Second Annual SSIC Poetry Contest

It's back by popular demand! We at Snow Shoveling in Canada are proud to announce the winners of the Second Annual SSIC Poetry Contest.

Entries this year were judged on creativity, rhythm, intonation, and the amount of palm grease supplied to the judges.

First we'd like to reprint a couple of limericks that were entered. These are usually not considered pure "poetry" by most balladry buffs, but we thought these were the best submissions of that ilk.

 
SHOVELING ADVICE

When shoveling in snow cold and brisk
Beware of the dangers and risk.
Remember this please:
"Keep back straight, bend the knees"
Or you'll find that you've slipped a disc.

A LOTHARIO IN ONTARIO

There once was a man from Ontario

Who wanted to be a Lothario,

But his problems were such

That he couldn't rise much

With regards to his ol' ding-dong-derry-o.

That's enough of those.

We don't want you champing at the bit any longer for the good stuff, so here are this year's winners:

FIRST PRIZE:

MAN OR LEMUR?

Late last night while fast asleep,

a strange dream dreamt this dreamer —

A tiny basal primate was I,

from toe to head to femur.

Living 'neath a canopy

with vines that hang like streamers,

then slumber broke and I awoke —

a man, and not a lemur.

SECOND PRIZE (we've decided not to make a joke about a poet lariat here):

THE DUSTY COWBOY

 

After hitting the trail
where I rode hill and dale,
I retire to the tub
to get a good scrub.

What method’s a must
to wash off this dust?
The cleansing solution
is in this ablution.

THIRD PRIZE:

THE DOCTOR IS IN(SANE)

Frankenstein, Frankenstein

Created a monster six-foot-nine,
Of tremendous strength and abnormal brain;
Doctor and creature — both insane.

HONORABLE(?) MENTION (from the same "poet" who submitted the above entry):

THAT LAGOON CREATURE

If you should go swimming in the Black Lagoon,

Make sure you are armed with a good harpoon.

Or you may find that you'll need a surgeon

If you bump into this half-man, half-sturgeon.

There you have it. The best of the submissions. Ugh. If we don't receive anything better next year, then this may very well be the last annual SSIC poetry contest.

Whatever happened to great poetry? You know, the kind written by all those Lords; like Lord Byron, Lord Tennyson, and Lord Athol Layton.

The Wrestling Interviewer by Lord Athol Layton

In the wrestling ring I can be quite a brute.
When I interview I'm genteel and astute.

Between those ropes I can maim and I can bruise
But when I talk I can charm and I can schmooze.

So best keep in mind if I should chat with you;
Do not misbehave or that choice you may rue.

Act orderly or l will have to make you stop
With my signature patented judo chop.

Well alright; maybe Lord Layton wasn't the best of your lordly poets. But I'll bet no one ever addressed him by any of his names other than "Lord" or "Mr. Layton"!

I remember one of my favorite poems was by Lord Tennyson. I think it was an ode to a bank robber. I believe it was called The Illegal. Let's see if I can recall how it goes:

He grasps the bag with crooked hands;
Close to the cash that he demands,
Wronged by the lawful world he stands.

The silent bank alarm now calls;
A SWAT team waits outside the walls,
And like all criminals he falls.

Or something like that. 

In closing, I'd like to quote the poet Percy Shelley (who was not a Lord but a Bysshe) who said, "Poetry is the record of the best and happiest moments of the happiest and best minds."

Keep in mind that happiest and best are used in the very loosest sense with regards to the poetry presented here.