Here are the winners of the first annual College Prep Bad Poetry Contest – enjoy
Composed Upon Being Rudely Awakened By My Alarm Clock (With apologies to Mary Elizabeth Frye’s “Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep”)
By Earl E. Mornin
Do not sit by my bed and scream. It’s 6 AM; I wish to dream. I am a mushroom-covered log, I am a hibernating frog, I am a snoring bale of hay, I am at rest, and there I’ll stay. When you awaken in the morning’s hush I am the one that grumbles, “Shush!” And hides beneath my covers, snug. I am a lumpy blanket slug. Do not sit by my bed and bleep. It’s 6 AM; I wish to sleep.
Ode to what I’m owed by Winnie DePrise
There’s a subject, friends, I don’t want to broach But I will, (I will!) despite the reproach, tell the story of how my dreams were poached When I didn’t become a writing coach.
My mommy does say I write pretty things; “A strong effort,” Is what my stories bring. My poems, she says, have quite a…well… ring? “If Austen is google, your writing’s bing!”
I know grammar good, if that is the rut! Free Phrasal Modifier—wait, what? I start all my sentences with “and” and “but!” See, I got grammar! Whom closed this door shut?
Analysis? Is that in the way? I got the themes from fifty shades of gray! (—oh, Such a deep, complex book, I must say). See, I’m cultured, I don’t sound all so fey!
May death be upon me! It’s not fair! not right! This injustice will be met with a fight my ascent, dear friends, is surely in sight —I mean, I even use words like forthright!
But still, us ungifted swine you all roast! Well, we have to listen to you boast Of how writing coaches “are doing the most.” “Look at all the common class rooms we host”
Well, dear friends, my infinitives are split, and there’s nothing you can do about it! I will no longer bow down to your wit! You say I’m unfit, so I’m gone, I quit!
I’m joining the math squad, read the cosigns! They’re much more laid back—I like them just fine! I’d rather find x than make an outline; so sorry, English, I’ll have to decline!
Oh a sonnet? Short story? No, I will pass. good-bye Shakespeare, hello Pythagoras ha! “What are your questions?” you’ll never ask Well this is the “vertex” of all of my sass.
Your lunch meetings don’t seem that exciting I swear it’s a cult—you aren’t even inviting! And I won’t ever forget the words that were biting “you don’t have to be a freshman to suck at writing.”
Mens Conscia Recti: A Day That Went Wrong (You may read just part, for the poem is quite long)
Look just three lines further, now two, and you’ll see, this poem was composed By Anonymous D
Mens conscia recti Whatever that means You’ve heard it abounds In day to day scenes.
Academic dishonesty, that’s what it’s about. If you know the answer, Don’t just shout it out.
If you’re writing an essay With Google at hand don’t do any searching, Lest you be banned.
You know that’s the rule, But you simply must break it. You’ve forgotten the answers, and just cannot take it. So act like you’re working, but while trying to fake it,
you look up the difference ‘twixt Greek and a Trojan, though you risk expulsion By sir David Kojan.
There will be no one there to save the poor sucker Who incites the wrath of the great Preston Tucker.
Goodbye, you will say for your days are now numbert. Your misdemeanor shall soon be revealed by Ms. Gumbert.
Aur revoir to the campus, Adios, and so long If you get past JuCo, You won’t get past DSong.
Six stanzas on history Seems more than enough Writing another Would be really quite tough.
So descend the stairs, Then rightward you whiz, And you’ll make it to math In time for the quiz.
Though you got 8 pi, Your neighbor got 7, So you wrote that and boxed it, Which didn’t fool Kevin.
You just didn’t think It would be a big thing. But now in a meeting you must confront Minh.
“I won’t do it again, not ever,” you promise. “But you’ve already done it,” points out Ms. Thomas.
This is no nightmare, from which you woke up. Instead, to convict you, There’s Norm Prokup.
All sines point to expulsion; The cosines do to. They’ll waste no time on tangents Before they expel you. Is there a limit To the things they will do? Discipline is integral to the program, it’s true. There’s no function to save you You’ve no grounds to sue. Worst of all, the answer Wasn’t seven but two.
In the office, all vectors Point you toward the door Even if you parametrize, You’re done for for sure.
Now on to English, Where you read in translation An ancient play only recently brought to this nation.
It was written in Khoisan By a small tribe of Bush men But has, we are glad, Been decoded by Cushman.
It seems once again though, You’ve made a great blunder, By looking for SparkNotes. (There were none––no wonder.)
The whole class takes a break From the Old Man and the Sea For you to have a chat With the kind Dr. P.
But he, too, has caught on to your trick, And says “just expel him. Let’s get back to Moby Dick.”
You’re in an inferno, and not one by Dante. You’ll have to spend lunch Pleading with Infante.
