The Terrible Poetry Contest results for this week!

A big thank you to Chelsea for inviting me to judge the terrible poetry contest this week. The task was more challenging than I thought it would be!

No more suspense. The winner is.

In Love With a Ghost

By Mathew

I’ve fallen in love with a ghost,

She’s the one I care for the most.

No matter where I am,

She’s always there.

Supports me with this cross I bare.

Touches me in places where,

Other people aren’t aware…


My heart,

You pervert.


Your mind must be full of dirt


She also touches me under my shirt.


Like a gentle breeze, she tickles me.

Caresses me so tenderly.

If only she were still alive,

Then our love could really thrive.


Although there’s something about our connection

Which leads me to spring a massive…




Her haunting leaves me with no objection


She whispers in my ear at night,

About how she died here years ago.

I wish I could have met her sooner,

Perhaps I could have been her beau.


And then one night I met a neighbor,

We spoke about my couple acres,

And the woman of my dreams,

The experiences creating steam,

And how she died too soon it seems…


It was then that he informed me,

Of the man that lived before me,

And died there on the property,

From a clot to his coronary artery.


Now my home is up for sale,

And when he touches me I wail.


Goodbye dear ghost lady of my dreams.

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

All entries had twists – and sometimes twists galore! There were two major criteria in making a decision: to write with or about twists, and to compose a terrible poem. Some (I thought) had marvellous twists but were almost too good! Some were terrible but weren’t quite so strong on the twist aspect. In the end Matthew’s poem for me was just a nose ahead because the formatting was terrible – and format is part of a poem. This poem muddled bold, italic, normal, double spacing… It was impossible not to read it slowly. (Why does every poet on the blogosphere double space?) The poem also had terrible rhyme (I particularly liked “neighbor” rhyming with “acres”), rhythm, and assorted poetic devices. Congrats Matthew – your poem was terribly terrible.

The rest of the entrants are below for your general edification and enjoyment (and I didn’t do the double spacing!)


Untitled piece

By Trent McDonald

On a midday dreary

My eyes were all a-teary

As I had a report to do


My boss, grim-tongued mastered

Was such an awful bastard

Would kick me with his shoe


No way could it be finished by COB

And my boss knew it, that SOB

But he still goaded me with bull poo


So I decided, what the heck

I tied the noose around my neck

And went to hang myself in the loo


But when I rose, I heard something scary

And noticed an office fairy

Writing page after page of the report, over one hundred and two


I was saved and wouldn’t die!

Maybe my boss wasn’t such a terrible guy

Maybe he’d give a raise too!


As I started to celebrate I heard the clock

Ring the bells of five o’clock

And started to feel blue


For I was sleeping at work, it would seem

And the help of a kindly elf was all a dream

And my career was over, it is true


So I dove out the window instead of the door

I might have died, but I worked on the first floor

Now I need to go work someplace new


Take two

By Deb Whittam

George and Helen went up the hill,

For they sought some water????

But George fell down again

So they called the police chief’s daughter.

Her name was Carmichael,

Because that’s always the way

She was happy to come along

She was having a boring day

Suspects, there were plenty

Helen for a start

But Carmichael wasn’t going to be mislead

She’s knew these plots by heart

The priest she dismissed

He was such a craven creature

Same for the murderer

He was just looking to feature

Out went Helen, out went the lost sheep

Out went the thief,

Who claimed he’s fallen to sleep.

Carmichael had this sussed,

She called them all to announce her verdict,

It was the phantom of the opera,

For he’d just relocated and was the local hermit.


Untitled piece

By Nitin

We’re looking for masculine men

Who’ll fight with lions in a den

Not church boys or skinny dudes

Who cry with each turn of their moods

We want these men for our parade

We want them to be icons who’ll never fade

Yes, yes for the big bash

Where real men eat, brawl and smash

Wee doo wee la la la woo

And some super masculine Kung fu

We doo wee la la la woo

And some hyper masculine farts in the loo

We doo wee la la la woo

And let’s kill some cows. Mooo!

Yes, we want these men for this big event

Where they’ll lie in a pink tent

Stretch, stomp, jump, skip, flex

And some super masculine muscles like T-Rex

Stretch. stomp, jump, skip, flex

And some hyper masculine gay sex!


Untitled piece

By Gary

Yoda was the all seeing Jedi Knight

Yet was fooled with a hood and a dodgie light

While Luke was being the Star Wars Galahad

Who honestly thought that Vader was his dad

Bruce Willis seemed the perfect host

But ended up being a sodding Ghost

Poor Liberty Valence ended up getting shot

By John Wayne that’s a strange train of thought

The Sting was a shock when Paul and Robert copped it

But it just ended up being a gigantic counterfeit

The Village tried to fool us with a bit of double play

But it ended up being set in the Present Day

Anthony Perkins seemed such a nice chap

Yet as Mum and a psycho he got me into a flap

Seven tried so hard to subvert

By having a Box in the desert

Vertigo was Very very bleak

Judy being Madeleine was a bit of a cheek

Who in the Murder on the Orient Express would be first to admit

But what a sneaky trick to have them all do seem do it

The Wizard of Oz seemed strangely certain

Yet the wizard was a sad bloke behind a curtain

Reservoir Dogs was as cool as a soda pop

Yet sneaked in that Mr Orange was in fact a cop

Wow Scream tried smoke and mirrors

All to hide we didn’t have one but two killers

Jacobs Ladder tried to hide the thread

Hang on a moment another one who is dead

Even poor Harry Potter tried to be as shifty as a Manx Cat

I never saw Peter Pettigrew was Scabbers the Rat


Untitled piece

By Ruth Scribbles

My brain betrays

The intentions of my ways

I say do this

But then I do that

How can I survive

Opposite directions?

Go right he said

I turned right but

It was my other right

That he meant

If he had said go straight

I would have succeeded

But right and left

Cause many plot changes

Thank you all for entering. Go to Chelsea’s site Saturday at 10 a.m. MST for next week’s prompt.

16 thoughts on “The Terrible Poetry Contest results for this week!

  1. Yvonne

    Jeez, Louise

    These poems are truly bad

    Oh, if i only had

    The lack of talent displayed

    My name would be made


    No one would know how to pronounce it.

    Very sad

    1. Bruce Goodman Post author

      That could’ve been a winner! Regarding name pronunciation… I did google it at one stage. It’s not the pronunciation that’s the problem, it’s the spelling!

  2. Pingback: I Won The Terrible Poetry Contest And Bruce Goodman Ripped Me A New A-Hole – Blog of the Wolf Boy

  3. Pingback: Why Vacation if You’re a Stick in the Mud? | Chelsea Ann Owens

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