Fourth Annual Bad Poetry Party, Saturday, 25 February, 7pm

[dr_pretentious]

It's time again for the annual Bad Poetry Party (and a belated celebration of my 36th birthday). We must begin, of course, with the lines that inspired it all:

We have seen thee, queen of cheese,
Lying quietly at your ease,
Gently fanned by evening breeze,
Thy fair form no flies dare seize.
...
We'rt thou suspended from balloon,
You'd cast a shade even at noon,
Folks would think it was the moon
About to fall and crush them soon.

--James McIntyre (1827-1906)
"Ode on the Mammoth Cheese, Weighing over 7,000 Pounds"


And yet, last February we were so jaded by three years of sublimely awful verse, we kept saying, "Oh, that's poem's bad, but it's not quite bad enough." Or, "I could have written one worse than that." And, "I don't know, I think Theophile Marzials is beginning to grow on me."

When Theophile Marzials is beginning to grow on you, you are in serious trouble. Prescription-strength fungicide may be your only hope.

Was it possible, we wondered, that we had plumbed the depths? That the worst was over? Or was it simply that we had become people who could never again be reduced to snorting by lines like this couplet by Amanda McKittrick Ros:

Holy Moses, take a look!
Flesh decayed in every nook!

My dears, I am here to tell you that I have found new veins of bad poetry that will keep us celebrating for many years to come.

And I didn't even have to write it all myself.

Please, once more, bring whatever bad poetry amuses you, by whatever definition pleases you. We'll have plenty of material here waiting for you, too. Come prepared to laugh until reduced to snorting.

Potluck addicts are encouraged to bring a dish.

Once again, we will crown whoever offers the most over-the-top declamatory performance as the Queen of Cheese. There is no honor or award quite like the construction paper Cheese Crown. You know you want it!

Comments

[dr-pretentious.livejournal.com]

Wow. That's some poem. No, if I'd seen that one before, I'd definitely remember it.

The only record I've been keeping is of who wins the Cheese Crown (determined by acclamation), and for what poem.

The first year, mischievouspie took the Cheese Crown (swiss) for her performance of "Curfew Shall Not Ring Tonight." The second year, vgnwtch was crowned (jalapeno cheddar) for her absolutely deadpan BBC newscaster voice rendition of works from the Goth Poetry Generator, including an ode to "the leaping warthog of love." I don't think any of the rest of us could have made it through that one straightfaced. Last year, DS claimed the crown (dilled havarti) for his own original works, which dazzled us with the scope and variety of their willful awfulness. His ballad of clone-on-clone violence was especially impressive.

This year, I'm envisioning a Cheese Crown with lovely bleu veins.

[newroticgirl.livejournal.com]

GenericFiancee offered this piece of spontaneous verse for the occasion:

Truck.
Stuck.
Fuck!

Out of luck.

[dr-pretentious.livejournal.com]

Spontaneous, even. That man has a true gift. I think you should keep him.

[newroticgirl.livejournal.com]

heehee... we're looking at May 2007 for officially officializing everything. ;)

And this whole horrible poetry thing sounds like TOO MUCH fun... I'm going hunting for my own crappy angsty high school years poetry... there's one on grapefruit juice (no lie!) that may have a shot at the Big Cheese.

hs poetry

[tracyandrook.livejournal.com]

Oh durn, I burned mine

Re: hs poetry

[newroticgirl.livejournal.com]

I may have plenty of crappy high school angst poetry for both of us. ;)

[kistha.livejournal.com]

Happy Birthday, and that sounds painfully fun. To bad I live across the continent.

Ah well!

Have some fun for me! (And I'll rope a cow for you!)

[puckmls.livejournal.com]

If I could attend, I'd read some of the lyrics from the songs on David Bowie's latest album. Serbrew, Dianna, I and others watched the DVD that came with the album and were aghast at the appalling badness of these songs. I compared the lyrics to Vogon poetry -- that's how bad they were!

You should ask Dianna if she can attend, and ask her to bring these lyrics so she can declaim them in a dramatically awful fashion. :-)

[dr-pretentious.livejournal.com]

I don't have Dianna's email address, but I would love for her and Mike to come. Do you have contact info for them?

[puckmls.livejournal.com]

Dianna's e-mail is: Lunamadre@aol.com

[jr0124.livejournal.com]

If I can attend, I plan to read the following, which I took from academics_anon:

missing class

today i missed class. it was fun--
almost like smoking a cigarette
with your best friend
outside of a building
and your professor walks out,
stops in front of you, and
invites you to a special discussion
in the english lounge
with critical theorist
stanley fish
and you think
wow
and take another puff of a cigarette
taking extra care not to blow in the
professor's face.
yes, i wish missing class
was like a cigarette break.

I think the part that gets me is Stanley Fish. I laugh.

[jr0124.livejournal.com]

Oh - and if I can't attend, perhaps someone else might like to read it in my place. =)

[jr0124.livejournal.com]

Also, do you think my 'Ode To My Truck" would qualify as truly awful enough?

Or maybe "That Guy Before Me Was an Asshole"? =)

[dr-pretentious.livejournal.com]

Stanley Fish is really delightful in that poem. It definitely needs to get read on the 25th. "Ode to My Truck" might not win you the Cheese Crown, but it's certainly in the right spirit. I don't remember "That Guy Before Me Was an Asshole," but I do remember your Thanksgiving haiku. In fact, I recite it to my poor, long-suffering in-laws every Thanksgiving. It never ceases to amuse me.

[jr0124.livejournal.com]

Absolutely. The Stanley Fish reference is what put me over the edge on that one. We had to read and use Stanley Fish in my English 101 class those many moons ago.

"That Guy Before Me Was An Asshole" might not work in the competition. It's designed to be read at an open poetry reading where the person reading before you is, well, shall we say, an asshole? It's more of a performance piece, actually. You read the title of the poem, then the text, in one sort of flowing whole. The text of the poem is: "Wasn't he?"

Unfortuantely, I cannot take credit for the Thanksgiving haiku. I wish I could! It was actually penned by Jim Housell. It still amuses me, too.