himself.
‘Golly, I’m gay,
Hip, hip hooray,
I can wear that turqoise eyeliner.
And they all lived happily, after
Seeing a family counsellor.

—–

Untitled piece

by jena c. henry

Jack Spratt and his wife
Could eat no Keto
Whole 30 or Paleo
No more ‘licking the plate clean’ life.

“My fair lady! Let’s practice self-care.”
“Ok” said Jack’s wife, “I’m for cardio.”
So they marched up the hill- go!
And then ringed around the rosie there.

They met Humpty Dumpty, and tried
yolk-a on the wall, oh no!
Along came a downward doggo
And sat down beside her, fried.

Organic clothes would be fantastic!
Said Jack, “Baa baa Black Sheep do
You have any wool?”
“No sir. No sir. Just recycled fibers of plastic.”

Jack’s wife decided to meditate
And live alone in a shoe.
Jack didn’t know what to do.
So he said, “That’s the way the bough breaks.”

—–

Untitled piece

by Bruce Goodman

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.
That looks very uncomfortable, said Little Bo Peep.
Believe me, said Humpty Dumpty,
It’s not half as bad as sitting on Little Miss Muffet’s tuffet.

You, said Mother Goose, should keep
Wee Willie Winkie under control.
So also says Bruce.

—–

There was an old man

by RhScribbles

There was an old man
Who lived in a boot
He had so many relatives
That he didn’t give a wit
As to whether he lived
Or died as a smelly old coot

He picked his nose and
Chewed his cud
He went to bed in the mud
He awoke with a cough
And said, “that’s enough”
He bought a newspaper
And went on a caper
He had to sell his boot
Cause he had no loot

All that was left was
To scream and hoot
Hooting and tooting
As a jolly old soul
He became the
Walmart Santa Claus

—–

The old woman who lived in a shoe

by Julia

(with apologies to Sylvia Plath, from whom I stole the first verse, which fit so perfectly — no pun intended!)

You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

And that was before all these toes came along,
These children, like toes, like the notes of a song
Multiplying like rabbits, my food to divide
Until broth without bread was all I’d provide.
Then I sent them to bed, though I knew I was wrong.

Yes, I whipped them, quite soundly, it’s true.
But what would you do, were it you in this shoe?
In this shoe thirty years, give or take one or two?
Say what you will, I know just what you’d do
You’d do the same thing, were it you in this shoe.

—–

There was an old woman who lived in a boot

by Molly Stevens

There was an old woman
Who lived in a boot.
She had a lot of children
But they didn’t give a hoot.

In their defense
She was quite contrary,
With a curl smack dab in the middle
Of her forehead.

She sat alone
Day after day
Eating her curds
And slurping her whey.

When out on the lawn
There arose such a clatter,
She sprang from her tuffet
To see what was the matter.

In her haste to explore
She swallowed a fly.
Why, oh why?
Did she swallow that fly?

She feared she’d die!

She called Little Jack Horner
The local MD.
He said, “I’m plumb out of ideas,
You’d best go to the ED.”

She’d no way to get there
One shoe off and the other shoe on,
Diddle diddle dumpling
She called her son, John.

John told her to wait for him
Sitting on a wall,
But possessing poor balance
The old woman had a great fall.

A walrus and a carpenter
Walked by and saw her plight,
“I don’t know what happened
But she doesn’t seem quite right.”

While thinking things could not be worse
For the woman who was comatose,
Down came a blackbird
And pecked off her nose.

“The time has come,” the walrus said,
“To talk of many things,
But first to stay above suspicion
I suggest we trot along home again.”

I wish there were a happy ending
But alas the woman died.
Let this be a lesson,
Don’t swallow a fly!

—–

Itsy Bitsy Spider – Mediocre Rap Version

by H.R.R. Gorman

Sleep is for the weak
SON
So listen to these ill tweaks
To the story of the real OG.

Itsy bitsy spider
In the house.

Climb up that waterspout.
Going up clean aluminum,
Ain’t touching that nasty grout.

But here comes the rain!
Aluminum’s too slick now!
Give them a world of PAIN!

