Chip MacGregor's Bad Poetry Contest 2010

I'm a little delayed in posting this, but there is still time to get in on the fun of Chip MacGregor's Bad Poetry Contest. Not much time, mind you, as the contest ends tomorrow (Tuesday, May 11th) and a winner will be selected on Wednesday. But still...how much time does it really take to crank out a bad poem?

Personally, I don't consider myself a poet, but I have written some poetry over the years. I've even had some of it published in greeting cards. But this contest isn't about being published-worthy. It's about being UN-published-worthy. It's about BAD poetry. REALLY bad poetry.

Chip MacGregor's Bad Poetry Contest has been going on for a few years now, and it's always much-anticipated. We can't get enough rotten prose and ridiculous rhymes and nasty images. Hey - speaking of images, not to brag or anything, but I received an honorable mention in Chip's 2008 contest, for my poem, "Snot Bubbles and Tears." You can read it HERE.

So do you think you've got what it takes to write a bad poem? Maybe you believe that writing a stinky poem would be easy-peasy (but, really, would that be a good thing?). If so, then get to it. Write something so bad it makes people cringe, groan, or laugh uncontrollably at the hiddeousness of it all. If you're awful enough, you could take home an equally awful prize. How to Good-bye Depression is the product of that great writing mind Hiroyuki Nishigaki, who added to its fame by creating this winning subtitle: If You Constrict Anus 100 Times Every Day. Malarky? or Effective Way?

Is that a prize worth entering for, or what?

Leave your putrid poem in the comments section of Chip's blog post. CLICK ON OVER NOW.

Here is the poem I entered this year. I was feeling inspired on Mother's Day morning.


Ode to my Mother

Mom.
Oh, Mom.
You are the bomb.
Or would that be da bomb?
What words can describe
how I feel inside?
There are so many things
you've done
I can't name them all.
But I'll name a few.
Like when I stole that jelly
from our neighbor's fridge.
You didn't yell at me,
just took me by the hand
and brought me over there
to apologize.
I cried...was so humiliated.
But I realized later
you were teaching me a valuable lesson.
You are a mother with strong morals.
When you moved my bed
and found the line of boogers
on the wall
you didn't yell at me.
After your momentary disgust,
you just laughed.
You are a mother with a great sense of humor.
But you know how to keep
that sense of humor in check.
Like the time I ate the whole bowl of cherries
and ended up accidentally pooping my pants.
You didn't laugh at all.
You told me it was ok
that it happens to everyone.
You are a mother who understands.
I could go on and on
but I'll end by saying
I'm so glad you're my mom.
The ultimate bomb.
Or would that be da ultimate bomb?
Either way, I heart you.

*Note: Inspired by real-life events. Oy...

A Winner of the Baddest Kind

So last week I entered literary agent, Chip MacGregor's, BAD POETRY CONTEST. Hey...I started out writing poetry, have written some pretty GOOD poetry, if I do say so myself, and I thought I'd rise to the challenge of writing some BAD poetry for a change. It was fun, and I have to say not much of a challenge. The words just poured out of me in about five minutes, flat. Don't really know whether or not that's a good thing.

Unfortunately, I didn't take the grand prize of a genuine copy (do they really have fake copies circulating?) of Does God Speak through Cats? That coveted prize goes to Holly MacGregor, Chip's daughter-in-law, for a poem she wrote in high school (man, I should have dug out some of MY old stuff. Shudder). But... I did take the ribbon for WORST IMAGE poem. Here's what Chip had to say (and the fact that he spelled my name wrong has nothing to do with his writing ability):

This year's WORST IMAGE ribbon goes to Linda Shab's Snot Bubbles and Tears, which left me reaching for a kleenex...

Snot Bubbles and Tears…

Where are you?
My phone doesn’t ring
The doorbell doesn’t chime.
My lips can’t sing.
I’m a mime.
Just a mime.
But my heart cries out!
The snot bubbles ooze from the chambers.
They mix with my tears -
Enough to drown me.
But that’s probably what you want….
Right?
I thought we had something special.
But I guess I was wrong.
So wrong.
What will I do now?
I’ll sit in sorrow
Until tomorrow.
Then I’ll get up and move on
With my empty life.
If the snot bubbles and tears don’t drown me first.

Wow. As bad poetry goes, that is a winner.

Thanks, Chip. I'm so choked up over this award. I feel a snot-bubble beginning to form right now. Excuse me...sniff...sniff...pop! Pop!