Poetry Wednesday: Secret Ingredient Poetry Contest

epic win photos - Beautiful Poetry WIN

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.

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35 thoughts on “Poetry Wednesday: Secret Ingredient Poetry Contest

  1. 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

  2. “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.

        • 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?

        • 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! 🙂

  3. 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.)

  4. 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…

  5. 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

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