We are delighted to announce that the Celebrity Judge for this year’s competition will be none other than Ms Patricia Lewis. Having heard about this competition via blondextenshuns.com, she has most graciously volunteered in this, the eleventh hour, thus saving us from having to impersonate Amor Vittone and be sued, and has also offered to plump the prize up quite substantially. Our winner will now receive not only the title of Pandora’s Poet Laureate and a quality Photoshop Enhanced jpeg certificate, but will also have their Bad Poem set to music and performed at her March 2007 Konsert - A Tribute to Bles.
Patricia has many entertainment credits to her name, among them some platinum blonde albums like Don’t Tempt Me and Ek is Lief Vir Jou. As stated on her official website, “Patricia is a part of the entertainment industry for the past 16 years already”, so we’re surely in the best-manicured of hands here.
Each submission was so spectacularly awful that no semi-finalists could be detected. Well done, you all made the finals. Good luck! Oops, we mean, break a metacarpal!
The winner will be announced on Monday the 26th of February 2007.
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Finalist 1, Rock Chik Rox
Untitled (1)
This is a poem
I wrote about home
It is Zeneth Street
We do not grow wheat
‘cause this is not a farm
Don’t even have a barn
If I had a tower
I would sing flowerpower
I’d chew on the grass
I’d make stuff with glass
No, I do not live on a farm
No, we do not have a barn.
I can ryhm
‘cause I’ve got the time
- Rock Chik Rox
This is a poem
I wrote about home
It is Zeneth Street
We do not grow wheat
‘cause this is not a farm
Don’t even have a barn
If I had a tower
I would sing flowerpower
I’d chew on the grass
I’d make stuff with glass
No, I do not live on a farm
No, we do not have a barn.
I can ryhm
‘cause I’ve got the time
- Rock Chik Rox
Finalist 2, Melodi Bloggs
a quick word
I've never done a blog before
Not ever in my life
But I know the rules of poetry:
I must rhyme life with strife.
And above must always go with love
And hope with grope, etcetera
And nothing rhymes with that,
So I'd better stop now.
- Melodi Bloggs
I've never done a blog before
Not ever in my life
But I know the rules of poetry:
I must rhyme life with strife.
And above must always go with love
And hope with grope, etcetera
And nothing rhymes with that,
So I'd better stop now.
- Melodi Bloggs
Finalist 3, Dachshund Tom
Untitled (2)
All those who've writ a rotten poem
(And I admit it takes one to know 'em)
On the whole tend to adore
Rhyming couplets and metaphor.
But don't get too excited:
That love is unrequited.
And for the rest it's prob'ly best
To generalise and to suggest
That the all you really need to do
To write a poem that smells of poo
Is to feature in your ragged lines
(Along with countless Important Signs)
A solopsistic gaze or
Mention of razor.
- Dachshund Tom
All those who've writ a rotten poem
(And I admit it takes one to know 'em)
On the whole tend to adore
Rhyming couplets and metaphor.
But don't get too excited:
That love is unrequited.
And for the rest it's prob'ly best
To generalise and to suggest
That the all you really need to do
To write a poem that smells of poo
Is to feature in your ragged lines
(Along with countless Important Signs)
A solopsistic gaze or
Mention of razor.
- Dachshund Tom
Finalist 4, The Sa
My Heart Went as Black.
In it went,
My piece of bread.
Stale,
White,
High-
GI.
It was all I wanted
In this cruel
World.
But
The creak
Of the toaster lever
As I lowered the oblong
To it's death,
Sang a song
Of
Despair.
I could sense something
Edging near.
A smell
Of fear.
I could sense something
On the plate.
A sight
Of hate.
For once
My senses did not
Dare
Betray me.
For the marriage
Of the fear
And hate,
Did culminate on this here plate
To form the thing I dread the most.
The travesty that is
Burnt toast.
- The Sa
In it went,
My piece of bread.
Stale,
White,
High-
GI.
