Chrishanukwanzmadanfestivus Poetry Contest Winner!

And now, back to our regularly scheduled poetry post:

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There were a grand total of nine entries in the First Annual Chrishanukwanzmadanfestivus Poetry Contest—three of you preferred to e-mail me your lyrics, and in two cases, I’m glad that you did—I may never think of Jack Frost or the ringing of silver bells the same way again.  For those of you who are tuning in late, six of the entries that were fit to share publicly can be found here.

Thanks to all of you for playing along!  It’s so comforting to be weird in a group, isn’t it?

Everyone’s name went into the Shallow Box of Win—because the Pink Cowgirl Hat of Win has disappeared into the recesses of the kids’ play room and I was running late this morning—and Sunny was gracious enough to pull a name while hopping on one foot and trying to pull her second boot on.

There was a brief flurry of paper and after I picked her up, dusted her off, and fixed her footwear, she had a name clutched in her hand.

Congratulations, Mike A!

(aren’t you glad I nagged you into entering?)

Send me your mailing address and the link to the CafePress mug of your choice,* which I will most likely share with everyone, so choose wisely.

And now, I’ve got to go write the annual department holiday song, which, traditionally, should include genealogy, local history, and or the vagaries of patron behavior.

This year, I’ve decided to ruin co-opt “Home for the Holidays,” mostly because it’s short and everyone knows it—it’s amazing how many librarians don’t know the words to “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas.”

Even my kids know it—when I mentioned it, she and Sunny sang the whole thing through before I could explain which one it was.

“How many times have you heard that?” I asked.

“Seventy bajillion since Thanksgiving,” said Jane.

“When?”

“On the way to school and back,” she said.

“You’re in the car about twenty minutes each way,” I said.

“We know.“

Ladies and gentlemen, we have achieved Holiday Song supersaturation with a week to spare!

Perhaps the Mayans were right?

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*Or opt for an online gift card—you won’t hurt my feelings.

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Poetry Wednesday Limerick Contest Winner!!!

Thank you to the fifteen creative souls who sent in sixteen  limericks for last week’s contest!

Nine of you opted to send them directly to me—though only four of you had to, due to the rules about content and language*—thanks for sharing them with me!

All the limericks were all amazing—if occasionally disturbing—so it’s a good thing I didn’t have to pick the one I liked the best, since I wouldn’t be able to afford the prizes for a fifteen-poet-tie.

Instead, the winner was chosen, as promised, by Sunny from Janie’s Cincinnati Red’s hat:

Congratulations, amyg!

 

E-mail me your choice of  a regular sized mug from CafePress, amy, and tell me where to mail it.**

Thanks for playing along, everyone.  I hope you had fun, too.

Stay tuned for the next contest!***

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*You know who you are . . . and one of you might want to clear your Internet history before your husband finds out what you’ve been looking at in your spare time.  Just sayin.’

**Your address is safe with me, but if you’d rather not, I’ll e-mail  you a gift certificate—just let me know.

***This means you, Lyra—you owe me a couplet.

Crapsey Cinquain Contest Winner!

Thanks to everyone who entered the Earful of Cider Crapsey Cinquain Contest!

Although I didn’t judge quality—because I’m nowhere near qualified to do so—I can safely say that all of you wrote Crapsey poems but none of you wrote crapful ones.  Well done!

Sunny graciously allowed me to use her favorite Dora baseball cap to hold the names  and Janie picked the winner:

John S.!

Congratulations!  Your prize is any one mug from the Cafe Press poet mug collection.  Browse through them at your leisure and send me the link to your selection along with your postal address.

Click John’s name for his crown cinquain, which is simply lovely.

Honorable mention goes to Sherry, for going first, Lisa, for trying a tricky one, and Downith, for trying flattery.