The 2008 Bad Poetry Contest is still going on...

Don't wait until the last minute -- now's your chance to show off that lack of talent!

Give us your wretched rhymes, your lousy limericks, your hurtin' haiku. Every year at this time I celebrate my birthday by hosting the Bad Poetry Contest. We've got some absolute stinkers this year -- poems about monkeys in cages, acrostics about casseroles,  and "fearsome fanged sparrows from the cliffs of Aldu-Hazziz." In other words, these are bad. Terrible. Rotten to the core. Just the way we like 'em. We even had one woman reveal that the love of her life looked her in the eye and told her, "They look like big blue bowling balls." (Um... it should be noted she THOUGHT the guy was talking to her about her eyes.) And to top it off, two of my students took time away from their end-of-the-semster studies to rhyme "final" with "vinyl." Does my heart proud to know I'm discipling two young up-and-coming bad poets.

Last year's winner was "Blind Puppy on a Freeway," which offered this inspiring chorus:

Love, love, love, love

Love, love, love

Love.

I don't know. Whenever I read those words (sniff), there's just something (sniff) that touches me (snort) RIGHT HERE (honk!). [For the sake of potential children reading this blog, we won't be showing pictures.]

Anyway, here's your chance. Rage. Emote. Show us your deepfulness. Greatness awaits. (So does a copy of Does God Speak Through Cats, which is this year's Grand Prize Selected Especially For You.) My 50th Birthday is Sunday, when I hope to be picking a winner, assuming I can still read and I'm not overcome by the fumes.

Poem away!

Comments

[Dianne Matthews]

I'm going to share a poem never before seen by human eyes--one I wrote 40 years ago. (Apparently, I had more time to be Deep and Sensitive when I was a teenager.) NOTE: For maximum impact, please put on bell bottoms, light some incense, and lounge in front of a poster that reads: "Today is the first day of the rest of your life." ADDITIONAL NOTE: Please notice the exquisite use of punctuation.

Quintessence

I love,
I hate!
I live--
I wait...

***Happy Birthday, Chip. And remember, Sunday is the first day of the second half of your life.

[from Lynda Schab]

Snot Bubbles and Tears…
Where are you?
My phone doesn’t ring
The doorbell doesn’t chime.
My lips can’t sing.
I’m a mime.
Just a mime.
But my heart cries out!
The snot bubbles ooze from the chambers.
They mix with my tears -
Enough to drown me.
But that’s probably what you want….
Right?
I thought we had something special.
But I guess I was wrong.
So wrong.
What will I do now?
I’ll sit in sorrow
Until tomorrow.
Then I’ll get up and move on
With my empty life.
If the snot bubbles and tears don’t drown me first.
--Lynda Schab

[Robert Treskillard]

Happy Birthday, Chip! Here's a couple of my "off the top of my head" baddies:
__________________________

BIRTHDAY ADVICE
__________________________

Remember, dear Chippers
After puttin' on flippers
Don't wear one of yer kilts
While on those tall stilts

__________________________

HAIKU NOT
__________________________

Walk on marshmallows
Or run fingers through the mud
That is not banjo

[Karla Akins]

It was
a
squirrel
that
got caught
in my
Motorcycle
wheel
and
his dying
chirps
were
for
Chip.
"Happy Birthday," he said.
And then
he
was
dead.

[Tiffany Colter]

Wow, I was truly humbled that my "Casserole Acrostic" made mention as an example of a truly bad poem. It was like a moment from Monty Python and the Quest for the Holy Grail where the young man tries to break in to song...

Violins began to swell, the longing look in his eyes

Then some large English man starts waiving his arms saying "Stop all of that". I saw the particularly bad poems in the comments of the last two blogs and how can I compete?

My sadness could inspire a second poem...[Violins begin to swell]

[Heydon Buchanan]

Chip,

I'm new to your newletter. It was recommended to me by an experienced editor, and I'm happy she did so. The site is great--content, organization, et al. However, now is not the time for compliments--it's the time for my own meager contribution to the 50th birthday bad poetry movement. So...

5-0
gives a chance to grow
from this day on in a horizontal flow.
As for now, we each have my land;
But down the road, I'll meet you in the Highland.

[Melanie Jones]

Most of my real doozies are in journals and I didn't take time to type them up. I specialize in post-counseling session bad poetry. Unfortunately, I couldn't find pre-counseling bad poetry. The titles "The Mercenaries" and "The Victims" should say enough. Occasionally, I wrote good poetry in high school, as evidenced by numerous trophies. But the fact that I can't tell the good from the bad is very telling. So, here goes.

The Other Side of Fear

I wonder what if feels like
on the other side of fear
The other side of nothingness
the other side of tears

Do peace and joy dwell there
on the other side of pain
can I find them, will I find them

Is life full of hope there
will my mind be free
will I find my love there
will I stand

I wonder what if feels like
on the other side of shame
where burdens do not threaten
can I see

I wonder what if sounds like
in the moment, peace, be still
quietness, solitude
only God remains

I wonder what it looks like
on the other side of grace
no more seeking
only finding
mercy, free and clear

I wonder what it feels like
on the other side of fear.

