WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

I have never been so irritated in my life, except for the time I had to sit very still during nerve surgery at the dentist. Good work, poets.

As is the case every week, however, only one may be crowned the victor. This week that winner is: Nitin.

Untitled piece

by Nitin

This is the thirtieth time I’mma say this,
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,
so listen yo, this is the thirtieth time I’mma say this
yeah the thirtieth, so you listenin,
I met her in the thirtieth street
next to the thirtieth store on
the thirtieth year of my life,

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

I don’t know whose idea it was to take one of my least favorite things and have everyone poem about it, but that person needs to be fired. These poems were so difficult for me to get through. Just when I thought things couldn’t be more tortuous, I rescued a lone poem from my Spam folder. It may have been marked as such because the poet repeated the same message thirty times.

Thirty times!!!

Way to take the theme, wipe it all over the walls, and smash it into the judge’s face, Nitin.

And, to the rest of you, I award a tie for second place. You are all terrible:

To celebrate Number 30 or 5

by Bruce Goodman

To celebrate Number Thirty
I thought I’d write something dirty
but thirty’s not my favourite number
so I’m going for something humbler.
How about choosing Number Six?
It’s got an eS, it’s got an eX.
It almost seems to rhyme with flex
especially if you pronounce flecks like flicks
but I’m not an Australian.

And so I’m choosing Number Four
as in fourward and four goodness sake
and befour and God foursake-
en. Oh blow it! I’m going back to Number Thirty,
all other numbers make me waffle
which is offal.

So here, to Ms Chelsea, I present 30 roses
in a poesie
to congratulate on Number Five well on the way
that happiness and joy will be every day
and in a Million ways not just Thirty
which is flirty
and dirty
and shirty.
Five would be the number I would deign
to use if I had to start this poem again.

—–

2, By Juan Two

by Jon

Two knew there were only two.
Two who were. Two we rue.
Too much to do to those two;
Clearly too few, this we knew.
Two steps forward, back one plus two.

Deux you have to be too rude?
Maybe, nearly, twice as crude.
Twirly, twirly, twain tutu.
Two against two others skewed
Dos into moral turpitude

Two times kitty, kitty too.
Twice meowing, two mew, mew
Two too many. Many twos…
Two times two I bid you…
Adieu, Adieu! Adieu, Adieu!

—–

One One

by Deb Whittam

One wondered how one one the day
When it wasn’t there to be one anyway
One thought one might be confused
One often is to tell the truth
One then scratched one’s head and looked around
One wondered if one should hide underground
But one had one so one must confess
What one had one was anyone’s guess

—–

Furor over four

by Trent McDonald

Don’t think I’m a bore
To sing the praises of number four
For four is at the forefront of my forward fortress
Forever my numerical mistress
Ah four! Fortune smiles on four!
Sure, there’s four horsemen of the apocalypses
But does four graves make a necropolises?
Forget it, just sing praises for four!
Two squared is four!
Two plus two is four!
Two times two is four!
Two times two times two minus two minus two is four!
See, four ways to make four from two!
And the last had four twos for four!
Forever fortunate in math, four!
How do I love thee, four?
Let me count the ways!
One, two, three, four!
OK, no more
About four
The number
I adore
Four

—–

Untitled piece

by Bereaved Single Dad

Two years for Brexit
Two years and still no exit
Two Prime Minister candidates left
Two Blokes from the right
Two Privileged Backgrounds
Two supporters of hunting with Foxhounds
Two so called men of the people
Two big personalities who loath the townspeople
Two prize A buffoons
Two politicians so easy to lampoon
Two conservatives who love the tycoon
Two elitists who exist for the silver spoon
Two visions which only bring despair and gloom
Two numpties living in a policy vacuum
Two muppets who are so out of tune
Sadly one to be PM in June.

—–

🐜 The Irritated Ant 🐜

by Ruth Scribbles

There once was an ant named Pyzant
Who loved to sing loathsome pop songs
His family hated those cheesy peezy bongs
Sounding like thunder and marching ants
Did you know ants march?
One by one and never done
Ants are not sluggards
They are drunkards
And they keep singing
“The ants go marching five by two”
And they never ever tie their shoes
So irritating. Now I can’t get that out-
Of my head
And it’s time for bed

Zzzzzzzz

—–

Euler’s Number

by Magicquill17

E equals mc-squared,
Oh wait, fudge, it’s a poem about a number and not a physical quantity
So actually e equals 2.718281828459045
And on and on and on and on…
Until the end of time and space
If they have an end, that is.

