WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Happy Saturday, everybody! A day late, but never a dollar short is our winner for this week:

BRUCE GOODMAN

It happens in restaurants

by Bruce Goodman

I suspect there’s a great deal more
going on under that table over there
than meets the eye.
They not simply eating ice cream and blueberry pie.
I bet they’re playing hanky-panky with their knees.
I’ve a good mind to go over and whip the table cloth
off
to expose their chicanery for all to sees
if you please.

I think it only fair to surmise –
and I wouldn’t be at all surprised –
if before long they were both under the table smooching away,
for every dog has its day.
Next thing he’ll be feeding her custard
with his own spoon. Shucks.
What’s going on under that table over there is yuk.

I hate going out to restaurants.
My wife is such a flirt.

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

As returning readers know, I hate contests where a winner is picked and the judge says that everybody was a winner; blah, blah, blah. I try my darnedest not to do that to everyone, but you all make it near-impossible with your level of poetic skill. (You do know this is a terrible poetry contest, right?)

I snickered at the made-up words, the near-rhymes, the rambling (terrible) subjects, and the poetic elements. In the end; I believe I admired the overall flow (we’ll call it that) of Bruce’s poem, combined with his zinger at the end. Most poets this week followed the recommended guidelines of terribleness; on top of all that, Bruce, your ‘meter’ and your story ‘flow’ earned you the prize. Well done.

Thank you to everyone who participated this week. You are the reason this takes me hours of preparation and anguish to decide. And, here you all are:

Under-the-Table Deal

by Bladud Fleas

Get up from under the table, dude!
Said the guy whose shoes I was buying
I haven’t got them on, right now, he said
Though I think he was lying. See
I was too quick to agree on the price
he’d selected and once on my knees
he rejected but I, quick as a flash,
produced the cash and removing his
shoes, stuck a rolled up note between his toes
and the deal was completed and he was defeated,
as were his shoes, no pun intended,
for a fair price and money well spended.

—–

Secret Agent Man

by H.R.R. Gorman

Steele steeled his stance,
Fighting for freedom in France,
Really ready to reel Russians
In and insinuate intrigue.

Dreaded documents dredged
Up from underworld undertakings
Show sinister situations,
Blackmail baking in baddies’ brains.

He humps his home-movie
Back to bloody Britain
And advocates for absolution
Of the outstanding ordeal.

Friends faint following the film,
So he sends some signals
At an American agent
That things are taking turns.

But Bob believes his boss.
Pee-pee parties with presidents
Are too astronomically atrocious
For free freedmen to finagle.

So Steele steels his stance,
Takes tea at the typical time,
Cares about the Six Counties, and
Watches the world wither.

—–

Under the Table

by Andrea Frazer

My friends are all camping
But alas I’m not able
Nope, I’m grounded for life
Right here under the table
A butter knife for a friend
Along with a rag
To scrape all my boogers
Into a trash bag
Yup, what once was my haven
For picking my nose
My mom did discover
So now I am hosed
“You won’t move from this spot
Except to go pee
Until all chunks are removed
Do you understand me?”
What could I say?
My answer was “Yes”
Now there’s no more snot digging
What YES I’m depressed
The moral of this tale
From under the table?
Stay away from nose picking
To avoid this sad fable

The end

—–

Either Side of the Aisle

by Jon

Above board? No it’s not!
Appearance sake? Fulfilled!
In actuality, putrid rot
describes a recent bill.

Put forth by those who say
that they
Are there to represent us all.
Try to have (with them) your say
See if they take your call.

Things that make your conscience ache,
(Like this poem, for instance)
Disturb them not in the least;
For long ago they did forsake,
The way of truth and peace.

—–

It’s not what you get it’s where you get it

by Geoff

Said the bribee to the briber
‘I have no moral fibre’
‘And of course I’ll take a bung.’
‘Unless by being bought out
‘You think I might be caught out’
‘And by this sting be stung.’

‘You have no need to worry,’
Said the briber to the bribee,
‘There’s nothing untoward.’
‘I’m just a harmless gopher
‘This deal’s completely kosher’
‘And everything’s above board.’

‘But how can I believe it,’
‘The cash, when I receive it,’
‘To keep it, I am able?’
‘For sure, you are a bandit,’
‘If each time, to me, you hand it,’
‘While seated ‘neath the table?’

—–

A Poem So Terrible It Can’t Be Named

by Peregrine Arc

Oh my, oh me
I dearly have to pee.
But alas, the Labrador fell asleep on me.
So cute, so adorable, her face all wrinkled
She lets out a stinky and my nose truly krinkles.
Twenty minutes later, the air is fresh and new.
My breathing and vitals back to normal, phew!
“Dear,” I coo, wanting to get up.
“Do you want a treat, my little duck?”
Her amber eyes open and I’m up like a flash
I nearly walk on water to the toilet in my dash.
“Sorry, dear,” I call from the throne. “You’ll get a treat on the morrow–no interest on that loan.”

