We Are Back Yet Again with Bad Poetry Friday. . . And a Touching Poem by M.T. Anderson

How bad is it?

As you recall, earlier this week we were interviewing M.T. Anderson about all kinds of things including a fascinating discussion on the creative value of broccoli, yes, broccoli. (scroll down to see the earlier interview, following this post in a weird reverse time warp of blogging)

We're now happy to present this week's winner of our Bad Poetry Friday contest (and our only contestant--hint-hint--send us your bad poetry please).

With more reverse blogging, we'll start where we left off at the end of our last interview with M.T. Anderson...

Lynn: One more request—We’ve begun a Bad Poetry Friday contest on the Imaginary Blog. Do you happen to have a bad poem handy that you’d like to contribute?

M.T.A.: I am not much of a poet. However, I have written one poem. It is an elegy.

Kathy Nuzum, the author of the acclaimed A SMALL, WHITE SCAR, once sent me a horror movie she had made with her family in which a man turned into a man-eating fungus. At one point in the movie, there was a moody, tender little scene set at the town's Annual Picnic for Orphans and Their Crippled Pets. Children played. Dogs ambled by with their heads in cones. And a one-legged chicken hopped across the screen.

Needless to say, I was wowed by the chicken. I made inquiries of the casting director. The chicken's name, as it turned out, was Peg, and she belonged to Kathy. From time to time, I would ask about Peg, hear how she was enjoying her scratching and feed, etc.

Then came the day when Peg passed on. So I wrote this elegy.

THRENOS

We mourn the late, lamented Peg
Who hopped around on just one leg
And as with hobbled gait she ambled
Laid her eggs, which were pre-scrambled.

A hen of grit, of sass, of mettle,
Though cock-eyed, thin, and unipedal,
When at the last she faced the worst,
She somehow put her best foot first.

We all shall miss her haughty hop
Now heav'nly Manna fills her crop;
But someday, when the dead shall quicken
We'll see her, plump and finger-lickin.

For on that day, when we're returning
Completed, whole, and without yearning,
On that day shall Peg be sighted,
Thigh with drumstick reunited.

mta

Thank you, M.T.A.
And now for commentary by our Poultry Police--
I mean Poetry Police.

At first the Poetry Police were stunned, speechless, unable to comment at all. After some deliberation, they were able to say:
“Not only did we have to look up the definition of M.T.A.’s title, which we loathe to do—as we’d rather make stuff up--but his is the best (or worst) kind of bad poetry. It beguiles with flawless meter and rhyme and panders to poultry partisans. First we’re roosting, no--roasting, no--rooting for this inspiring one-legged chicken named Peg, then M.T. Anderson is pulling our leg."

So come back next Friday folks, when we hope to offer more bad, better bad, most likely an even worse--Bad Poetry Friday!
In the meantime, here’s how to play…

Forecast: Increased chances of bad poetry all month long. After all, isn't April National Poetry Month?

We're Back With Bad Poetry Friday

How bad is it?

Here is this week's winner, sent in by Marsha Morrow, brave children's book writer:

It’s so very tough, tough, tough
Not to write fluff, fluff, fluff.
I want to fly
Straight up to the sky!
I don’t want to fall on my duff, duff, duff.

"Perfect. Well done, Marsha. It's fun bad, the best kind," our Poetry Police comment. "The repetition serves no purpose and thus elevates (or perhaps, lowers) the piece into our realm of truly bad poetry."

And yet it captures the heart and hope of every writer.
So good luck everybody. Go forth and write non-fluff.
We'll see you soon for:
More Bad
Better Bad
Could It Get Even Worse Bad (we hope so) Bad Poetry

Be brave and send us--any day of the week--your Bad Poetry, please!

The Rhymes, They Are A Changing
(sung to the tune of Bob Dylan’s Times They Are A Changing)

Come gather ‘round Bad Poets wherever you roam
And admit that the oddities in publishing have grown
No need to like blogging—you’ve found your new home
If your bad poem to you is worth saving…
We’d better start laughing, or we’ll feel all alone
For the rhymes, they are a changing…

Here’s how to play…

Just make up really bad rhymes poking good-natured fun at the frequent craziness of the children’s book world. Then send in your bad rhyme (any day of the week) in the body of your message (no attachments, please) to BadPoetryFriday@gmail.com.

Everyone’s invited--writers, editors, marketing folks, librarians, agents, reviewers, booksellers, and readers—cast your meter to the wind and send us your BAD POETRY please.

We’ll post the best (or the worst) depending on our mood every Friday.
Let us know if you want to be credited or anon.

8 short lines max
6 or 4 lines even better.
2 lines might be best of all.
We’re going for short here, folks--
Because if it’s gonna be bad, it better be brief!

Send in your bad rhyme (any day of the week) in the body of your message (no attachments, please) to BadPoetryFriday@gmail.com.

Come back next week to the Imaginary Blog because every Friday--
The Rhymes, They Are a Changing….

Come creative people, please heed the call
Send us BAD POETRY, or no poetry at all…

Forecast: Bravery with occasional bursts of flying