Another couple of weeks and this competition closes. Get them in quick! Ah the sixth form. Remember those days? Poncing about doing fuck all for two years and lording it over the other kids in school, getting to call *some* of the teachers by their first names, and actually being able to smoke in the common room. If like me you look back at those days and cringe, then you will probably be able to remember with total embarrassment those pages and pages of 'deep' poetry you wrote. Naive political commentary, odes to lost loves, or just plain ghastly shite about nightclubs. We all tried it - with varying degrees of absolute tits.
And some of us still have theirs, scribbled in green notebooks, which now sit in a box in the loft, or at the back of the wardrobe where no one ever goes. And guess what - we'd like to see your post-pubescent handywork for ourselves. Infact we're running a competition to find the absolute worst, most toe curling sixth form poetry ever. The winner will get a Baby Fat Head email address, and some Wheat Crunchies and a Wham Bar from the local school tuck shop, and possibly some Mojos too, if they still make them.
Send your GENUINE poetry here. Closing date is some time in July, probably. Don't forget to tell us who you are and where you live, and if you are a winner what you would like your Baby Fat Head address to be.
Oh and we will be putting a selection of the most appalling up on the site for cruel people to laugh at, so if you don't want that then don't bother sending it in! Update Our first dire piece of post-pubescent prose comes from Sonojr (come on, don't be ashamed, tell us your real name) and amounts to a poem about shagging fairies in the woods. Great! I was particularly impressed with the use of the name Brynhild in this one. Brought a tear to my eye. Ice Venus
I saw you looking as clever
<*dv_0*> as any fair nymph in a wood.
And I swore to look unto you never,
as breaking my heart could come to no good.
But passion is a hard beast to be bridled,
and causes men to ride through rings of flame!
For then, the kiss of Brynhild is entitled
wherefore the hero may propagate his name.
But aye, not for me this sweet fairy.
My heart breaks best all alone.
For if in love I wanted to be buried,
I would tie round my neck a mill stone. Update #2 This next laughable tome is nothing short of genius. If genius is defined by being embarrassing to the point of making toes curl. Many thanks to Christine Fears of Hertfordshire for allowing us all to see her father's scribblings. He was in a band apparently, and this was one of their songs. Which is probably why Elton John lives in a giant fuck-off mansion and Fears Senior, presumably, doesn't. Although anybody who can make 'metaphor' and 'philosopher' rhyme when sung, bloody deserves to be in my book. And look out for the twist at the end - ahhhhhhh do you see what he did there? You Sing
You sing of love,
You sing of peace,
You sing of the dove,
But you know not love.
You sing of hills,
You sing of vales,
You sing of pills,
You're just out on bail.
You sing of war,
You sing of hunger,
You sing with metaphor,
<*dv_1*> You're a philosopher.
You sing of me,
You sing of yourself,
You sing of bees,
We'll put you on the shelf.
You sing on record,
You sing on stage,
You sing with the lord,
You don't get a wage.
But just who do you think you are?
And who would you like to be?
I think I know who you are,
I think I've seen you before,
When I look in the mirror at dawn,
I see your face look at me. Update #3 This little gem comes from our very own Martina, when she was but a wee slip of a girl. A very disturbed girl with no sense of rhythm. What it's about fuck only knows, but she's very very angry indeed. And she wants to go back one day and start her life over - let's hope that between then and now she learns how to write decent poetry! <*dv_2*>I can't be like you,
Live apart like this,
I really must insist,
I want to go back one day,
Start my life over
I refuse to fade away
All the prejudice and greed,
Politics and war, all the madness of which you speak
Is very much in evidence there, but it's just the iceberg's peak.
But unlike you I don't want to escape it,
I want to find a way for it to end.
How can that happen if I act like it doesn't exist,
If I simply close my eyes and pretend.
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