Gonna bust a cap
In the weatherman
Lying to me bout this crap.

How am I gonna spin a web
When it’s wet outside?
Let me call up buddy Jeb!

Ring Ring
Ring Ring
Ring Ring

“Hello? Nuclear Fire you say?
That’s the way I like it –
Radiation everyday!”

Dry up that pipe and climb
Reach the top of the drain
And rejoice with sick rhyme.

Word.

—–

Untitled piece

by Fractured Faith Blog

Little Bo Beep
Lost her sheep
They were all butchered in the abbatoir
And sold for meat.
By a clown….
With a chainsaw.
Fin

—–

Untitled piece

by D. Wallace Peach

Old Pres Donald had a wall
I owe IOU
And from the top he saw a cactus
I owe IOU
With a billion here and a billion there
Here a debt there a debt
Everywhere some deficit
I owe IOU

Old Pres Donald had a germ
I owe IOU
And no health care we all got sick
I owe IOU
With a cough cough here and a hack hack there
Here a phlegm, there a phlegm
Everywhere some green phlegm
I owe IOU

Old Pres Donald had a tax cut
I owe IOU
And no one got it but the rich
I owe IOU
With a bill bill here and bill bill there
Here a notice, there a notice
Everywhere a payment’s due
I owe IOU

Old Pres Donald had a personality disorder
I owe IOU
Can’t sympathize or tell the truth
I owe IOU
With a lie lie here and a lie lie there
Here a Putin, there a Putin
Everywhere a favorite Russian
I owe IOU

—–

Untitled piece

by Michael B. Fishman

Frankie holds his undies out, mom takes them with a frown.
Her nose is wrinkled, her eyes are closed, a reaction to the brown.

“Why, Frankie, dear these pants do smell oh my, what did you do?”

“I’m sorry mom I just bent down and out came some tiny poo.”

Tiny’s right, Frank’s mommie thinks, they look like baby ants.
Or maybe, she laughs, like something dropped from Captain Underpants.

—–

Untitled piece

by Michael B. Fishman

Frankie stepped down off the curb he didn’t look left or right.
A speeding driver came down the street and drove right through the light.
People shouted out to Frankie; many more folks screamed
But Frankie was listening to a baseball broadcast and wound up getting creamed.

Frankie got run over.
There wasn’t much left over.
Sort of like a cherry turnover
(only with blood and bones and torn and wrinkled skin instead of cherries)

They used a mop to clean up Frankie, the driver went away in chains
And all that was left at the end of the day was a bit of Frankie’s brains.
So when you cross the street my friends be sure to look both ways
unless you want to wind up as a blob of bloody mayonnaise.

—–

Now we’ll have to get an artist on board to help illustrate these.

In the meantime, tune in tomorrow. I am SO SO so excited for next week’s prompt!

charles-1183835-unsplash

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

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

For several contests now, I’ve wanted to do a multi-person tie. You are all doing so terribly!

(That’s a compliment.)

But… since you’ve all skipped to this part anyway, the winner is Michael B. Fishman.

Don’t Skippy Over Me (or I’ll Be Back in a Jif)

by Michael B. Fishman

I like chunky peanut butter sometimes –
and sometimes I don’t.

Ask me why,
or don’t,
(I don’t care)

Peanut butter’s rough.
The chunks? A diamond in the rough.

That’s because I like peanuts and . . .
I
don’t
like
peanut
butter.

It’s not even butter!

Once upon a time there was a peanut farmer who became President. A giant named Fezzik came along and asked if he wanted a peanut. The President-to-be said no, but he asked the giant where he could fill up his empty peanuts. The giant didn’t know, but some other guy – I can’t visualize him so neither will you – came along and said “I know!” The President-to-be said, “Where?” and non-visualizable man said, “The Shell station!”

And they laughed.

And the peanuts laughed.

“Ha!” they all laughed

Laughter is like a diamond.
(I don’t know why but it makes for an interesting simile)
Life is just rough
(That’s not a simile, I don’t know what it is)

We eat peanut butter
and watch the butterfly flutter.
From the golf putter to the stonecutter
Some of us put it on bread and eat it with that white stuff that drips from a cow’s udder.

