Saturday, February 16, 2013

It's red! It's blue! It's a silly contest for you!

Back when I lived in the San Francisco Bay area, my sister and I used to go to Giants’ games at Candlestick during the summertime. We were both poor working students, but we both loved baseball, and luckily the Giants were stinking it up back then, so bleacher seats were five bucks on weekday nights. If you could handle the Arctic winds, the lousy play, and the fact that Candlestick Park has been described as “the box that Disneyland came in,” you could have a grand old time. When the games were boring, we used to make up limericks involving players’ names. Well, I made them up; Laura was the appreciative (and gracious) audience. We haven’t always gotten along, and we are in most ways complete opposites, but if there’s one thing we have in common, it’s enjoyment of silly, bawdy poetry.

I’ve been thinking about those cold summer nights at the ‘stick lately, with baseball season upon us and Valentine’s Day just passed. I connect the two because I’ve been on another silly poetry kick of late involving the “Roses are red” ditty so popular around the 14th of this month. And so I’ve decided to do something completely ridiculous for this new blog of mine; after all, what rule says blogs gotta always be grim and confessional or snarky and ranty? This one, at least for this post, is gonna be ridiculous. And, even better, it’s going to be in contest form!
Here are the rules to the contest: you must write a one-stanza poem that follows the general “Roses are red” structure. You must either 1) end the first line with “red” (or a homonym); 2) end the second line with “blue” (or a homonym); or 3) both. You don’t have to start the poem with “Roses are red / violets are blue” unless you really want to; you only have to use one or both of the words at the ends of lines as specified. Hey, it’s my party and I’ll make random rules if I want to.

Keep in mind that I am the one judging this contest, so you will probably want to write your poem to my tastes. Here are some of my own, to give you an idea of what’s possible:
Wine should be red
And coffee be black
If you think I’m wrong
I think you’re a jack…

Steak should be red
At most medium rare
If you want well-done
Burger King’s over there
Cheese: goat and gouda
Havarti, brie, bleu
But please, no Velveeta
It’s no gouda for you

Food is not the only thing I think about, however:
Books can be read
When you’re feeling blue
Paper or e-version
Either will do

Gatorade’s orange
Red, green, or blue
Looks nasty but tastes great
At mile 22

Get the idea? Submit your entries by writing them in the “comments” to this post. (If you write them on facebook or twitter they won’t count for the contest.) I’ll choose the winner, who will receive…something. Ooh, ooh, I know: a signed copy of my book! Just what you’ve always wanted! (Play along.) Contest will close when I feel like closing it. Let your poet-self emerge! Or just get silly. It’s all gouda.


  1. I'll play.

    Consider the crawfish,
    spicy, filled with tasty goo.
    You eat the tail,
    suck the head -- Yahoo!

    Manti was a playa'
    with a girl he never knew.
    The media got catfished,
    but was he really fooled? [don't know if that attempt at slant rhyme works]

    In the mind of Reagan,
    his neurons fired and blew.
    He offered the people hokum,
    and the middle class got screwed.

    Flapdoodle, pettifoggery, nonsense,
    many of us misled.
    No WMDs or real threat,
    and thousands are dead.

    I have another that's a bawdy ditty about balls that are blue.

  2. Just realized the last one doesn't work since misled is in the second line. Dang.

  3. I was totally working on a poem that included a line about balls gone blue... now I don't feel original and my creative drive is gone!

  4. Chicken of the Sea, Morton Salt,
    Land O lakes, and SunMaid too.
    Ladies a part of every meal I have.
    They all stuck around; Why didn't you?

    All business on their packaging,
    labels facing out to behold,
    except for the land-o-lakes Indian girl;
    you just need to know where to fold.