Melanie Jones

[Kelly Klepfer]

Chip, it's your birthday, it's your birthday.

So dawg, consider this yo b-day rappin poem.

Dude, sweet b-day wishes, as you eat you cake.
Doncha worry bout no carbohydrate
Doncha cry about puppies on da loose
not about the contracts or Alaskan moose
Just put you feet up and take a breath
Life's just that until it's death.

[Jennifer Clark Vihel]

(Ode To An Agent Turning Fifty)

Slaying Modern Dragons

Time eaters—nasty creatures, gnashing at your day
Engorging bloodsuckers, embedded here to stay

E-mails with long tails,
Cell phones with ring tones,
BlackBerry detours, taking you in tow

Then jury duty notice for the third year in a row

Web scares
E-mail snares
Attachments gone astray

Rabid technology, that makes even brave men sway

Electronic leashes forcing a 24/7 agent day
With incoming faxes, out-going taxes,
You wage war with time-eaters, which never go away

Still, you mount your trusty steed and gallop into fight
Skills honed, contacts known
Com. dragons slayed each night

Nobel man, you rise again, toward your gallant goal
Writer’s contract is signed,
But the good fight takes quite a toll

Time eaters—nasty creatures, tools of your trade
Chip, don’t deck the next who says, “Man, you have it made!”

HAPPY BIRTHDAY. HOPE YOU ENJOYED MY “BAD” POETRY TRIBUTE.

Jennifer Clark Vihel

[Hajid Kirduz Mesechnohech]

Chip sir, I am indeed honored that my fanged sparrows were mentioned alongside illustrious caged monkey. My soul sings like mountain goat giving birth.

Hajid

Buy today my book "1,001 Camels: An Epic in Alliterative Verse" and receive free of charge (handling fees may apply) e-novella "Return to Drakespeare Castle: A Duck Tales Mystery"
www.HajidKirduzMesechnohech.com

[Jim Rubart]

While I am loathe to manipulate the judge's vote, I do have to mention that my poem "Stuff" was submitted to poetry.scam, uh, I mean poetry.com, where it won the Editors choice award. This is what they said: "I am delighted to inform you that your poem "Stuff" has been awarded our prestigious Editor's Choice Award because it displays an original perspective and unique creativity -- judged to be the qualities found most in exceptional poetry. Congratulations on your achievement!"

I'm simply hoping C & M are as astute.

STUFF

My stuff is so rough,
I want to say enough!

But though my mind is shaken, with the amount of stuff I carry,

To get rid of all my stuff makes me very wary,

So I carry it around,
Sometime on the ground,

Which makes no sense,
But sometimes I'm dense,

My stuff is so rough,
I want to say enough!

[Linda Harris]

I sent my poem to poetry.com
Where the editor said, "It's da bomb!"
But now I am stuck
With an expensive book.
And I found out too late--
That's everyone's fate.

[Linda Harris]

P.S. to Jim:
I already decided to write about poetry.com before I read your comment. Didn't mean to piggback on your awful poem.

[chip responds]

As haiku goes, "That is not banjo" certainly sums up how I feel about much of the poetry in this year's Bad Poetry Contest. I'm thinking of entering all of it in the poetry.com contest, so that you can ALL be da bomb and spend $$$ on a very heavy book.

Today is the last day of the contest. Don't be left out -- offer your poetry about snot bubbles and dying chipmunks now!

BAD HAIKU

All kids learn haiku
But most of it makes no sense
Chipmunk snot bubbles

-chip

[Ginger Garrett]

YOU MAKE ME FEEL LIKE
(a natural woman)
In the funk that was my sock
In the secret burning place between my toes
Oh, Lotrimin, be the white cloud over my blistered red earth
My piggies cry out for you
Ahhhh.

[Rob Sargeant]

Hi Chip,

Great to hear that you liked my obituary poem. I took it from my new book, OBITUARY POETRY FOR DUMMIES (Literary agents everywhere are dying to represent this one). I can't wait to win the How God Speaks Through Cats book. The way my cat has been looking at me lately, I know she has been trying to tell me something.

[Paulette L. Harris]

Happy Happy Birthday to You
Woo Woo Woo.

Happy Birthday to You
Woo Woo Woo.

Those over 50 know!
Whoa Whoa Whoa.

Happy Happy Birthday to You Dear 50 year old friend/advisor.
The man who freely gives and is wiser.
Woo Woo Woo

Happy Happy Day Agent extraordaire,
The one eager to share.
Yahoo Yahoo Yahoo!

This can be sung two ways depending on situation.
You must be in kilts, drinking a Guiness and if your wife is singing this poem song, it must be Marilyn Monroe breathy (Remember the HB song to President Kennedy?).
The Lotus Flower Woo Woo form is best from the movie with Sylvester Stalone and Teri Hatcher.

