There's a thread going on about the worst poem titles and some of the members wanted to see a Funexcise about it. Pick one of the horrendous titles from this thread: http://www.ablemuse.com/erato/ubbhtm.../000978-2.html
and write some suitably putrid verse for it.

Yet Still, These Alabaster Breasts Invade My Dreams


Yet still, these alabaster breasts invade my dreams.
At least, they look like breasts, though they be choc'late creams.
Or should I call them "truffles", since that's what is writ
upon the box in which all seven barely fit?

White chocolate, the snowy mounds I love are topped
with nipples dark. From munching them, I can't be stopped.
Nor can I cease with tender tongue to plumb within
in search of creamy goodness. Lost am I in sin.

Oh, woe is me, that I partake of such delights
in daytime, since such dreams of longing fill my nights
that I obtain no rest, but toss and turn till dawn,
desiring but to gorge myself ‘til all are gone.

Larry

Anyone who can do worse than that should be ram-rodded off the board. Congratulations (?) *grin*

My Immortalized Dog
[after Henry Gibson]

Oh Rover was a sunny pup
Who’d love to slobber you all up
But never in a spiteful way
He really only like to play
And entertain your trouser leg.

He’d fetch, roll over, play dead and beg
Until that day he caught the car
Which spread his pieces wide and far:
A Volvo–sized zootomist
That sent him to the taxidermist.

[Bow; exeunt]


*zo-ot'o-mist: A dissector of brute beasts, s.




[This message has been edited by Jerry Glenn Hartwig (edited September 13, 2004).]

Bad poetry? Now here's a contest I can win. (Pssst, Jerry, yours aren't bad enough...they're too funny. :)


Crazy For You're Love


Your eye's do sparkle as the sun,
that shine's each morn anew
from azure skie's on everyone
amid the morning dew

You're lip's are red as softest rose,
that bloom's in sweetest breeze
upon the shore's of love that glow's
within the seven sea's

You're love does light me as the moon,
that gleam's in skie's above
for its the love that make's me swoon
Im crazy for you're love




[This message has been edited by Rose Kelleher (edited September 13, 2004).]

Flossing with Paris Hilton

Blue. Oink. Egg cup.

Marinated in the brine of self-postulating enormity I
____am illumined by this blue, this oink, this
________egg
cup on Apollo's kitchen counter where

___your aborted fetus's rotting flesh

lies

attracting flies

____Where is the North Star when you need it?
____Where is Leonard Cohen's nasal spray when he needs it?
____Where does Persephone intersect with the square root of a late-blooming delphinium?

ipso facto nil nove sub sole, deus ex machine et spiritu santi amen

Only an insurance policy can instigate
________the painted turtle to turn against its
self


________________________
Note: Please do not reproduce this poem as I've just been informed it's been accepted by a major poetry journal.

Rose, deer -

I'm pleesed to see you're punctua!tion improove...

OMIGOD! You forgot the copyright logo! Someone here will steal it for sure *snicker*

[This message has been edited by Jerry Glenn Hartwig (edited September 13, 2004).]

One that pays money????

Doesn't matter, I've already won the Ethel Koontz-Guggenheim-Merriwether fellowship for my ground-breaking work in the Neo-Symbolic-Post-Surrealist genre.

p.s. It has been mentioned that I misspelled "deus ex machina" above. That is not a mistake. It is a deliberate jab against the middle class language tyrants and their oppressive and discriminatory spelling "rules".


[This message has been edited by Rose Kelleher (edited September 13, 2004).]

Cooking with Ralph Nader in the Nude

After spending time on TV
Trying to win at least one vote,
I gave up and found a new thing
I’ll try to promote.

FoodTV is not so bad, though
The censors can’t be meaner--
They black out my favorite spot:
When I fry my weiner.

(Well, you did say bad poetry, didn't you?)

Why Did You Break Up With Me?

U me P

Now,
I
B
P
Ode


Thank you for the inspiration, Steven. Or perhaps you wish to be humble and remain an anonymous donor?


If All The Fun's In How You Say A Thing

If All The Fun's In How You Say A Thing,
how ironic, that Steele's title seemed magnetic;
my polarity has reversed since I've discovered
empiric metric wisdom ain't phonetics.

...thank you, Curtis...

Un-tit-led

You've weaned from mom.
that's un-tit-led.
You should have been named Tom.
but you were 'untitled' instead.

(for Jodie)


Metaphor - A love poem for the 21st Century

He never met a phor he didn't like
She never met a phrast that didn't write.
If metaphor could only see the light,
the metaphrast might earn applause on nights of open-mic.

Ty, Robt...


Please,
Order
Everyone
Money.

(For Cantor)


Who Knows What I Could Have Done?

There was a Miss
who had to Pi-
ck some flowers.

She stepped in grass,
up to her a-
nkles deep.

She saw a bird,
stepped on a tur-
key feather,

It broke her heart,
she let a far-
mer take her home.

(for Newton2)


Please forgive my greed - I'm hosting an outdoor wedding for my niece, and the next few days I'll be wringing my hands over Hurricane Ivan as a potential guest. Then Monday I start federal jury duty. This was fun! These were lousy. Hope that was the point! I am floored by some of the humor the poets here exhibit. Fine entertainment.



[This message has been edited by ChristyElizabeth (edited September 13, 2004).]