October poetry competition: Charity

BillStruth! Yet more evidence that the world is bonkers. I won a poetry competition.
Nevertheless, this is one of the happiest days of my life.

The theme for the next competition is Charity. You can interpret that any way you want. All styles, formats, lengths are acceptable. There’s just one little add-on.

I’m pinching an idea from Ferret (wherefore art thou, Ferret?). In a previous creative comp he wanted participants to include a song title in their story. To win this month’s poetry competition your poem should include the title of a film. It would be nice if the movie were well-known and not an obscure art house project. Extra points if the title fits into the story of the poem.

Closing date- Midnight on Tuesday October 23rd.

30 thoughts on “October poetry competition: Charity”

  1. Thanks guys, that were quick.

    Calculating the figures on my Abbacus, if the two a day ratio continues, I would have 60 poems to judge. That is a very charitable number.

  2. Yes, OZ, the brackets rule will be enforced. As will the complete correct title of the film chosen. For example, any one citing Dr. Strangelove will be disqualified. The correct title is Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb.

  3. Thank you, Ara.

    Soutie/Janus- You two seem to be engaged in some kind of Superpower arms race. Not that I’m complaining. Multiple entries more than welcome. No SALT here.

  4. I throw my hat in the arena… it starts (at least for me) here. May I join in?

    “Kill Bill”

    More than an angry lawyer, a Barrister by humble name,
    to snipe at mere legalities to accused and thoughts of shame,
    there is more to these claims, allegations made of course…
    to tip the hat to one unproven, hence the reason for discourse,
    “My client did not do it, though the blood was on his hands,
    he picked up the weapon used… found there in the stands,
    the blood was from the victim, see where he lost it so…
    as to how he died, this we found but the why we do not know,”
    the grumbles heard around the Court room were not withheld,
    as though the crashing of ancient trees, toppled and were felled,
    he continued on,”And furthermore, though present at the scene,
    he is a modest lad, a librarian’s son, and never found that mean,
    he has no motive, no method to disclose such malice or nature…
    his height is inappropriate by angle, and beneath his humble stature,”
    the judge raised one brow… all of the jury shook their head,
    and you fain innocent by plead… unheard from one so dead.

    You may have and use this one if you like, my Lady, for it goes to good cause… I would hope.

  5. My second entry… below.

    “Alice in Wonderland”

    The queen of hearts no charity,
    none found more disparity,
    to axe off the head
    of compassion hand fed…
    a sour tart, her own viridity.

  6. Hello JW.

    My rather pathetic and rushed offering for this competition is below:


    I must do better, Beatrice cried
    People need my help
    Of course, to give is good-but yet
    I’m overspent she sighed.

    Economies are hard to make
    However hard I try
    Perhaps I’ll aim to cut out food
    At least the daily cake.

    So chocolat was next to go
    And biscuits, wine and cheese
    Cream, and pastry followed on
    This saving was a breeze.

    She also lost two stone in weight
    And felt so full of pep
    This generous lass was much admired
    She married Johnny Depp!

  7. Inked, it’s lucky our proprietor will be home later this week to adjudicate on ‘strangers’ rights’ here! 🙂

  8. In haste, well what’s new?


    Beside our local Pricerite’s door he sat
    scarce sheltered from the drifting rain.
    His graying hair beneath a battered army hat
    and where his knees once were, that
    tray of bright red poppies like some bloody stain.

    Wheelchair, poppies, tin with staring slot
    while searching, nervous, for some minor bill
    my throat contains a sudden, aching knot
    recalling that which we so soon forgot
    but he remembers always – sitting, still.

    With wavering hand to the small slot I try
    to push the minor offering of my choice
    with calloused finger sure, he taps the blockage by
    then looking up with faded Armageddon eye
    he thanks me gently in a tired, tobacco voice.

    No soldier, it’s to you our thanks are meant
    and those will never even up the score.
    Volunteer or conscript, either, you still went,
    and for some greedy politicians whim were spent
    in that hated, half remembered, foolish war.

  9. I hate Chuggers
    I really do.
    Nasty little buggers,
    They pester me and you
    And anybody who happens to be walking down the street.
    They loiter, grin and lurch and ‘Hello mate,
    ‘Care to help a badger, or an Ethiopian or some bleeding child?’
    ‘No, I bloody wouldn’t and I am not your bloody mate.’
    ‘Now piss off!’
    Charity, my arse!

  10. Thanks very much for your poems, Charioteers. Amazing what a little reminder does. 🙂

    And a warm welcome to inkedvocabulary. You’ve got our dum-de-dum two faced poet from Denmark in a whirl. Your initial odes have told him you are a force to be reckoned with. iv- you should join our little satellite (see top of page for details) and contribute not just poems but blog essays too. We are a nice friendly bunch over here.

  11. “Sweet Charity” begins at home
    That’s the subject of my pome
    I like to help a deserving cause
    But some charities just make me pause.

    The Government likes to give
    Dosh that some will need to live
    To some doubtful recipients
    Who buy cars instead of tents

    My plea is that I should choose
    Who I think deserves new shoes
    Stop letting my taxes fall
    To those who will only waste it all

    As you can tell, I am getting a bit fed up with the way some of the money donated to charity or collected as tax is spent. (Note clever use of film title 🙂 )

  12. Oops, I just realised I was supposed to include a film title

    I hate Chuggers
    I really do.
    Nasty little buggers,
    With grasping claws
    And grimaced jaws
    They pester me and you
    And anybody who happens to be walking down the street.
    Loiter, grin and lurch. ‘Hello mate,
    ‘Care to help a badger, or an Ethiopian or some bleeding child?’
    ‘No, I bloody wouldn’t and I am not your bloody mate.’
    ‘Now piss off!’
    Charity, my arse!

    Pah, this freestyle poetry is easy, especially if you are a sociopath.

  13. Hi JW! A last minute, noir pome for your competition. Sorry it’s late!

    Scent of a Woman

    I am waiting in my cell
    while you walk the walk of Hell,
    clicking down the corridor,
    gallant, wide-eyed and unsure.

    I can smell you; wholesome, clean,
    notes of sunshine, hints of green.
    A rube with just a touch of dash,
    but one remove from trailer trash.

    My plans for you are quite benign
    no fava beans, Chianti wine,
    no torture, scalpel, skinning knife,
    I give you charity, and life.

    Your path is paved with blood and screams,
    with murder, rape and nightmare dreams,
    Yet midst the hate, the filth, the scams
    You’ll hear the silence of the lambs.

  14. William Wilton! I can’t believe the amount of new poems published. I’m going to have a restless night wrestling with the problem of making a decision. I won’t get a wink of sleep. With so many odes to choose from my mind will be a hive of activity. There’s not a hope in Bob that I’ll get some shut eye. Uncomfortable isn’t the word for …yawn…it. ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

    (Thank you everyone. You are all stars.)

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