We have seen thee, queen of cheese,
Lying quietly at your ease,
Gently fanned by evening breeze,
Thy fair form no flies dare seize.
We'rt thou suspended from balloon,
You'd cast a shade even at noon,
Folks would think it was the moon
About to fall and crush them soon.
--James McIntyre (1827-1906)
"Ode on the Mammoth Cheese, Weighing over 7,000 Pounds"
And yet, last February we were so jaded by three years of sublimely awful verse, we kept saying, "Oh, that's poem's bad, but it's not quite bad enough." Or, "I could have written one worse than that." And, "I don't know, I think Theophile Marzials is beginning to grow on me."
When Theophile Marzials is beginning to grow on you, you are in serious trouble. Prescription-strength fungicide may be your only hope.
Was it possible, we wondered, that we had plumbed the depths? That the worst was over? Or was it simply that we had become people who could never again be reduced to snorting by lines like this couplet by Amanda McKittrick Ros:
Holy Moses, take a look!
Flesh decayed in every nook!
My dears, I am here to tell you that I have found new veins of bad poetry that will keep us celebrating for many years to come.
And I didn't even have to write it all myself.
Please, once more, bring whatever bad poetry amuses you, by whatever definition pleases you. We'll have plenty of material here waiting for you, too. Come prepared to laugh until reduced to snorting.
Potluck addicts are encouraged to bring a dish.
Once again, we will crown whoever offers the most over-the-top declamatory performance as the Queen of Cheese. There is no honor or award quite like the construction paper Cheese Crown. You know you want it!