It was all I wanted
In this cruel
World.
But
The creak
Of the toaster lever
As I lowered the oblong
To it's death,
Sang a song
Of
Despair.
I could sense something
Edging near.
A smell
Of fear.
I could sense something
On the plate.
A sight
Of hate.
For once
My senses did not
Dare
Betray me.
For the marriage
Of the fear
And hate,
Did culminate on this here plate
To form the thing I dread the most.
The travesty that is
Burnt toast.
- The Sa
Finalist 5, Susynoid
Ode to a Lurgy (or "I have an Allergy" - for the novice of grand literature).
Dribble dribble (squible)
Snort and snivel (mucus),
Rhinitis is my lot (Oh, how I wish for a whiskey tot)).
My eyes is red (I can no longer focus)
My head is dead (the rest of my body can't stay ahead)
I gotta lotta snot (now where is that bloody tot?.
* Squible - neologism thought out by the poet (that's me). It is a word for excessive dribbling. Like when u really have a bad flu!
- Susynoid
Dribble dribble (squible)
Snort and snivel (mucus),
Rhinitis is my lot (Oh, how I wish for a whiskey tot)).
My eyes is red (I can no longer focus)
My head is dead (the rest of my body can't stay ahead)
I gotta lotta snot (now where is that bloody tot?.
* Squible - neologism thought out by the poet (that's me). It is a word for excessive dribbling. Like when u really have a bad flu!
- Susynoid
Finalist 7, Anonymous (2)
Untitled (3)
my love is like a blue blue nose
dripping in the winter chill
or a scarecrow flapping in the breeze
with only the birds for company.
my love is like a white white star
cold and distant from this hill
I wonder, wonder where you are
and why you are so distant still.
my love is like a red red eye
puffy from weeping like a sore.
will it ever become a rose?
I do not know.
it was before.
- Anonymous (2)
my love is like a blue blue nose
dripping in the winter chill
or a scarecrow flapping in the breeze
with only the birds for company.
my love is like a white white star
cold and distant from this hill
I wonder, wonder where you are
and why you are so distant still.
my love is like a red red eye
puffy from weeping like a sore.
will it ever become a rose?
I do not know.
it was before.
- Anonymous (2)
Finalist 8, Mme de La Etoileblanche
Untitled (4)
Oh fie, how canst thou mock me so
From up there, and I down here in the depths of this well
that you had your manservant throw me down
After I sold your horse to that gypsy
For two scarlet ribbons
And a comb.
Come now, you must admit
That they were pretty.
I have lain here for the last twenty years
with my bones in a petrified tangle
and I am growing restless.
Twas I, smashed that china shepherdess
Gainst thy bedpost last night.
And next week I plan to set
all your persian carpets alight
Unless you confess
To this terrible mess
That by the merciful gallows
May we be reunited.
- Mme de la Etoileblanche
Oh fie, how canst thou mock me so
From up there, and I down here in the depths of this well
that you had your manservant throw me down
After I sold your horse to that gypsy
For two scarlet ribbons
And a comb.
Come now, you must admit
That they were pretty.
I have lain here for the last twenty years
with my bones in a petrified tangle
and I am growing restless.
Twas I, smashed that china shepherdess
Gainst thy bedpost last night.
And next week I plan to set
all your persian carpets alight
Unless you confess
To this terrible mess
That by the merciful gallows
May we be reunited.
- Mme de la Etoileblanche
Finalist 9, Anonymous (3)
Untitled (5)
i know i can do this
difficult though it is to reach within mine psyche to find imperfection
it is insurrection of the soul
to become unwhole
And plunder my meaninglessness
as a goal
But I shall it if I must
I just did
- Anonymous (3)
i know i can do this
difficult though it is to reach within mine psyche to find imperfection
it is insurrection of the soul
to become unwhole
And plunder my meaninglessness
as a goal
But I shall it if I must
I just did
- Anonymous (3)
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