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

My multi-way tie desire was due to SO MANY of the poets messing with the meter in a very intelligent way, rhyming (then, not), and choosing such awful subjects that I wonder if Diana gave them lessons from last week….

Michael’s very slight push above the rest was how mismatched his poem was. We had a lovely poem going, then …a paragraph?, then back to another sort of poem (I think). Terrible!

By no means worse (better?), here are the rest of the entrants:

Precious Stones

by Greygirlieandme

It’s tough
Being a diamond in the rough.
I’d rather be an emerald
Set in fourteen carat gold
When I am old.
Or perhaps a sapphire
If you think I should aim a bit higher
What about a pearl?
If I was the mother of an earl
I’d give you a string
Made of oyster vomit
No, that’s not it
Is it?
It’s grit not vomit.
My precious….
My precious…
Oh sorry, that’s something different
From a nasty little gent.
Maybe he’s a diamond in the rough
Finding life a little tough.

—–

A heart-felt lamentation

by Bruce Goodman

Quite frankly my dear I don’t give a stuff
when you say to accept you as you are:
that you are a diamond in the rough.
But enough is enough.
Tough!
I want a divorce.

When you eat your food with your mouth open…
well! that’s not being a diamond in the rough
but straight out bad manners.
I’d rather eat with my horse.
Tough!
I want a divorce.

Just because you have no legs
and have no arms and have to be spoon fed
is no reason to eat with your mouth open.
Tough!
I want a divorce.

And you can keep the wheelchair.

—–

Untitled piece

by Dawn D

There once was a youngster
Who lived in a dumpster
She begged and clawed
Through the bitter cold
Till the day she morphed into a stunning princess.

—–

Untitled piece

by Peregrine Arc

Diamond, ouch, you’re too rough.
Diamond, ouch, cut that out.
Diamond please, stop stop stop.
Wait, that’s not what this prompt is about?

Shiny, shine, shine shine.
I’m Rihanna’s Diamond in the Sky.
Gleam.

—–

A Mean Girl

by H.R.R. Gorman

I’m a diamond –
See my perfect shine!
I’m prettier than you,
No need to whine.

So get in line
I ain’t got the time!
You don’t want a dollar
Waitin’ on a dime!

Your face is a crime,
So listen to me.
Tan that white skin,
Get some vitamin D.

Fat like your mommy,
You can’t wear that top.
Ain’t gettin’ no boyfriend
When you look like slop.

C’mon girl, chop-chop!
Your pits smell like waste!
And you gotta lose inches
Off that extra-large waist!

No wonder you’re chaste.
That hair’s a nightmare
With all that va-voom!
It’s like you don’t even care.

What’s that you declare?
You say I’m bad stuff?
Not even a diamond
In form most rough?

Shut up you’re stupid.
Your mom’s stupid.
Go home, idiot,
I hate you.

—–

Please Mrs Patterson

by TanGental

Please Mrs Patterson
Roger’s an awful little pest;
He’s only gone and stapled
My earlobes to his desk.
*
Please Mrs Patterson
Roger really is too much;
He’s liquidized our gerbil
And sprayed him on my crotch.
*
Please Mrs Paterson
I’m not sure we can take much more;
Roger’s borrowed Harry’s toolbox
And nailed Gemma to the floor
*
Please Mrs Patterson
Things are getting out of hand;
Roger’s kidnapped Maisie Wellbeloved
And buried her in sand.
*
Please Mrs Patterson
You’ll really have to stop it;
Roger’s only gone and taken Bob
And strapped him to a rocket.
*
Please Mrs Patterson
You must stop being craven
Roger’s stuffed poor Bill with pitted dates
And put him in the oven.
*
Please Mrs Patterson
I know he’s had it tough
But Roger’s more your psychopath
Than a diamond in the rough.

—–

Ordinary

by Anneberly

A diamond in the rough
Isn’t that tough

As he dances in the daylight
And even at night

He thinks he’s quite elegant
Ha! Like an elephant

His mannerisms aren’t too shabby
Pretty lazy like a tabby

His intellect isn’t book smarts
He’s got a gigantic heart

People think he’s quite gruff
This diamond in the rough

—–

My Fair Lady

by Jordy

I once met a lass who was really darn crass.
Liked her so asked her to go fishing for bass.