—–

Dinner Table Gambit

by Michael B. Fishman

Sitting at the table I felt bold
so I put my hand on her knee.
The look she gave me was quite cold
sort of like I touched her with poison ivy.

I couldn’t give up so I tried again
and the result was the same.
She said, “What the fudge” are you insane?
I felt like taking on an assumed name.

Third time’s the charm, right?
So under the table I grabbed her knee once more.
She didn’t have to turn or talk for me to feel the frostbite
I said, “Why doest me dost thee ignore?”

The dog watched it all from under the table
smiling in that doggie way while chewing on a bagel.

—–

What’s the Deal

by Ruth Scribbles

What’s the deal
With under the table
Table that thought
The cat without a hat
Demands attention
Under the table
She licks chip crumbs
Crumbs with salt
She licks the floor
Looking for more
Crumbs
Under the table

—–

Leave it to Amelia

by Violet Lentz

If there is trouble to be had
And usually, there is
Amelia’s smack dab in the middle
At that, she is a wiz.

You would think she was a cherub
To see her childhood photos
Who’d a thunk in this one here
She had a pine bough up her nose?

Or wait, you think that’s funny
How about her money-making scheme?
Selling milkshakes on the corner
That she made a shaving cream!

Or the time her Mom got a call from school
“Come quick!” said old Mizz Krantz
“Your Amy’s doing the bicycle,
And she ain’t wearin’ no underpants!”

But I’d say her defining moment
Was when she let her best friend Mabel
Take a lickin’ for stealing chewing gum-
Amelia’d plucked, from under the table.

—–

Deal

by Doug

Under the table
blood drips onto the crackpots there under
making a deal for blood-proof umbrella heirlooms
with a star chart marking the space alien’s location

Blood drips on the undercover policeman’s head.
He says, “The poker deal is dead. I want hence
grenades under an umbrella, and incense for ten cents.”

But you have to bribe the dealer for a deal
and the dealer was dead.

The deal blew up in their faces, and
they couldn’t save face with Adam Smith

—–

Thank you for entering! I love seeing returning torturers and new verse-obliterators, alike. Tune in tonight at 10 p.m. for the announcement of next week’s contest.

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Bruce: 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

Wow.

I’m speechless, so it’s a good thing I’m able to type.

I read through all the entries this week several times, and kept thinking that I need to make a ten-way tie. Only two or three of the submitted poems were too fancy for our dubious standards, and even those were just barely so.

The winner this week is D. Wallace Peach.

Poots

by D. Wallace Peach

There once was a hairy old coot
Who loved to squeeze out a poot
It was stinky and smelly
Gurgled like jelly
And popped off a sound like a toot

But he wasn’t close to the worst
My granny caught poots in her purse
She saved up the sound
For when grandkids came ‘round
Then out of her purse they would burst

Now MY poots are dainty as roses
No trouble for delicate noses
They make a small putter
Wheeze or soft flutter
But they won’t curl your hair or your toeses

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

I don’t want to encourage next week’s poets to utilize this strategy, but I had to force myself to go through reading hers the second time. 😀

All of you employed bad meter, mismatched rhyming, theme that rambled somewhere and then got lost but came back in a related way, and plenty of references and word usages to make artistic nerves cringe. On top of that extremely high bar, Diana won with the added benefit of -well, if you read it, you know.

I am not pandering in any way when I say the rest of the entries were AMAZING. As a poet sponsor, I am so proud of you all!

Here you are, in whatever order I could use to catch ’em all:

THE LOCKLOOSE GOOSE TRUCE!

by southernwriter122051046

I was hunting in far off Lockloose,
In the woods near St. Patty’s dam,
When I spied me an aging goose,
Just as sure as I’m sure I am,

And I was so damn hungry,
So, I wasn’t a bit choose-y,
So, I grabbed my gun, see,
And shot that ole’ goose-y,

But then it grabbed my gun,
And shot me back, damn!
So, we both lay bleedin’ at the settin’ sun,
Just as sure as I’m sure I am!

So, now, me and ole’ goose-y
Are bestest chums, by damn,
If you can’t eat ’em, don’t be choose-y,
Just as sure as I’m sure I am!

—–

Untitled piece

by Peregrine Arc

Listen…

Hark! Hark! Listen to that bark.

For sooth, or is it for sure? The tea kettle is boiling over, I assure…

Drip. Drip. Drip.

KLANG! KLANG! KLANG!

Ring, ring, ring.

Ka-boom, pop, boom!

Noises! Ack! What, where, how?

My ears are crying green pus, how doth one make it stop now?

Oh, I have my instrument pointed at Earth. It’s picking up all the audio waves. ‘Tis a terribly noisy planet, ’tis sooth, I’m afraid.

Quick Makbobblec3ft0, point the spaceship the other way. We shouldn’t have taken a left at Mars, nay neigh.

For sooth.

KLANG!

—–

Untitled piece

by Greygirlieandme

What’s that noise?
The car started it.
I felt such a twit when
The intermittent twanging
From the bang
When I put my foot down
Was actually
Nothing.
And then the kettle
Got really annoying
When it sang an aria rather than
Its normal whistle.
Don’t they know
It hurts my head
When their infernal row
Makes me see Scarlett.
Bet she didn’t have
These issues at Tara.
All her noises went away in the wind.
And she had a butler to sort them out
Anyway.
All day.
Not like me.
Stupid noises.

