Animals (September poetry competition)

One of the problems of winning the poetry competition is racking the brain cells to come up with an interesting theme for the next one. I’m surprised no one has done a George C Scott and declined the award. But by Stanley, I suppose we all like wearing a little Laurel round our necks.

Down to business. I’m not sure if this is a duplicate (BEEP) from a past tournament but the subject is Animals. You can ode about ones you love, dislike, fear, respect, whatever. The choice is yours. I might even make a contribution myself. The only other rule is that you must include a foreign phrase in your poem. Something like dolce vita or achtung. This is just a little extra to make it harder and more interesting.

Closing date last minute of September (I forget how many days in it). Go for it- Quack, Woof, Baa, ROAR, oo-oo-at-at-at-at, Wrille.

25 thoughts on “Animals (September poetry competition)”

  1. BTW I feel the photo comp and the poetry comp should accept entries from the other side, so to speak, as they are the ‘wrong way around’ for me!

    … So could I enter an animal photo here, and a poem about then and now to the photo comp?

    No? Oh, well, it was worth asking.

  2. Hi Pseu,, in most of the competitions I have broken the rules. You could call this Royalist anarchy. Anyway, none of the judges seemed to bother. I’m also easy-ohsy so you go ahead with your versa vice thing. It’s a good original idea.

  3. Pome for the footgear:

    Deja vu is like nostalgia
    Fings ain’t wot they used to be
    Been there, done it, got the….scars
    Am I seventy-one already?


  4. This is so awful but I have to just slip something in between trips to Spain and UK. (A true story – and really really sorry about the ‘groovy’)

    My Pet Rabbit

    When I was just a little lad
    We had many animals to feed
    They were looked after by my Dad
    Except for one, my Tumbleweed

    He was a rabbit, snowy white
    Named after a western movie
    He was large and his eyes were bright
    But cleaning out was not groovy

    I had begged my Dad for my own
    To be a pet, even a friend
    I didn’t know the seeds were sown
    For such a tragic awful end

    Dad had warned me right from the start
    To feed and clean him ev’ry day
    In Summer we were never apart
    I preferred him to other play

    In September return to school
    Not much time for Tumbleweed
    How could I have been such a fool?
    To forget the poor rabbit’s feed

    That Sunday we sat down for lunch
    I was hungry, the food was great
    Half way through I had a hunch
    It was my own pet that I ate

    I looked at Dad and began to shout
    I told you son, to my demise
    If you didn’t feed and clean him out
    I cried, the tears ran from my eyes

    He was my dear pet, how could you,
    Wring his neck and cook to eat?
    But still he tasted good, it’s true,
    I then smiled and ate all my meat.

  5. All in a day’s slither

    ‘Tempus fugit,’ said the snail
    making his silvery trail,
    across the table top.

    ‘It’s just a short drop,
    if I go over the edge, plop,’
    said he, as reached the side

    ‘but I hope I don’t slip and slide
    it would injure my pride,
    and crack my shell,

    which would hurt like hell,
    and only time would tell
    if the thrush would come

    and gobble me up.’

  6. Gaz and Pseu,

    Thanks for your entries, they are in the mix. Feel free to repost them in an individual blog. The more posts on the Chariot the merrier.

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