Pretty fine, want to make her mine. But my Ma won’t agree. Her mouth is to rotten and her spit always hits my knee.

She thought she was haute but tore up her coat.
Was how she stepped on the boat. You know.

I went to get gun powder to fix it all up.
But it began to sizzle and got her all frup.

She screamed and hollered at lil ole me.
Then walloped me a good one that set my lights free.

We rasseled and rolled when she tried to pull off my head and throw it in a bowl.

Hell bells, diamond in the rough!
Darn if she ain’t the fair lady for me!

—–

On the links

by Bladud Fleas

On a tee I swunged
at the moment you did cough
and sliced my diamond in the rough
many minutes we sought
and didn’t find it
but I had another one
so didn’t mind it

where is that diamond now
I now wonder
that one I lost cos of your blunder
it makes me cry I don’t know
why, it’s not a game I like
it’s a spoiled hike, I’d prefer
to ride my bike. Across the fairway
just about when you’re gonna strike.

—–

Untitled piece

by Violet Lentz

Little Gemma Johnson
Was quite the catch, I’d heard them say
Though a little rough around the edges
She’d make a fine wife someday

Little did I know- t’was me
They’d arranged as her betroth
never having laid my eyes, on
This little diamond in the rough

The matrimonial day arrived
Our families filled the church
She lifted her veil for our first kiss
And my guts lept to a lurch

Eyes askance, under twisted brow
Nose bent off to the side somehow
Lips so thick she couldn’t pucker
I knew right then, there’s no way I could……

Whoa is me I can’t be wed
Alone is how I’ll stay in bed
She’s no diamond- rough or other
If I have to wed, I’ll take her brother!

—–

Too classy to have friends.

by Molly Stevens

It’s hard to be the only one
Refinded mongst the diamonds in the rough.
You say tomato,
I say tomahtopuff.

Tomahtopuff’s not a word, of course,
But I wanted things to rhyme.
You’d know that if you were in my class,
Instead of subpar subslime.

I’ve looked for others who are equal
To my decree of finesse,
But alas they’re moving parts unknown
Without a forwarding address.

You may think it’s craps
Sitting alone atop that pinochle.
But it’s not in the cards
To lower my standards.

—–

Untitled piece

by RhScribbles

Diamond in the rough

Rough diamond

Cracking windows is tough

I need a diamond

One with rough edges

Edges to scratch glass

Glass walls that keep me out

Out and not in

In with the gang

Gang of a thousand

Thousands of diamonds that sparkle

Sparkle and shine illuminating

My world with possibilities

Life is rough,

I mean tough

—–

Again: what I say pushes a poem to first is not what I always look for. The other entrants and their highly creative measures change the standards each time!

Good work, and tune in tomorrow to see next week’s prompt.

Geode

There’s that geode again.

 

By the way, Michael: D. Wallace Peach created this graphic that you can use (if you want) as a badge of honor as the winner:

The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Good Saturday morning to you all, even if you are not necessarily reading this on a morning nor a Saturday.

Welcome to The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest, episode Eleven.

What is terrible poetry? Please read my helpful article, “How To Write Terrible Poetry.” Lower your standards, trash your meter, near-rhyme your audience to tears, and then read the rules for this week:

  1. Topic: Diamond in the Rough.
  2. Length should be greater than 5 words but fewer than 200 words. (5<poem<200)
  3. Rhyme if you want. Don’t if you don’t want.
  4. Make it terrible.
    Your dear old granny who never said anything bad about anybody (excepting for using passive-aggression, of course; bless her heart) will want to tell you not to worry; not everyone can be a poet and isn’t it good you have other talents to fall back on, Dearie?
  5. Terrible can still be granny-approved. Keep it PG-rated.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (February 2, 2019) to submit a poem.

Post your poem or a link to it in the comments, or fill out the included form. I read them all and judge as impartially and blindly as I may.

Geode

Yes, I know it’s a geode. It’s the thought that counts.