So what’s the big deal about this e?
See, e raised to x is a very special function
Called the exponential function
But that’s not what’s special about that, no
(Though that could be, at least annoying if not special
Because in childhood they taught us that exponent is just repeated multiplication of a number by itself
Like 2^3 is 2×2×2
Which equals 8, by the way
(Not that it’s relevant)
And you would think that exponential function is x raised to some number
But no dear, oh no,
Exponential function is e raised to x
Annoying, ain’t it?
I know, I hate Maths too)

So the special thing is that the derivative
Of e^x is e^x itself
And so is the integral
(The slope of the function
Is the function itself
And the area under the function
Is the function itself)
Ain’t that clever? Ain’t that amazing?
Look me in the eye and tell me
That that’s not the most beautiful thing ever.
(I know you can’t because I’m behind a screen
Hehehe)

So yeah, e^x is also the inverse of log
Not the log burnt to cook food in primitive times, silly
The logarithm, logx to the base something
Usually- yes- e
Which is 2.718281828459045
Which is asking the question, to what power
Must I raise e
To get x?
See, Maths can be philosophical too.

So e, 2.718281828459045,
Is a very useful number
Because it makes calculations simpler
And that’s counterintuitive
Because you wouldn’t expect such a complicated number
To make things anything but difficult,
But trust me on that,
Because even though you probably don’t
Use it in real life,
I’m a science student.

So e, 2.718281828459045
Is hidden in nature
In spirals of shells, and butterfly wings
And other things people say to
Make themselves sound smart
Amd observant
When really they’ve just googled
‘Number e in nature’
To show it off to friends.
And so did I.
(Such candor.).
Honesty is the best policy,
Or should I say, polic- e?
Not the police that pulls you over for overspeeding, silly,
Policy, polic- e, get it?
I’ll just e myself out.

—–

Thanks again for playing, and come back tomorrow.

johannes-w-249542-unsplash

Nitin: 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

Play the fanfare, crack out the snacks, and do your favorite dance! It’s time for the THIRTIETH Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest!!

Thank you to so many who’ve been here for all or most of those weeks and to the many other willing participants who’ve joined since! If you are a newbie, I recommend reading my brief how-to about terrible poetry. After that, I recommend writing an entry after a really late night or three, and a severe headache.

Here are the specifics for this week:

  1. The Topic is a repeated number. Pick a number, any number, and use it a lot throughout your poem.
    Besides children singing pop songs, I loathe when I have to sit through everyone using the same prompt word for 500 entries. So, irritate me.
  2. Keep the Length shorter than 150 words, so I don’t jump out any windows.
  3. Please Rhyme in terribly, horribly, no-good, very bad ways.
  4. If you can’t tell already, make it terrible. I want crazy people to look at you in fear and for the survivors of Lost to beg you not to repeat that same number again…
  5. Keep things PG or cleaner; there’s no need for crude numerals.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (June 21) to submit a poem.

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

For a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments.

Have fun!!!

 

johannes-w-249542-unsplash

Photo credit:
Johannes W

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Wow. This week’s contest was amazing! I had a terribly fun time reading through everyone’s entries …and an equally terrible time trying to pick just one winner.

But a winner there must be. And that is Deb Whittam.

An ode to a piece of driftwood

by Deb Whittam

Luke was like a piece of driftwood
He floated his way into my life
And marooned himself on my stretch
Of the beach
He lay there salient
Watchful, still
He didn’t leave
It was kind of disturbing
I considered starting a fire
I considered tossing him back in
I considered getting my dog to poop
next to him, but in the end
But being driftwood
I walked round him
Then the tide came in and
He drifted out again
Days passed
Honestly I didn’t notice he was
GONE

But that’s what driftwood is like
Forgettable
Just like Luke
SUCH IS LIFE
… (Pause here to blow a raspberry)

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

As I said earlier, there were many excellent entries. The level of awful poetry was astounding and made for a difficult decision. Great work mixing meters, muddling themes, and morphing rhymes! Deb’s over-the-top features were all those elements working so well together. Good/bad job!

And the remaining entrants were terrible in their own right. Enjoy:

Anguish of a Poet

by BibleBloggerGirl

I’m writing a poem that needs to be deep
It’s supposed to have rhythm and metrical feet
Through bang-head-here moments I moan and I weep
While googling synonyms that start with an e.

—–

The Unspeakable Tragedy of Being an Astronomer

by Charlie

Astronomers have little hope
of life outside their telescope.

They study Mars
and neutron stars
and never ride with girls in cars

And, if they do acquire a wife
they are working each night for the rest of their life.

So, if studying a black hole
is your goal
prepare for it to crush your soul.

