After a sincere week-long search, I’ve concluded that throughout the history of mankind, there has been a distinct lack of bacon poetry.*
This terrible oversight must be addressed. Right now.
With a contest.
Lay your bacon poetry on me—bacon haiku, sonnets, limericks, couplets, spectrism, reverse verse, Purple Cows Sows, nursery rhymes, cinquains, whatever.
Serious, fun, crunchy, yummy, pig to plate or—in the case of reversibles—plate to pig.
Share ‘em in the comments or e-mail ‘em to me if you’re shy or you rhyme pig product with something you wouldn’t want your parents to read.**
For each and every Bacon Poem you send, your name goes into the Pink Cowgirl Hat of Win.
If your name is drawn, you get the regular-sized mug of your choice from Cafepress—or an equivalent gift card, if you would prefer not to provide your mailing address.
E-mail me any questions or put ‘em in the comments.
You have from now until Monday at midnight.
Go forth and baconate.***
_____________________
*As opposed to the poetry of Francis Bacon, which could use, in my restless opinion of the moment, more pig and less piety.
**Or you wouldn’t want my parents sharing with all their friends. Kevin.
*** If you need any ideas, try the Bacon Today site. I mean, I like bacon, obviously, but these people? They revere it.
Did I ever tell you about bacon flavoured Hobnobs?
Nah. I’m just messing with you.
Put it in a poem and I’ll forgive you!
Bacon how do I love thee,
Let me count the ways…
Mmmmmmmmmmmmm bacon….
Sorry I got distracted by the possibilities.
You’re ineligible, sorry. I mean, for the contest.
But as free verse goes, that isn’t bad.
Ineligible? I thought I was “incorrigible.” Either one explains the never married part
No, ‘picky’ explains the never married part.
Men like ‘incorrigible,’ or so I hear.
My bacon
Was taken.
Poignant and succinct, Mike—I like it!
First name is in the Pink Cowgirl Hat of Win! Once I dig through the kids’ closet and find it!
Woo! I’m feelin’ lucky!
I once rewrote the lyrics to “Sexy Back” as “Tofu Back” and, if I say so myself, it RULED. So, yeah. Game on, bitches.
Also, whether I am able to pull together a bacon poem or not, this post did encourage me to go to CafePress and search for “writer” and now I want to buy 15 coffee mugs. So thanks for that.
p.s. bacon
Dudes, Laura said, ‘bitches.’ We’re in for it now!
Bitches! Did somebody call me?
Yes. Write me an erotic bacon poem, please.
I’m achin
For some bacon
If someone’s makin’,
I’m takin’.
Damn I’m good.
You are good—but I still want to share the other one.
Please?
“Hide the Bacon: A Dirty Poem”
Put on your apron, and,
O! Stoke the fire.
Your luscious loaves
Should start bakin’
And while we wait,
We’ll twirl sticky buns.
Soon frosted.
Hot.
And flakin’.
Then sidle right up
To the oven
My sweet
For there
The batter must bake in
I’ll lick the bowl
If you lick the spoon…
Enough for us both to
Partake in.
Promise,
My love,
To bake just for me.
Do not share
With your Botany Bay kin.
You know how to stir
All that I crave.
Never, dear,
Leave me forsaken.
Once we’ve preheated,
And bread has arisen,
We’ve time to fit a nice break in.
Take off your apron,
I’ll bolt the door.
Honey, let’s go hide the bacon.
Sing it, sister!
I think it’s unfair to lure me in with bacon
While I’m drinking Diet Barq’s Root Beer.
Burp.
Is this free verse? Or just a comment?
Um, free verse! Yeah, that’s it. FREE. VERSE. Free the verse!*
*May have put some stiffener in the Diet Barq’s
You know, you were the only one who stuck by me during that vodka-driven Twitter poem last New Year’s Eve . . . so I’m going to quietly put your name in the Hat and we shall never speak of stiffened Diet Root Beer again. Da?
LOLOLOL! That was a fun New Year’s Eve! One of my most entertained ever.
Or —- da.
Ohhhh, Liiiiiisssaaaaa. It sounds like there is a story about our beloved librarian that needs to be shared…
I just saw the other day that there is now bacon vodka! Which completely disgusted me until I thought about bloody marys and bacon vodka and an egg and bacon sandwich…is anybody else hungry or is it just me?
The poem is, alas, lost in the mists of forgotten tweets.
You know, in my opinion—which doesn’t count for much when it comes to alcohol—vodka shouldn’t be flavored and schnapps should . . . But the idea of bacon schnapps sounds seriously wrong to me. Maybe if I liked Bloody Marys it would be different . . . But you can totally hand over that sandwich right now!
We’re in! We just had homemade potato soup with bacon in it last Saturday night. I do not do poetry, but I think I may have a limerick on my hands. Here’s mine:
I went to the store for some bacon,
But it was hamburger the butcher was makin’.
I pleaded for pig,
He cried, “For your figs!”
And the deal was there for the takin’.
Hubby wants to play, too. Just put him in the hat as “Maddie Cochere’s husband.” That’s what he goes by. We were on the same wavelength, because he has a limerick, too. Here’s his:
There once was a sole slice of bacon,
Not enough for breakfast to be makin’.
He added some Spam,
And some green eggs ‘n ham,
Now his cholesterol’s too high to be taken.
Hey! he stole my makin’/taken line. Here’s his alternate in case I didn’t like his first offering:
Bacon, bacon in the skillet,
Add slices and slices until you fill it.
Fry it, drain it, put it on a platter,
Now clean the stove cause it’s covered with splatter.
(We are twelve years old.)
This is awesome Maddie! You’re in for one and your husband is in for two—though I like that last one best.
Thanks for playing!
Put him in for one! I think he cheated and copied from me on the first one. Teacher! Teacher!
Settle down, class. If he wins the mug, you can ‘borrow’ it. A lot.
I love bacon. I love haikus. I’m in:
“Abandoned, she sits
An earthly temptress, waiting
To be devoured.”
Yeah, intake bacon seriously. Let’s go one more.
“Greasy, crunchy: good.
The most deadly addiction:
And each bite all mine.”
I might return for more…
I elect Lisa as Queen of Bacon Haiku!
There once was a maiden in Dayton
Who had an apron laden with bacon
When she tripped on a pig
“Gosh, that wasn’t a twig!”
She thought, straightening her Canadian bacon.
or
There once was a boy in Payton
Who gobbled so much bacon
He oinked like a pig
and got really big
The townspeople were very shaken
Snerk. Awesome!
Mine is just in under the wire…and ummm. questionable in it’s poetic value. Sometimes you just have push through the writer’s block. Still, it is my poem and I’m proud to place it on the refrigerator.
Please check out…
http://tapsandratamacues.wordpress.com/2012/09/10/some-things-are/
You even have a PIGEON in there. Wild applause, John! Wild, delighted applause. XD
Thank you. thank you. thank you.