Appalling Poetry COmpetition Revival

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I think it is time for another appalling poetry contest, on the same lines as the original turbo-inspired Apalling Poetry COmpetition thread that brought us Jack Cole's immortal ode to the manatee.

I despair of selecting a mandatory word as pungent as "turbo". Therefore, I shall give the contestants a wider choice this time around, in the hope that at least one will catch fire in their imagination.

THE RULES: At least one word from the following list must appear in your poem: pom-pom, buzzcut, liverish, or chuckles.

Judging for this contest shall be by popular acclaim, just as in the Roman Colosseum, with the difference that there is far less dust, no blood to speak of, and the winner does not get to kill the other contestants.

I shall be going away until August 1. This is my gift to you all.

― Aimless (Aimless), Friday, 16 July 2004 18:06 (twenty-two years ago)

I choke choke
On your pom pom
I joke joke
Oh come on
and give me a buzzcut

― jel -- (jel), Friday, 16 July 2004 18:39 (twenty-two years ago)

On dark currents lie
The liverish chuckles of a weary clown
His pom-poms swaying in the breeze
Like coconuts
On the papists' route,
A bishop with a buzzcut reads from Revelation
While the turbo-dancer eats my karma
The love of Jesus has no place here
No return from this place, no return

― latebloomer (latebloomer), Friday, 16 July 2004 22:17 (twenty-two years ago)

Hoo boy. This is going to be vomitous. Carry on.

― the music mole (colin s barrow), Friday, 16 July 2004 22:23 (twenty-two years ago)

Are you in the vein for cider?
Are you in the tune for pork?
Hist! for Betty's cleared the larder
And turned the pork to soap.

― Anon. (tracerhand), Saturday, 17 July 2004 00:54 (twenty-two years ago)

None so liverish as to feel the fry,
Crushed wedgeward and splayed amongst Morgan's rum,
Tea, and sputum. Fish fingers were enough.

― Tracer Hand (tracerhand), Saturday, 17 July 2004 01:00 (twenty-two years ago)

distillate crystals cloud my aching worldly locks
and the metal of my guitar smokes like a thousand hawks
you are my camera and i'm the one you crave for
taking pictures of liquid crystals, birds, and my love you will sav-or

― Tracer Hand (tracerhand), Saturday, 17 July 2004 01:06 (twenty-two years ago)

trinkling
down,
this wayward chill—

treacle,
this time.

a warm squirt.

― Tracer Hand (tracerhand), Saturday, 17 July 2004 01:09 (twenty-two years ago)

bad poetry is fun!

― Tracer Hand (tracerhand), Saturday, 17 July 2004 01:10 (twenty-two years ago)

Hey! You're not using the magic words!

― St. Nicholas (Nick A.), Saturday, 17 July 2004 01:10 (twenty-two years ago)

The buzzcut of your pom-poms
even if quarterbacks chuckle,
a face red and liverish
while you whisper deaththreats
before beleachers abulge
with silver rodeo buckles.
Stretch out your arms anyway;
suck in your breath and cheer.

― jack cole (jackcole), Saturday, 17 July 2004 01:11 (twenty-two years ago)

The boy with the buzzcut
cannot ask why or what.
With his magnifying glass
he trains the sun's beams
to transform fleeing ants
into pom-poms of smoke,
his face liverish with glee.
Asking "How" is the key
to watching and serenity --
mandibles can't chuckle.

― jack cole (jackcole), Saturday, 17 July 2004 01:17 (twenty-two years ago)

My mouth, upturned and moved to chuckles,
drapes itself across your knuckles
mimicking obscene displays
of closeness from romantic days
when we would sit in soft distraction
drowning in our satisfaction
but now our touch burns low and dull
a signpost for this gentle lull
between our passion's first bright spark
and love's extinction, cold and stark

― Tim Finney (Tim Finney), Saturday, 17 July 2004 01:37 (twenty-two years ago)

Ew get your mug off my knuckles, you're drooling!

― Tracer Hand (tracerhand), Saturday, 17 July 2004 01:39 (twenty-two years ago)

Is it possible to write a _good_ poem with the word 'pom-poms' in it? There's a tickler.

― the music mole (colin s barrow), Saturday, 17 July 2004 05:49 (twenty-two years ago)

The great Aussie chuckles, subsumed barrier to life,
Restoration for his lonely wife.

Eucalyptus, liverish and shivering,
Dies behind the walls,
Backdrop to the buzzcut drone
Of Antipodean men
Angry and bewildered,
Pointing sunburned fingers
And choked articulation
At the lonely Englishman and then
The Limey hordes,
And barely grunting "fucking Pom...
Poms."

― David A. (Davant), Saturday, 17 July 2004 07:31 (twenty-two years ago)

The ecliptic turning darkly
an ingenuous son, host of his own
the figure, waving
the pom-poms of destiny
his mother his mother...

― Matt (Matt), Saturday, 17 July 2004 10:54 (twenty-two years ago)

Never did my hand mean to
divide the air into two.
Nor my foot mean to
draw a line on the ground.
I never wanted to be measured
in the cries of small children,
or laughter, but still measured.

My chuckles were less than heard, and yet,
I lived here.
You can't take that away.

― Tuomas (Tuomas), Saturday, 17 July 2004 11:41 (twenty-two years ago)

By the way, what's a "pom-pom"?

― Tuomas (Tuomas), Sunday, 18 July 2004 20:55 (twenty-two years ago)

those things that cheer leaders wave around.

― jel -- (jel), Sunday, 18 July 2004 21:02 (twenty-two years ago)

Oh.

― Tuomas (Tuomas), Monday, 19 July 2004 12:08 (twenty-two years ago)

Parade!

In a 1950s hair salon
looking at a procession below
a barber with liverish com-plex-i-on
chuckles and watches the hoes
in pleated skirts and lettermens' vests
wagging flags of various shades.
The mesmeric rotations of Triple D breasts
cause the barber to forget his braids
and Sally McMannis (who's also a slut!)
ends up with an unappatizing buzz-cut.

― j e r e m y (x Jeremy), Monday, 19 July 2004 12:51 (twenty-two years ago)

You are all disturbingly good at this.

― the music mole (colin s barrow), Tuesday, 20 July 2004 05:35 (twenty-two years ago)

Why thank you.

― Tuomas (Tuomas), Tuesday, 20 July 2004 08:57 (twenty-two years ago)

The eagle flies in a big gyre
Like the sky is getting a buzzcut
From pliers
I am wandering round like a cloud ;)
Getting inspired by eagles*

(*not The Eagles (band))

― m, Sunday, 25 July 2004 07:41 (twenty-two years ago)

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