Unspeakably Bad Poetry Contest

OK, poetry lovers, poetry haters, and the poetically indifferent, I am throwing down the glove and challenging you all to a bad poem contest.

The rules: Post the worst poem you can think of (either yours or someone else’s) in the comments or by email to yours truly (independent clause) at the gmail. It can be a Tennyson poem or a poem written by your Great Aunt Matilda under the influence of absinthe while she was a teenager. You could have made it up on the spot. I don’t fucking care; as long as you think it’s bad, I’ll read it.

Eligibility: All submitters and poets are eligible except the contest judge, so don’t find any of my poems and post them. (Anyway, that would be rude.) Multiple submissions encouraged.

Judging process: The poem that causes the greatest volume of coffee to be projected from my nasal cavity while reading will be the winner.

The prize?: A book by Shel Silverstein, Ogden Nash, or another comic genius of my choosing.

When does it start? Now.

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9 responses to “Unspeakably Bad Poetry Contest

  1. I think I was fourteen when I wrote this. I’m resisting the urge to apologize.

    “Organic Oatmeal”

    You loved my sesame seed cookies,
    my whole wheat raisin toast,
    and my vegetarian meals
    with fresh seaweed from the coast.

    So on and on I went
    making you meals of healthy things.
    And my cooking, mixed with our love,
    sent our life soaring on its wings.

    Then one chilly morning
    as you were getting the fire lit,
    I made you a bowl of organic oatmeal
    and you said you hated it.

  2. Finally, a contest in which I might stand a chance.

    Here’s a limerick I posted at Sarah’s place a few months back:

    There once was a mentor named August
    Whose prose was quite simply the hottest
    He took mine in hand
    My god what a man
    Now all that I need is a harness.

    (The harness was a sexy inside joke which I believe contributes to the awfulness of my poem. Choose me, Indy, choose me!)

  3. Well, if we are allowed to use stuff previously posted at Sarah’s ….

    I never saw the pile of shit
    Lying on the woodland path
    But then I went and trod in it.
    Now I really need a bath.

    I

  4. Pingback: Snorkle | Fangs and Clause

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