And, spending your life trying to prove dark matter
is even satter…

—–

Open slather

by Bruce Goodman

You are so well-rounded that you could be compared to a turnip,
and indeed you have earned it.
Everything you touch seems to turn to gold;
each and every talent that you hold.
Even when you play the violin
it’s so sensual it’s almost a sin.
When you simply fry an egg
it’s ten times tastier than when it’s fried by my Aunty Peg.

With a paint brush in your hand
you make Leonardo d’Vinci less a man;
not to mention when you do arithmetic
you are better at arithmetic than Arius was at being a heretic.
There’s very little you could be taught
when it comes to sport.
Compared to you the rest of us look dumb
so there’s no reason to walk around like you’ve got a carrot stuck up your bum.

—–

The Weekly Brouhaha

by Peregrine Arc

Every week, Ms. Chelsea posts
Hey you lot, write something gross!
Do your worst and you’ll get our praise;
Do your best, you’ll get week old mayonnaise.

And so I do, and so it went
Until I gave my last two cents.
I’ve wrote about summer, literary masterpieces and the lot
I’ve won twice, and I’m besought

So tell me now and tell me true
Who is the worst poet for you?
Is it so terrible to terribly tell a little lie?
And say that perhaps it’s the great Kahunana himself, Mr. Billy Sly?

No one understands the guy who Shakes the Speares
He could be making it up after all the years
No one understands what he’s trying to say
Truly, he’s laughing from his grave and giggling all the way.

Death to Oxford Commas.
Zazzle.

—–

The Ten

by BereavedSingleDad

The ten amazing PM candidates
Needed since the dreadful May abdicates
Boris Johnson
Looking out for number one
Jeremy Hunt
No more than an embarrassing publicity stunt
Michael Gove
Slowly disappearing in all the cocaine lies you wove
Dominic Raab
Wouldn’t trust you with a kebab
Sajid Javid
You make our police so livid
Matt Hancock
Talks utter poppycock
Mark Harper
Completely incompetent usurper
Esther McVey
Only wants you to obey
Rory Stewart
The leadership qualities of a Raspberry Tart
Andrea Leadsom
Will only bring national doom
That is Britain Today
A country in complete disarray

—–

The Car Nation On A Lawn

by Doug

Eee ha, ho down horse around,
dance the rainy reign reins away.

Rains rein in the picnic nit picks
but for every weed given rein to,
there will grow a rein-Carnation
and a carnation reincarnated as a weed.

—–

So You Say

by Michael B. Fishman

If I were from the southern part of the US I’d say something like, “Jiminy Christmas” instead of swearing. When I listened to a braggart I might think “he’s all hat and no cattle” and if someone got mad at me I’d smile and tell them that they can “just get happy in the same britches they got mad in”.

But I’m not from the southern part of the US.
Goodness gracious,
Although I am sometimes loquacious

I’m from the northern part of the US where I say stuff like, “You betcha” and where snow is called “snoooow” and where we all say “Yah” a lot and follow it up with “sure”, and where, when we talk to strangers, we begin every sentence with, “Oh”.

Like –

“Oh, how ’bout those Twins?”
or
“Oh, Olivia Johnson sure does make a good casserole.”
or
“Oh, didja see. . .”

Or “So”.

Like –

“So the Twins lost yesterday, eh?”
or
“So, didja hear Jim Larson got food poisoning from Olivia Johnson’s casserole?”
or
“So what’d’ya think of. . .”

And you didn’t hear this from me, but a lot of us pronounce “third” like “turd”.

So, yah, I’m from the northern part of the US.
You betcha,
And those little red dots you sometimes get on your skin? They’re petechia.

If I were from Mars I might talk and I might not talk because no one knows how Martians sound or if they even talk at all for that matter.

—–

Sunset, Sunrise

by Nakedinfiniverse

Slumped on sofa, feeling low,
Don’t wanna shop or outside go,
Shocking din beyond window;
Apocalypse? Malignant crows?
Curtains closed, so I don’t know,
But curiosity, so

I think take a look,
Rise to feet discarding book.
Need to eat, don’t want to cook.
Kitchen no cavern – more a nook…
Is it birds or fatal fluke?
Peak between drapes like cornered crook.

Three car pile-up – bedlam there,
Poking bones, blood-mussed hair.
Look away from sickening scare,
See ribbons of colour streaking the sky and I carelessly cease to care,
Horizon highlighting rhapsody rare;
Surprising sunset, breathtaking flare.

Pity poor victims; tarmac is read,
Rubberneckers shaking heads,
Twisted bodies lately dead.
Making sandwich, ready for bed,
Scraping mould from hunk of bread;
Provocative dreams if properly fed.

