Wendy, it's hard to remember the last time I read such a bad poem (Gazebo has been down for over a week). Congratulations!

(Friends of Gazebo, I'm only kidding. Lighten up!)

The Heart Has Ears

My ears were burning.
Were you speaking of me?

But no, I came too close
to the candle. And now,

as the nurse applies ointment
to my singed lobes

in the free clinic, I know
that nothing is free

but a broken heart,
and yet we pay the highest price.

LOL.

"singed lobes": this may be the first time in human history anyone has ever juxtaposed those two words before! Who says there's nothing new under the sun?

[No, I'm not doing/have not done a search on that.]

Ear! Ear!
 

Roger and the Usual Suspects assured me that this is the most horrible poem I've ever posted:

Common Senses

I sing of your enticing ears,
still virgins to those sonneteers
idealizing lovers’ looks—
perfections only found in books.
But bordering your tempting face,
they’re beauties that my eyes embrace.
Though sometimes coy beneath your hair,
attuned to me, they’re boldly bare.
My song then swells with common sense:
its urge to merge becomes intense.
Flooded by sounds as I come near,
each open, ready, loving ear
embraces pulsing lines that mime
the ways two bodies sometimes rhyme.

I don't remember that one, but yes, it is bad. Probably your personal worst. But you have a long way to sink before you can join the ranks of the truly Bad, who can do things with poetry you can only dream about.

Hold the presses! I just read some of the past winning entries, and some of them are only fake bad, not actual bad. For example, this one (two sonnets to mayonnaise) really isn't bad at all:

http://www.winningwriters.com/contes...07_blevins.php

Bob said, " ... who can do things with poetry you can only dream about ..."

Wouldn't that be "... do things to poetry ..." ?

Now we're really getting bad!!! These poems approach the truly horrible!!
Should I deconstruct mine for y'?
(threat threat)

DEATH OF A PHILOSOPHICAL FROG

The day I sallied forth in glee
upon the maggot-crusted sea
I drank a cup of magic tea
and turned into a frog.

I swam with joy, but soon was sad
and dearly wishing that I had
thought to pack a lily pad
since I could find no log

or shore to rest on as I caught
my breath --and then I had this thought:
my froggy life had come to naught.
I'd die here like a dog

and vanquished on the sea serene
I'd learn what little froggies mean
inside of Being's vast machine:
we are, at best, a cog.

The moral's very clear, I think.
Though what you have may seem to stink,
don't try to change it with a drink
of magic tea or grog.

Sorry, Bob, you flunk.
Kerplunk.
Not even your former skunk
smell can rescue you, unc'.

**'''''''

Believe me, you will never win if you keep writing good stuff.
Wendy and I are still leading.

You don't seem to understand what makes a poem BAD.

Oft I think of fairyland
where you and me could rein,
as King and Queen of a merry band
no worries in our brain.

But since we are mere mortals, dear,
and subject to mortal strains
and daily stresses in our lives
may love provide the bane
to make our worries light
and soften our dour pain.

O take my hand and let us skip
warily through life's pitfalls,
a heavenly kiss is not amiss
or two or three withal.

Oft I think of fairyland
where you and me could rein,
as King and Queen of a merry band
no worries in our brain.

Janice, have you read some of the winning entries? For the most part, they show a fair amount of skill, and the bios of the winners show that they are "real" poets with prestigious literary publications.

Now, my frog poem may not be within the reach of a non-poet to write, since the meter and rhyme hang together, but you can't honestly tell me that it's "good" in the sense of anyone wanting to publish it outside the context of a bad poetry competition.

I'm sorry to be so defensive. I know it's good form to accept critiques and just say thank-you. But dammit, I know this is bad no matter what you say.