Can I Say You’re Hot

I’m so happy! I’ve just discovered The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest. It’s a little-known fact that I love, love, LOVE terrible poetry which is trying to be… terrible poetry. Three or four years back a wrote a few Terrible Poems (note: those words are in upper case, which means they were intentionally terrible). I took a look at them, with a view to submitting them, but they were terrible! That is, they were awful – funny, but lacking poetic form. In order to submit a Terrible Poem, I had to rewrite a terrible Terrible poem and make it into a worthily Terrible Poem. Get it?

I chose Shakespeare’s sonnet: Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer’s Day. Basically, he’s telling a woman that she’s beautiful and she’ll continue to live and be beautiful throughout eternity, since people will always read the poem he wrote about her. It was a popular theme with him. Unfortunately, not everyone understands what he was getting at, so I have selflessly rewritten it to suit a contemporary market. Also unfortunately, I messaged a faulty copy to the contest, but hopefully that adds to the Terribleness of the poem. However, here’s a perfectly Terrible copy, followed by the Willie’s original:

You’re As Hot As I Get When I Win A Race

You’re as hot as I get when I win a race;
You’re pretty and you’re always sober.
Gales blow petals all over the place;
It’s like, as soon’s you blink summer’s over.
One minute I’m sweatin’ like a goat,
The next the weather goes all cloudy;
You always need to take a coat,
‘Cos accidents and nature make stuff dowdy;
But your beauty will never go away,
And they’ll never take you from the sunshine.
You won’t even die, ‘cos you will stay
Alive thanks to this pretty rhyme;
As long as there’s still people around,
My poem will hold you on the ground.

Here’s Shakey’s take on it:

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

Thank you, Chelsea, for injecting some fresh fun to my life.

©Jane Paterson Basil