Pluck off blossoming, blue-grey yeast,
Anticipating impromptu feast,
Unforeseen shock – view faces east.
Time is thieving, night-fleecing beast.
Feel like a flock of silly geese;
Sunset west, sunrise east.

Radio wakes in hollow bedroom,
Morning call; warning tune.
Sat through night, blind to gloom.
Feel foreboding, forthcoming doom.
Skin feels pocked with autumn bloom.
Off to horrid office soon.

Better slough of sleepless grime;
Supper’s off; it’s breakfast time.

—–

Roses are Red

by Peter Martuneac

Roses are red
and white and pink.
Roses can also be
orange, I think?

Violets are blue,
And uh, tulips are…yellow?
I don’t know, I’m not a botanist. Or a poet.
So the end, bite me.

—–

Terrible Poem

by Ruth Scribbles

One two three four five
Counting seven syllables
Five four three two one

—–

Unexpected Treasure

by James Babwe

I cannot accurately say how far down it was.
At the time, I had no way to measure.
I could estimate, but that would be a guess.
Besides, I’d rather explain what I saw,
how I achieved a somewhat modest goal,
and enjoyed the unusual fruit harvested
from an unusual place which rewarded me
with a somewhat modest treasure.

Shining from the east, fiery streaks of sunlight slowly peeked
through clouds to warm the sandy sandstone bluffs,
the unstable wall between
Coast Highway and our planet’s largest ocean.

The salty surface of the massive sea was still and glassy as it slept.
I paused to pose in yoga stance
and stared at the horizon.

As chilly darkness surrendered to blue sky dawn,
I shifted my physical position and left my previous posture
to the past and headed for an outhouse where I hoped
to leave the liquid remnants of my light roast coffee.

Surrounded by blue plastic walls and door,
and squinting in the midst of acrid chemicals which did not mask
or complete the task that they were manufactured for,
I did what I’ll admit I cannot resist the urge to do.

I took a look into the tank below–
down into the pit–
down into a swarm of buzzing flies
and abandoned human exhaust product.

And there is where I found it–
silent, lonely, floating
with other objects which are not usually
mistaken for candy bars or old potatoes,
I found Deepak Chopra’s wallet in an outhouse at the beach.

I used an old coat hanger to retrieve
what my human hands alone could not quite reach.

Attempts to win the lottery
have never worked for me.
The Universe has not exactly
blessed me with its blissful luck.

But on one amazing morning,
I rescued a celebrity’s accessory.

Fortunately,
I did not fall in or make a mess of me.

In fact, after ending
its encounter with the ugly muck,
I let it dry for half an hour.

Inside,
I found a couple hundred bucks.

I found Deepak Chopra’s wallet in an outhouse at the beach.
I used an old coat hanger to retrieve
what my human hands alone could not quite reach.

—–

Vernix

by Violet Lentz

you will
never know
the scent of
baby powder
transports me back
to the first moment
i held you in my arms

(inhale)
(exhale)

in an instant
i am once again
breathing in the scent
of the waxy white vernix
that protected
your fragile foetal flesh
from the waters
of my womb..

and reminded,
that you should never
have had to protect
yourself like that
from me
again..

—–

Thanks to all who entered and for sharing your amazing talents! Tomorrow at 10 a.m. starts next week’s contest!

frida-aguilar-estrada-397167-unsplash

Deb: 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

Welcome, one and all, to the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest, #29.

Some visitors may wonder, “What is terrible poetry?” Is it a good poem with a rotten subject? A potential masterpiece with a funny twist? Not really.

Way back at the beginning, I gave a basic outline. My aim is to capture the sort of every-line-rhyming poem one wrote in grade school, or a roses are red rip-off when first tormented by teenage love, or to fulfill a college assignment to create haiku based on syllables alone.

Got it? Here are the specifics for this week:

  1. The Topic is open! No, not a poem with the word “open,” but a masterpiece about any subject you feel inspired to expound upon.
  2. Just as the theme is whatever goes, the Length is also. I will warn entrants that the (sole) judge has about a 200-word attention span.
  3. Rhyming is also optional. Look at all the freedom you have!
  4. Above all, make it terrible! Make professional poets beat themselves over the head with their organic chai tea from recomposed cacao husks. Make English literature professors escape out their office windows and climb down their ivy leagues. Make your mother proud.
  5. …But keep things PG or cleaner if you can for the general audiences that read the blog.
  6. Also, please share the love. Tell your friends and followers. I think our regulars could use a bit of competition, and I always enjoy seeing new victims to the contest.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (June 14) to submit a poem.

If you want to be anonymous (for a week), use the form below.

Or, for a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments below that.

Have FUN!

 

frida-aguilar-estrada-397167-unsplash

Photo credit:
Frida Aguilar Estrada