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
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…
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!)
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
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.
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!
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
My brain betrays
The intentions of my ways
I say do this
But then I do that
How can I survive
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.