If the song is sung by Jim and me or others, then kilt, a pint of Guiness and joyfully, making sure that you are happy in a "safe" pub. At this point, doesn't matter the tune, just the loudness and hopefully someone who could carry a tune not not sing flat. I have no sense of rhythm so I'll just follow along with the Woo Woos.

Actually after enough celebration, you could probably put this poem/song into any notes that you would like. It is after all your Birthday....so Happy Birthday Chip.

Jim and Paulette Harris

[Paulette L. Harris]

Not sure what happened here on this post, maybe it brings attention to how really awful it is. How in the world can I compete with all these terrible poems? Good job everyone.
We writers do after all, have a great sense of humor. We aren't sticks in the mud and dry old folks in v-sweaters and turtle necks underneath!

Blessings to all,
Paulette L. Harris
www.pauletteharris.biz
comeandsitawhile.blogspot.com

[Dr. Richard Leonard]

I try not to write bad poetry. Ugh, it hurts. But I'll make the sacrifice. Try this really bad one:

Roses are red,
violets are purple.
Don't eat too much cake
or you're likely to burple.

[Molly MacGregor]

So I haven't entered because these poems are not really bad, (lame maybe) but not truly terrible. Anyway, here goes...

Celebration of Earth Day

I am the earth
Awaiting rebirth
Majestic, heartbroken
Damaged and broken
Earth bewilder
Ever unspoken
Please vote for Nader

At least this was superior to my first attempt:

It’s the birthday of dear Chipper-roo
Which caused quite a hullabaloo
I tried to fight
But to Col’s delight
There’s no beating his story of poo

[Carla Gade]

Chip's fifty.
How nifty.

[irene brand]

How can I write a poem? I said to myself with a sigh.
But if I ignore the summons, my agent might bid me goodbye.
So with pen in hand and a determined heart,
I made up my my mind to do my part.
Now please don't laugh at my efforts, whatever you do . . .
Roses are red and violets are blue.

[Crystal Laine Miller]

my chin hairs grows around my nose

and down the road I goes

fifty stinks

i trip on those chin hairs

he trips on eyebrow hairs

fifty stinks

no golf

sore shoulder, oatmeal for breakfast

fifty stinks

whatever happened to pizza for breakfast?

e.e. miller

[Jennifer King]

Happy Birthday, Chip! Please excuse my BAD poetry.

Sentimentalities on the Writing Life: 10 Years

Write. Write! Write! Trash.
Write. Trash.
Write. Write. Write! Trash?
Right. Trash!
Ugh.

[Candace Pope]

So, it’s stink you want?

Well, stink you’ll get:
The back door trashcan of the vet;

A book that’s all about a cat;
A skillet full of week-old fat;

Road kill on a summer day,
While vultures land and have their way;

Gym shorts foul beneath the bed;
Unwashed hair on a Scotsman’s head;

Underwear, skid marks intact;
A tiny skunk when he gets hacked;

Green mold on the shower wall;
Any kind of Barbie Doll;

Teachers who just love to quiz;
Men who take a public whizz;

Folks whose view is always grim;
Headlights never switched to dim;

Semi trucks on two-lane roads;
Blind dates who resemble toads;

Check-out lines so long and slow;
Bubbles that refuse to blow;

Dogs that role in something dead;
Paint containing poison lead;

Writers who just whine and cry;
Poets who refuse to die;

The fact I’ve spent my valued time
On the above is such a crime.
But birthdays should be stinking not,
Especially for a witty Snot - - er, Scot!

[Danica/Dream]

Oh the pressure!!
I sit on my couch trying to think of something witty
A perfect little ditty
To celebrate the half century of the life of a man named Chip.
But all I can think about is dip.

Lays, anyone?

[Linda M Au]

Today's your big day. Are you a semi-hemi-centegenarian or something like that? To adapt something the great Sandra Boynton once said (on a coffee mug):

Hippo Birdies Two Ewes
Hippo Birdies Two Ewes
Hippo Birdies Deer Chipppppppp
Hippo Birdies Two Ewes!

I hope you're an animal lover. And if you were, you probably aren't anymore after that.

[Danica/Dream]

Oh the pressure!!
I sit on my couch trying to think of something witty
A perfect little ditty
To celebrate the half century of the life of a man named Chip.
But all I can think about is dip.

Lays, anyone?

[San]

I like you bip
I like you bop
I like you like
A pig likes slop.

(Feels like I need to add "Burma-Shave," huh?)

Hope you had a great day celebrating and being celebrated. Happy Five-O, Chip!

[Stephanie Reed]

Okay, so I admit I plagiarized my first poem. Now I will attempt to redeem myself with an original bad poem all my own.

Enmity

The serpent writhed on the cement slab--
Grey buttress 'neath our 30-gallon refuse
Containers--
And I saw red.
I sped away and returned
Triumphant with a sharp-bladed
Implement
Meant for
LIFE
But I used it for
DEATH
Hack'd hack'd hack'd
Until the serpent's life blood
Scrawled an arcane message
O'er the slab
In filigree scarlet
As my children stared in horror
At me.

Based on a true story, coming soon to a theatre near you!