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Ardor Day - The Beastly Poetry Competition

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  • Ardor Day - The Beastly Poetry Competition

    15th Day, 10th Moon, Year Seven of the Recent Awakenings

    My Ears! My Ears! Bad Poetry

    To the Denizenry of Her Majesty's Castle Marrach: in accordance to the will of the Lord Chamberlain, upholding the duties charged to me as Senior Chronicler, I hereby submit the chronicle of The Beastly Poetry Competition.

    In the afternoon of the Ardor Day celebration, denizens gathered in the Refectory for Sir Bragi's Beastly Poetry Contest. Unfortunately, Sir Bragi was unable to attend, and at the last moment, Doctor Destini and Mistress Adalyn were named as judges. Mistress Adalyn reminded those gathered of the rules of the contest: "Everyone who has a poem to read, will recite them for all of us one at a time. Everyone is welcome to stay and listen. Remember, for this contest, worse is better!"

    First to volunteer with a poem was ser Fezwin, who recited the following:
    My love, if I were a ram, you would still be ewe,
    My love, if we were a clam our shells would number two.
    And those shells would guard a treasure that now I mull it.
    Would be briny perhaps and a bit slimy,
    yet slide pleasant down the gullet.
    Let the world taste hint of our love,
    perhaps like that clam after being fried.
    Let the world catch whiff of our love,
    with scent stronger than a harbor at low tide.
    You make me shiver and shake like some terrible fever, (possibly again from those clams)
    And if my dreams tell me true, then our love could have no equal.
    For to my love clam (that is ewe), I could never find a sequel.


    This entry rather daunted those assembled. One would-be participant agreed "Nothing I have could compare to that." Ser Corin, though, bravely stood forth, and regaled the assembly with the following:
    There is an art to writing bad poems,
    that stand out quite well, its easy to know 'em.
    This one I wrote is really not good,
    I won't throw it out but I probably should.
    The rhymes are all careful and too well planned out,
    with cliches and banality strewn all throughout.
    The meter is forced, it just doesn't flow,
    and some lines are random and really dont go.
    The topic is bland, it seems quite mundane,
    the theme is vague and hard to maintain.
    There isnt much point, to continue to write,
    my regrets to your ears, I meant them no spite,
    When I sat to write this horrible verse,
    I hope you realize it could have been worse.
    It is true however that this poem is bad,
    to bother to write it, I must've been mad.


    Sera Ambra contributed the following little gem:
    The Will..
    In my house, upon the hill...
    We heard him read from his will...
    When I die he said so sadly....
    I leave my Mrytle my sitting pad...
    To my Loyal friend I offer the sum....
    Of all my medicine..they call it rum...
    To my cat who is quite fat...
    I leave all the mice in my hat..
    As he peered through the wreathe...
    He coughed and to my love I leave my teethe.


    Sera Jerisa offered a very short entry, which was met with approprate groans:
    Listen to the sound
    of brassy voice -- it garcles
    something truly vile.

    Then did sera Trenna stand, and first explained to Constable Gunn, "let me disclaim .. This is all your fault."

    A kiss so fleeting, so soft, so true .. til I opened my eyes and saw it was you!
    A curse! Oh drat! Oh, what had I done? Three times conflicted with the luck of a nun.
    And then did I realize as I stood there with dread .. there'd been no kiss, but a ramming instead!
    Swiftly he rushed me .. all in great haste .. and evaded my staff, which I swung with all grace.
    In my minds eye did I see him get smashed to the ground .. but instead it just missed him with a a great 'whooshing' sound.
    Then did he do a thing I should never expect ... and lift me from my feet .. relieving wounds I neglect.
    Thus shamed am I as he carried me proud .. The Duelist this Weasel who surprised all around.


    Mistress Adalyn asked for more entries, but none were forthcoming. As the Mistress Adalyn and Doctor Destini began their deliberations, those in attendance cheerfully critiqued the dreadful poetry they had heard. "Delightfully awful!" was the consensus.

    "This was a very hard decision, they were all so good... er, bad," explained Mistress Adalyn "But I only have two prizes, a first place and second place." The first-place winner was sera Trenna, who was given a coquelicot silverplate book, the pages of which might be filled with many more poems. The second-place winner was ser Fez, who received a rose nickelplate book.

    All agreed that the entries were truly awful, and the competition had been most entertaining. "It was nice to see so many entries, and each so perfectly horrid."

    This chronicle will be subject to changes and corrections, as I humbly ask that the readers indicate to me any falsehood I may have mistakenly communicated. It is through the preservation of the Past that we continue to serve Her Grace and give strength to those that will follow.

    In service to Her Majesty Queen Vivienne, the Lord Chamberlain, the Chronicler's Office, and the Denizenry of our Gracious Queen's Realm;


    ____________________________________
    Jerisa T'arachi Kysarrian, Senior Chronicler
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