But, no, they’ve decided. There remains but one choice. Will you switch to Bentley or go to Head Royce?
English won’t let you stay, and all others applaud. You’re three classes in with three counts of fraud.
(Here, you may note, I neglect Dr. T. Who judges these poems, and so may judge me. Though I toil in verse, for all of my pain, I can’t rival the readings Of Monique deVane.)
You decide an approach of more self-reliance. No more peaking or sneaking, Oh, no, not in science.
Coakley serves cereal, And while you are eating, You swear to yourself There will be no more cheating.
But what? There’s a test? No more cheating must wait. Because rather than study you went to bed at eight.
So you sit behind Joe And there’s no need to suffer. He nails each titration and floors every buffer.
You write down each answer, and to make good impressions, you add some equations and random expressions.
With a pH of eight, you finally conclude, but let Joe submit first so as not to seem rude.
Every answer was stolen, Of course, it is true. But a one hundred looks better than a fifty-two.
As you are leaving, you glance at the clock, but when you turn to go, You find there’s a block. There in the doorway Is none other than Doc. And he says, “look here, it’s time for a talk.”
He’s knows what you’ve done, And not from a fable, But because he was watching From under the table.
It turns out all along, while you were cheating, Doc had the cereal And was quietly eating.
The chorus is loud now, “Expel him, expel’im.” Playing along on guitar, You hear Bernie Shellem.
They know this is serious. The decision is weighty. And to cast the last vote, They must bring in Katy.
You’ve now caused more trouble Than a whole fraternity, so they must recall her From her maternity.
But science is over, the time’s come for lunch. With some food in your stomach, You should improve a bunch.
You’re certain there’ll be No more impulse to cheat. Once you’ve had a rest and something to eat.
And you know after lunch you have the block free. There’s no trouble there possible to foresee.
So you head to College, but oops, you forgot, You aren’t allowed past the school parking lot.
Now you’ve a fifth count to add to your trial. You hope it won’t be on your permanent file.
You’ve got to get back since there’s Spanish to practice Or else you’d stay and dine at Cream or at Cactus.
Spanish class, you record un conversación It’s a good thing that there’s spanishdict on your phone.
What’s more you see, there’s an audio feature, so Siri reads your part– she won’t tell the teacher.
If you’d thought it through, You’d surely have known. Your voice isn’t robotic like that of your phone,
and the Australian accent there’s no time to reset. The file is due right now to Liset.
This act of cheating es tan mala que harta la amabilidad de profesora Marta.
But one class left, how bad can it be? All that remains Is photography.
“Is it B block or G?” You hear someone shout. “I just sat down in math With my history out. When most unfortunate, I realized that It was RHF That I should have been at.”
Your final project’s on pictures of cattle. An idea which earned A thumbs up from Dan Battle.
But it’s getting late for a trip to a farm and to look elsewhere could do no harm.
Each photo uploaded, you must learn to embed it. Then comes photoshop where you may have to edit.
It seems so complex, All the whys and the hows, so you just search on Google For pictures of cows.
1 billion results, and in only a second! This is even more success than you’d reckoned.
Pick this one, and that one, yes this one for sure, though it’s by Ansel Adams And features John Muir.
You don’t stop to think since your plan is so fine That John Muir’s features are not quite bovine.
“These photos aren’t yours.” Dan says without doubt. “This one won the Pulitzer the year it came out.”
You moan and you groan, for you do not know how, Out of a billion you’ve chosen The one famous cow.
One day in to the week, and without intervention you’d be optimistic to hope for suspension.
But there’s no time now For bemoaning your fate There’s a basketball game, so these thoughts have to wait.
Last week, the frosh team (and you’d better respect them) Faced off with St. Joes, Who mens consica recked them.
Today, you are sure, will not end in humility. You’ve got a fine plan to save the team from futility.
Just before game time, Feeling elated, You find the ball and pump till it’s over-inflated.
This plan is just brilliant, you’re sure it is true. Underinflation is frowned on but this scheme is new.
Two minutes proves, though, your plot was rather dim. When St. Joes tries to dunk but gets stopped by the rim.
It seems that the plan Was of rather low wit. For who plays basketball with a ball that can’t fit?
Your teammates and coach look at you with revulsion. It’s clear they agree: the solution’s expulsion.
What a nightmare, you think. If each day is like this, high school’s an experience you’d rather miss.
***
As you debate it, it seems very clear. Only by not cheating will you last the year.
What if the teachers all plot to convict you? What if the high school counselor tricked you
in saying College Prep would be a good fit? What if the first class Makes you want to quit?
What if high school is as bad as you fear? What if each week’s workload is enough for a year?
But enough imagining, just stick to each rule, and you’ll survive tomorrow, the first day of school.