Chip MacGregor

May 11, 2012

Final Bad Poetry Entries Due TODAY


All good things must come to an end, and the Bad Poetry Contest is no exception. Please submit your sonnet, Haiku, Limerick, or free-form verse TODAY as a comment to this blog. We await your weeping feelings and wrenching observations.

Tune in tomorrow for a post announcing the much-anticipated winner of the Lady Gaga style Bible. As today is Chip’s birthday, he is away from the office and not likely to comment on any entries, especially rhyming birthday ones.

Next week the blog will return to publishing topics. Keep the questions coming, everyone!



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  • Fifi McGruder says:

    To waddle with the gooses,One must wade with the whales.To climb Mount Nevus,One must flourish with the goats.Ancient beasts of knowledge,All-knowing bearers of the wisdom of the world.Hope. Anger. Love.Written in the soles of the mountain-dwellers themselves,Stringent in their hairs.Hollow lives of a hollow world.Love love and happinessOvertaking the massesOvertaking the soul,… in the breath of the hurdling beasts… in their smacking hoofs and limber limbs.Holiness complete on the mountain.Contemplation complete in the whim.Ascension assured in the gaiety.Bleat. Bleat now! Before the day is done. Before the dawn
    turns to gray. It is not too late. Huddled masses. Hoofs. Hollers. Hope. Bleat
    before the clock strikes one. The tolling bell of ending desire. Doom.Doom of the bleating ones.It comes.Farewell.

    • Chip says:

      My apologies for screwing up the spacing when I copied this for the final blog post, Fifi! Just take comfort in the fact you won, and you’re soon going to be inundated in The Lady Gagy Style Bible. 

  • Research trip cha-ching
    The Green Guide Great Britain
    Kipper tastes like what

  • Neville Longbottom says:

    How easy it is to unlock a gate! And we were in Anne Hathaway’s garden holding hands with blooming spring and Shakespeare.
    The puddles alongside garden paths withhold the silent crackling of blossom colors; only the resident birds write the score.
    Even the daffodils were up this morning; ecstatic pale stars pursing orange petal lips.
    Rows and rows, roses of red and white; it all became a candy shop for the bumblebees

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