—–

The hootin’ toothy tootin’ lady

by RhScribbles

There was an old lady who tooted
The kids all thought it was a hoot
She sniffled and coughed
And ate applesauce
And went to sleep over there
On the sofa
Her bed was piled with laundry

—–

Bawls before kickoff

by Molly Stevens

They’re sitting in the stands,
All settled in their rows,
Bundled in sensible layers
Wearing adorable chapeaus.

The crowd noise is thunderous,
Delighting in their teams,
When a star takes center stage
And utters a piercing scream.

Has there been a threat to life?
A gunman on the loose?
From whence sprung this shrill shriek?
Some sort of harsh abuse?

The throng is shocked into silence
Hoping no one throws a tantrum,
As the screeching goes on and on and on and on
To execute the national anthem.

Oh, say, can you sing?
No! The group decrees.
Hire an opera singer
Who can reach the last high E!

—–

Squirrels go whirling

by RhScribbles

The squirrel in the attic
Became full of static
From running around in the insulation
Itching and scratching
He left the attic because the people
Heard him running
And they went to chase him out
But it was a nightmare because
He caused sparks that sizzled
From the static in the attic
And then I woke up.

—–

Untitled piece

by Anne Copeland

Terrible noises.
They seem to follow me secretly.
They can be farts
Or doggies squatting
with terrible noises that don’t come out
But I can smell.
Or they can be loud and rude
Especially when the back
of the one I love
is turned directly to my face.
It gives me warning,
but it is too late.
I’m afraid terrible noises
are to be my lifetime fate!

—–

The Bottom Burp

by TanGental

At heart
The fart
Was really very small

And well
It’s smell
Was nothing at all.

But parps
That start
On the tiny side

May grow
You know
And be difficult to hide

Don’t think
The stink
Will give you away

It’s the sound
That’s bound
To make you pay.

Try, my boys
To keep the noise
Under some control

Or you’ll find
Mankind
Won’t be very impressed and may well think you’re some kind of uncivilised idiot.

—–

Cola Etiquette

by Jon

It’s OK to slurp
at the bottom of the cup.
But try not to burp,
or let some come back up.

If you drink it too fast,
a cola will fizz,
and run out your nose,
that’s just how it is.

—–

An ode to Aunt Marlene

by Bruce Goodman

I worry some about worrisome noise, boys.
Cars are not toys
No matter if they bring you joys.
They are dangerous and when one hears a worrisome noise
When driving along the road
One knows instantly that it’s either the engine producing too much heat
Or old Aunt Marlene in the back seat.

The other day while driving along the road,
Just after leaving my abode,
Something went clack clack clack.
Oh what a worrisome noise!
No, it wasn’t old Aunt Marlene in the back.
I’d run over Aunt Marlene’s cat.

Old Aunt Marlene likes to read poetry out loud
When she’s in the back sitting proud.
Last week she read “The Ballad of Dick Turpin”.
It went on and on.
I said, “Can’t you shut up, Aunt Marlene, you’re driving us nuts?”
She said “It’s by Alfred Noyes”.
And I said “Well he’s a most worrisome Noyes.”

Drop the “I” out of NOISE and you get a WORRISOME NOSE.
Blow it.

—–

Untitled piece

by Bladud Fleas

here is a poem to sing
grundle pip boing thwack and ping
brrrp tinkle whap hmmp prr-dong
and that’s about the end of the song

no, wait, there’s another verse
and the noises they get a whole lot worse
but so we don’t increase our fears
we’ll just think them so no one hears

—–

Noises Everywhere

by Anneberly

What’s with these ear piercing, skin crawling sounds?
They are eating me alive, I just can’t stick around.

Where would I go? These noises are everywhere.
They’ve even made appearances in my nightmares.

Please save me from these “schlik, squish, slurp” type noises,
Before I become psychotic, and start hearing them as voices.

—–

Visit tomorrow for next week’s prompt, and keep up the terrible work!!

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The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Good day to you all. This here’s The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest, tenth edition.

Don’t know what ‘terrible poetry’ means? Read mah handy article, “How To Write Terrible Poetry.”

Here are the rules for this week:

  1. Topic: Worrisome Noises. They could be anything, from anywhere.
  2. Keep it reasonable in length. No ballads, please. (That means we don’t want a poem in excess of 200 or 300 words.)
  3. Should it rhyme? I don’t care. It’s yours to let us read.
  4. This may be the most important rule: make it terrible.
    I want the neighborhood auto mechanic to beg you to bring in a hundred engines with ‘funny noises’ driven by grandmothers who don’t know which body part is aching while their grandchildren drop something in the backseat that makes a suspiciously-messy *sploosh* sound.
  5. Keep it PG-rated. The grandmas might read it.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (January 25, 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.

 

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Photo Credit:
Clark Young