A while back I transmitted a weird alien poetry contest through this blog to the people of Earth. Â It was a contest for bad poetry. Â And obviously we only write good poetry on this planet as no entries from the native clothes-wearing primates of this planet were submitted. Â If you are unclear about the contest of which I speak, here is the link;
The Interstellar Bad Poetry Challenge

While no Earth primate entries were actually submitted (Magilla Gorilla’s entry was disqualified as he is a cartoon character and copyrighted by Hanna Barbera) we did get some entries from illegal aliens. Â Their contest entries are submitted here for your perusal. Â However, it is bad poetry. Â By definition, if you don’t have your Galaxian bad-poetry-reading glasses handy, you should proceed with extreme caution.
This first entry is from a random Space Goon. Â It is exceptionally bad poetry, and apparently the Goon who wrote it has no individual name. Â He appears to be one of many dumped on this planet by interstellar authorities in order to prevent them from doing any real damage to planets that matter.
Goon Verse
Goon-goon-goon
Goon is good
Goon will come
And live in your house
Goon will come
And eat your mouse
Goon-goon-goon
Why you no like Goon?
The second entry I intend to inflict on you is a very weird entry I got in container that was apparently filled with radio-active foof gas. Â While foof gas is apparently a deadly poison in most of the Milky Way, it is non-toxic to humans from Earth. Â The perpetrator of this poem would only identify himself (or herself… or itself) as Bing-bing the Laser Guy.
I Will Kill You
Bing-bing is hiding on Earth!
How can you not understand this?
If you publish my writings,
And allow the authorities to discover my presence,
I will come to your house and evaporate your head!
The rhythm of that poem is very poor, and the rhyme scheme is non-existent. Â But it is supposed to be bad poetry, after all. Â So I suppose it has just as much chance of winning as the rest of them.
The Mookian Space Elf submitted not only a bad poem, but 8 X 10 glossies of himself. Â He watches endless hours of PBS kid shows, educational cartoons, and inexplicable Boo Bahs and Teletubbies. Â I think he’s convinced himself that this contest is somehow an audition for a kids’ show. Â He claims to be able to sing and dance, as well as be funny, educational, and relentlessly cute.
Hire Me!!!
Ain’t I cute?
Ain’t I sweet?
I’ll give you diabetes so bad,
It will surely eat your feet!
Love me!
Dove me!
And give me so much money
That I’ll laugh so hard I pee!
Yes, if that is poetry, it is really bad poetry.
The final entry is from Ralph the Inexplicable. Â This amazing being has been on Earth since before there were dinosaurs, so it is possible he is more of an Earthling than we are. Â He is reputed to be incredibly wise, but his poetry was also hard to translate into English since it was all in ones and zeros. Â And I don’t speak binary code. Â So my translation may be less of a bad poem by Ralph and more of a bad poem made up by me.
Song of Slortcherill
Mee tok funni
Mee tok sloe
Leesen two mee
Ann emjoiy da show
Wheen Slortcherill sings
Da winners all brayk
Da kidoinks all screem
Anna moofins all bayk
I was warned that if I translated that poem with proper English spelling, it would fill your head with so much “wisdom”, your brain would melt. Â So I present it here according to Ralph’s specifications. Â I did read two of the lines with proper English spellings and felt my head grow distinctly hotter. Â So I wouldn’t risk thinking too hard about what the proper spellings are if I were you.
None of these entries will probably win the contest. Â They are all certainly bad poetry. Â But I am fairly certain that given the competition from this part of the Milky Way Galaxy worse does, in fact, exist out there… somewhere. Â And may you never be unfortunate enough to find it.
Get Up and Do!
It is daunting when bad fortune comes in waves, drowning us in debt, suffering, disabling illness, financial reversals, and so many more things I have been through this last year personally, so that we want to lie down and never get up.
But, I am not dead yet…Â and there is poetry to be lived.
I say that as one of the world’s fifty worst poets who ever lived.  (In my defense, I am a humorist, and I write bad poetry on purpose.) My inspiration for the living of poetry comes from reading and living good poetry.  I live because there is poetry by Walt Whitman. Of course, also Shakespeare… whoever he really was. And I understand that much of what I have learned in my brief and stupidly-lived 61 years comes from the poetry of the visionary poet I pictured above. Do you know him? If you have never read his poetry, you haven’t truly lived the poetry you need to live.
This poet taught me that “Being, not doing, is my first love.” Of course, if I am satisfied with just sitting on my bed and “being” through most of my day, I will starve to death and not “be” anymore. But he has taught me that what is essential is already within me. There is wisdom and power in Uncle Ted’s poetry. (Yes, I know I am not really related to him, but that’s only physical and overlooks the spiritual.) I must partake of it to live.
If you are bored by poetry about plants in a greenhouse under bright lights, or you can never understand what the poet means when he says, “My father was a fish”, then you need to practice reading poetry more. You don’t truly understand what poetry is, and what it is for… yet.
And I am sure you have probably concluded from all of this that I am a fool and a bad poet and I have no right to try to tell you who and what a truly great poet is. But, fool that I am, I know it when I see it. It is there in the verse, the hideous and horrible… the beautiful and the true. And if I know anything at all worth telling about the subject, it is this; Ted Roethke is a great American poet. And he writes poetry that you need to read… and not only read but live.
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Tagged as living poetry, poetry, Theodore Roethke