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Don’t Skippy Over Me (or I’ll Be Back in a Jif) – Terrible Poetry Contest

January 28, 2019

This week, Chelsea’s Terrible Poetry Contest inspiration is: Diamond in the Rough. Think you can be a terrible poet? If so, then go HERE to play along.

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Don’t Skippy Over Me (or I’ll Be Back in a Jif)

I like chunky peanut butter sometimes –
and sometimes I don’t.

Ask me why,
or don’t,
(I don’t care)

Peanut butter’s rough.
The chunks? A diamond in the rough.

That’s because I like peanuts and . . .
I
don’t
like
peanut
butter.

It’s not even butter!

Once upon a time there was a peanut farmer who became President. A giant named Fezzik came along and asked if he wanted a peanut. The President-to-be said no, but he asked the giant where he could fill up his empty peanuts. The giant didn’t know, but some other guy – I can’t visualize him so neither will you – came along and said “I know!” The President-to-be said, “Where?” and non-visualizable man said, “The Shell station!”

And they laughed.

And the peanuts laughed.

“Ha!” they all laughed

Laughter is like a diamond.
(I don’t know why but it makes for an interesting simile)
Life is just rough
(That’s not a simile, I don’t know what it is)

We eat peanut butter
and watch the butterfly flutter.
From the golf putter to the stonecutter
Some of us put it on bread and eat it with that white stuff that drips from a cow’s udder.

=  =  =  =

A toe-tapping song that mentions a girl with a diamond.

 

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His Treasure

January 24, 2019

From Peregrine Arc comes this fun writing prompt/contest.

I want you to imagine you come across a treasure chest. The setting and circumstances are yours to invent. But you need to tell the reader what’s inside…eventually. Build up a little intensity; spice it with anticipation or season with mystery. Do your thing and we’ll read it. We’re looking forward to what the treasure chest reveals for you.

1. Keep it PG. Pretend your great aunt Gertrude would read it and take back your Christmas gifts if she smelled even the faintest whiff of impropriety.

2. No word limit this week. Just please don’t try to out write Tolstoy. I do need to sleep and eat.

3. You can do descriptives, a story, whatever your imagination comes up with. Narratives might work best here but let your imagination be your guide.

4. Keep it clean. Remember Aunt Gertrude. Humor is optional but nice.

5. Repost on your blog to increase the fun! This is optional, but the more the merrier. I welcome the pingbacks.

You have until Friday, January 25th (11:59 pm, US EST) to make your post. Author reserves the right to approve and disapprove comments at her own discretion. I look forward to reading your adventures.

Sounds like fun, no? If you agree go HERE and play along. Here’s my treasure chest –

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His Treasure

They tell him he watches the clock too much. ‘They’ being his teachers and other people in the school; people he doesn’t know and who carry leather-covered notebooks with the words “Brighton County Elementary School” stamped in gold lettering across the front.

These people he doesn’t know, the ones with the leather-covered notebooks, they ask him questions and they write down his answers in their notebooks. He’s learned to keep his answers short and to nod and agree with the things they say because it’s easier that way. He also learned that if he tells them why he doesn’t pay attention in the classroom, and why he watches the clock, they just ask him more questions so he keeps his thoughts, his treasured secrets, tucked away inside.

When he’s done answering their questions they close their leather-covered notebooks, stand up and smile politely at him and leave. They never say “thank you” so even though they smile, he knows they’re not really polite.

Randy always says thank you. It’s what his mom taught him to do.

It’s not that Randy doesn’t like school, he’s just bored in the classroom. He’s not athletic so he’s not involved in any sports and he doesn’t make friends easily so he’s lonely. Plus he’s sitting in math class and math class and Mr. Richard, he thinks: yuck.

And he doesn’t always watch the clock, he also watches Lisa Beldorn.

Lisa has brown hair that hangs to just below her shoulders. More often than not she pulls it back into a pony tail and ties it with a colored ribbon and Randy plays a game where he tries to guess what color the ribbon will be that day. Sometimes he’s right and sometimes he’s wrong but it doesn’t bother him being wrong because Lisa, he thinks, is pretty regardless of the color of the bow she’s wearing, and he gets to look at her whether he’s right with the ribbon guessing game or wrong with the ribbon guessing game so he wins either way. He thinks about telling her she’s pretty and decides that one day he’ll do just that, but that for the time being he’ll keep that thought as another tucked-away little treasure.

He watches the clock tick to noon and when the school bell rings to signal lunchtime Randy joins the other students walking to the cafeteria. Walking down the hall with the other students he stays close to the wall because he’s uncomfortable in the large crowd. His right thumb reaches across his palm to nervously spin the lucky ring on his middle finger and he holds his brown paper lunch bag in his left hand.

He relaxes when he enters the open space large lunchroom. He gives the milk lady his ticket and grabs a half-pint milk carton and he walks over to sit at his usual spot at his usual table near the back exit and next to the window that overlooks the train tracks. He opens his lunch bag and pulls out a wax paper-wrapped peanut butter sandwich and a small bag of potato chips to reveal the gold hidden at the bottom of his paper treasure chest. He lifts the small sheet of paper out, unfolds it and leans back in his seat and reads the message:

Hi sweetie,

I hope you’re having a good day at school
and I’ll see you when you get home.
Enjoy your lunch.

I love you,
Mom

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(This song isn’t autobiographical in any way, it’s just a good song by a great songwriter)

Another NYE

December 31, 2018

Because the other 364 days of the year aren’t bad enough, along comes the last one – day number 365 – and along with it another New Year’s Eve where you really feel like a loser when you’re spending the night home alone.

