As the three of you who read my recent poem for Cystic Gal know, I’ll never make a living writing poetry.
What you may not know is that C Gal is having a poetry contest. You can enter at this site: http://patientpress.blogspot.com/
I thought I’d enter. However, when I sat down to type some “badass, burning up the page” verse, I didn’t make it much farther than the titles.
Here are the titles of the four poems I contemplated writing:
“Nice Tweets and Ass.” What’s not to love about a poem expressing the joy of Twitter and a funny donkey? That’s what I thought until I realized how it might be misinterpreted. I’m forever haunted by my caveman subconscious. Don’t you feel bad for me now? Though I must say I’m more of a donkey man. Hold it, that doesn’t sound right either? Ah, forget it.
“Two Hot Chicks, a 12-pack of Schlitz and Fox.” I can blame my outer Neanderthal on this one. C Gal accuses me of including these subjects in most of my posts, the first two at least. Fox was the new addition and the one gent who could actually act on a this opportunity for mayhem. I liked the concept, but when I started to write it I realized it was a better fit for a porn site, not poetry. Though I must admit that Fox bowls quite well.
“Memories of Road-Kill Stew.” A title like this wouldn’t have had a shot on C Gal’s site, which is a haven for cute animal talk and photos. This was supposed to be a loving poem about the actual stew my mama made me when I was young growing up next to a highway. There’s nothing like the smoky taste of meat that’s been curing on a roadway and tenderized by big rigs. Not sure C Gal’s judges would have appreciated it. Had I been able to serve up the actual stew, I might have changed their minds. Though it tastes nothing like chicken stew and tends to come back up the first few times you try it.
“Glee is very Glay.” Not that there is anything wrong with being Glay, but insulting this popular ladies show would be a quick path to the judging trash can. Better title: “Glee makes me feel happy and Glay.” That would have been a sure winner with the ladies and Madonna fans of the world. Again, nothing wrong with gloving the Material Glirl.
Fox suggested the following poem. I warn you that it’s his opinion is not mine:
“Silvia Plath writes like a dude.” I can’t think of a title that would piss off female poetry judges more than this one. Hate email would’ve filled Unknown’s inbox. None of which he would read because they’d all be too long, arguing every point from every poem that Plath ever wrote, and every essay that was ever written about Plath, and why he was so wrong and misogynistic for saying so. It was a joke, ladies. College is over. Time to marry rich. – So says Fox. p.s. Someone send over another 12-pack. I just got my second wind.