Oh, trust me, it'll win, as soon as I can rhyme it in iambic pentameter.

Our poetry SUCKS you say? You just wait - I'm gonna break out my "refrigerator magnet" poetry kit ... I've got mad skilz.

Gosh, what rhymes with "war"? Whore? More? Sore? Fore? Score? Spoor?
....

(with me writing) ...

Snore?

I seriously think you should just submit the entire "o'brien/haiku flame war" comments section from last week

I wonder if they'd accept "no blood for oil"

Heh.

Or "Bushy-McChimp-Hitler-Burton is the devil"

Hows this:

"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Someone had blunder'd:
Their's not to make reply,
Their's not to reason why,
Their's but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

BrewFan- very original.

Thanks fat kid. I'm still working on it, though. Seems like I can only get about half my lines to rhyme!

I'm rooting for Jeff Goldstein in the Wergle Flomp contest, which also is hosted by Winning Writers. It's a free contest, though.

I've entered my own bad poem, but frankly have not even a snowball's chance.

Ace you can spin a good story but Haiku? Is that were you're at ?
Now some of your previous posts begin to make sense. Like "Men can't hang out together without feeling gay"
You love poetry but have been told it's effiminate.
"War poetry" from you will be something different and I want to see it. I challenge you to enter the contest and publish to here as well your entry. I want to see how you fit in to your poetry the sale of those t-shirts.

Here's a little inspiration for all the budding poets in the house, courtesy of Sir Henry Newbolt:

Clifton Chapel

This is the Chapel: here, my son,
Your father thought the thoughts of youth,
And heard the words that one by one
The touch of Life has turn'd to truth.
Here in a day that is not far,
You too may speak with noble ghosts
Of manhood and the vows of war
You made before the Lord of Hosts.

To set the cause above renown,
To love the game beyond the prize,
To honour, while you strike him down,
The foe that comes with fearless eyes;
To count the life of battle good,
And dear the land that gave you birth,
And dearer yet the brotherhood
That binds the brave of all the earth. --

My son, the oath is yours: the end
Is His, Who built the world of strife,
Who gave His children Pain for friend,
And Death for surest hope of life.
To-day and here the fight's begun,
Of the great fellowship you're free;
Henceforth the School and you are one,
And what You are, the race shall be.

God send you fortune: yet be sure,
Among the lights that gleam and pass,
You'll live to follow none more pure
Than that which glows on yonder brass:
'Qui procul hinc,' the legend's writ, --
The frontier-grave is far away --
'Qui ante diem perlit:
Sed miles, sed pro patria.'

And here's one more of Sir Henry's finest, in full Waterloo-was-won-on-the-playing-fields-of-Eton mode...

Vitaï Lampada

There's a breathless hush in the close to-night --
Ten to make and the match to win --
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play and the last man in.
And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat,
Or the selfish hope of a season's fame,
But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"

The sand of the desert is sodden red, --
Red with the wreck of a square that broke; --
The Gatling's jammed and the colonel dead,
And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.
The river of death has brimmed his banks,
And England's far, and Honor a name,
But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks,
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"

This is the word that year by year
While in her place the School is set
Every one of her sons must hear,
And none that hears it dare forget.
This they all with a joyful mind
Bear through life like a torch in flame,
And falling fling to the host behind --
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"

Hope you all enjoyed, and perhaps got a bit closer to your Muses... :)