Here’s a ballad from Tom Waits. The person who uploaded the song thoughtfully added the lyrics to the description in case you want to read them (and this is a Tom Waits song so I don’t know why you wouldn’t want to read them). Considering the goings on at this NYE party it’s maybe not so bad being alone after all.

“And we all started to sing . . .”

Happy New Year to you!

It’s Christmas & a Merry one to you

December 24, 2018

I like Christmas because it’s the one day of the year where pretty much everyone says nice things, does nice things and thinks nice things. This contrasts with what I believe are the majority of folks who claim to act this way – a way that’s in accordance with their professed religious beliefs – but really don’t, on the other 364 days of the year. Below is a quote from John Steinbeck. Please excuse the gendered language, but it was written back in 1938 and taken from his journal and used in the introduction in one of the later releases of “Of Mice and Men”. If you can see your way past the language of the times I think his words are as relevant today as they were eighty years ago, and I think our country and our world wound benefit if we followed them every day of the year, not just one of them. They might even help more than silent pleas to a heavenly body/bodies, who knows?

“In every bit of honest writing in the world, there is a base theme. Try to understand men, if you understand each other you will be kind to each other. Knowing a man well never leads to hate and nearly always leads to love. There are shorter means, many of them. There is writing promoting social change, writing punishing injustice, writing in celebration of heroism, but always that base theme. Try to understand each other.” – John Steinbeck

Be kind to someone today and for the next 364 days. Merry Christmas to you.

Terrible Poetry Contest (week 5)

December 11, 2018

It’s the Fifth Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest hosted by Chelsea Owens!

This week Chelsea says that the topic is ‘Twas the Night before Christmas. I thought it was interesting that she chose that topic because if you look closely at the calendar you’ll see that Christmas is – you ready for this? – only a couple of weeks away!

Coincidence? Well, you know what Shakespeare said: “You speak an infinite deal of nothing.” Of course that has nothing to do with coincidence but it does make me feel a little self-conscious every time I think of it. Anyway, back to coincidence. So this Christmasy prompt falling so close to Christmas is, as baseball great Yogi Berra once said, “That’s too coincidental to be a coincidence.”

It’s week five and you can read the rules by clicking right HERE.

Christmas Eve Thing

Twas the night before Christmas and I’m all by myself
got my camera to photograph that goofy red elf.

2018’s the year where I’ll get him recorded
and for my effort the Pulitzer committee will see me rewarded.

But I’m hungry so first I’ll make me some nice, hearty bisque.
And maybe I’ll make it with some gooey lutefisk.

Can I ask you a question, my Christmasy chum?
Did you ever try writing some poetry, hmmm?

Don’t answer ‘cuz honestly I really don’t care
anymore than I care ‘bout your smelly footwear.

So maybe, dear reader, I’ll deck the halls because:
I really want my two front teeth,
or maybe I just want
you,
or blue,
or white,
or…
Sorry, my thoughts became a little abstracted, but when I saw who mommy was kissing I got a bit distracted.

Now I’ve lost my count in this Christmas extravaganza
and I know Chelsea said only eight or nine when it comes to the stanza.

(I just counted and that’s seven. Please, dear reader, pretend you didn’t just read this parenthetical non-stanza. It’ll just be our little secret; alongside that one time when Dasher and Comet got some . . . oops, never mind that and forget I even mentioned it)

I have one final thought for you before it’s too late
(and no, it’s not to tickle my manly breastplate)

It’s whether you’re at sea or straddling an isthmus,
Please have yourself a merry, happy, jolly, healthy little Christmas.

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And remember, as Pearl Bailey says, it’s OK to ask for money!

Terrible Poetry Contest (week 4)

December 6, 2018

From Chelsea Owens it’s the weekly Terrible Poetry Contest. You can join in the fun and read the full instructions here. Please do!

This week:
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The topic is That Object That Always Breaks in Your House. In It’s a Wonderful Life, George Bailey keeps pulling off that darn banister knob. Chez moi, it’s a heat register originally glued under my kitchen island counter. Maybe yours is a loose bit of carpet or a lightbulb that burns out within a week.

What’s the limit? Word count needs to be between 3 and 153 words. In mathematics terms, that means 3<P<153.

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O! Radio! (153 words)

The radio’s antenna is bad.
When it first broke: “Oh, egad!”
I fixed it with glue,
what else could I do?
Huh?

My head: stuffed like the brick. Oh, antenna, desist.

With frustration I pace, “Ah,” I to frustration. “Why do I tarry? Why not I make merry?”

Dash the radio. (Mary?) Hosanna! From where? From my despair do I dare to pose such a posing question?

Remove your madding thoughts. Becalm like the bluebird.

Explain, voice, my choice. Will my radio play? Will my hips again sway?

I wait sans answer.

The faucet drips leathery through my vino-filled veins. The antennaless radio’s static-buzz, like the vivific current of the vacant velvety Vermillion river vaguely venturing via Verndale home to Victoria.

(plop . . .) Oh Mary, forsake me not.

(buzz . . .) Yet I stand

(plop . . . ) like the deerskin covering the thorny tree,

(buzz . . .) forsaken.

Terrible Poetry

November 28, 2018

Chelsea Owens is a talented writer who blogs over here and I just discovered that she recently started a weekly Terrible Poetry Contest and that sounds like it’s too much fun to pass up. If you want to read about the terrible poems or the contest then just go here.

This week’s form is haiku and the topic is falling snow.

I’m watchin’ snow fall.
Snow is rain, but frozen, yup –
and it really sucks.

And here’s a bonus haiku joke or joke haiku (or joiku?)

Hope the snow keeps up.
Really? Why would you want that?
Then it won’t come down!

And here’s a good poem, not a haiku, but that’s ok. It’s got not only snow, but a snowman.

 

 

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