| We have a winner! |
| 2007 Tasteless and Tacky Poetry Contest Rules For Entering Ever dream of being the next Emily Dickinson? - NOT Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Blake, Whitman, all admired and esteemed for their poetic contributions to society. Now it's your turn. Who says you can't shine a turd? Display your creative genius here at Tessa's Tasteless and Tacky Poetry Contest where the crappiest poem wins! That's right, one lucky bard will receive a Tasteless and Tacky Certificate of Honor, commemorating your mundane magnificence. I'll also throw in a free download of my soon to be released erotic romance, Santa Knows I'm Naughty! So go ahead and enter. What have you got to lose, other than a little self-esteem? Time to dig out that ode to tequila you wrote after hugging the toilet all night or maybe that tribute to your ex-boyfriend's teeny weenie peenie. Each participant may enter up to two poems. Contest will end either October 15, or after the first 30 entries are received. On or around October 20, Tessa will choose four finalists and post them on her website and readers will have a chance to vote for their favorite. The poem with the most votes wins and will be announced on this website, so you can tell all your friends that you really are a poet. By entering the contest, you acknowledge that you are 18 or older. You also give Tessa the right to post your poem on her website with credit to you, the author, or whatever crappy pen- name you choose. Send your Tasteless and Tacky poem (no more than 35 lines and included in the email - NOT AN ATTACHMENT) to Tessa at tessa@tessarae.net |
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| Santa Knows I'm Naughty! Now available at The WildER Rose Press |
| Tessa's Disclaimer for the stupid and brain-dead. Tessa reserves the right to disqualify a poem for, dare I say it, being too crappy. Also, please no poems that promote violence against women or that attack race, creed or religion. Must be 18 years or older to enter. |
All works on this page copyright Tessa Rae 2007 .
Contact me at tessa@tessarae.net
| Tessa's Tasteless and Tacky Poems I write about rods and shafts And twitching inner cores Which is why my fans are crimson-flushed When they exit the bookstores If you buy my book by mistake And you find my writing icky Please don’t return it With pages wet and sticky Tessa Rae I swiped your straw ‘cross my buttcrack I swiped your straw ‘cross my buttcrack Down at the bar Friday night You split my hose And then broke my nose But I think I still won the fight ‘Cause I swiped your straw ‘cross my buttcrack I swiped your straw ‘cross my buttcrack Maybe you kicked my ass But next time you’re thinkin’ That you should be drinkin’ Honey, drink from the glass ‘Cause I swiped your straw ‘cross my buttcrack Yeah, I swiped your straw ‘cross my buttcrack You might have taken my man So you thought of fightin’ ‘Cause I don’t like wipin’ When I go to the can ‘Cause I swiped your straw ‘cross my buttcrack I swiped your straw ‘cross my buttcrack Lime goes with salt, not shit You thought you’d steal My man, big deal I hope he likes tastin’ your spit ‘Cause I swiped your straw ‘cross my buttcrack Tessa Rae |
| Winner!!! Dave Maynard In days of old when knights were bold And rubbers weren't invented They'd wrap a sock around their cock And babies were prevented. |
S. J. Willing Sally and Timmy Thomas and Timmy were taking the tally Patiently waiting for poor little Sally. Sally, the lass that we all thought was silly Had just tried to peek at our Timmy's willy This embarrassing moment occurred when she saw His handsome visage through a crack in the door. The door then flew open and thwippety-thwack And there went sweet Sally, all flat on her back She looked up and said "Oh, please, put it in me." "Now, that's how you see it!" said grinning Timmy. |
| Dave Maynard is officially 'bard of bad taste'. I have to agree, Dave. Your poem was pretty tacky. Congratulations! And thanks to all who entered. |
| Runner-up Jim Nasium She said she wanted something different and I was ready, willing and able so I pulled down her pants and panties then bent her over the kitchen table I took a stick of soft butter rubbed it all over her ass hole rammed my cock in as hard as I could I swear I touched her soul She screamed "that hurt" then got quiet suddenly her hips started to move she tuned into my steady movement we were both into the in and out groove She moaned low groans of pleasure as I went in as far as I could go she said "I like the way this feels" I said "I can tell, yes... I know" I continued doing what I was doing until the pressure became to much she reached behind her and my balls fell victim to her gentle touch I popped and felt myself weaken she moaned in pure ecstasy she finally came or so she said but I swear to god it was pee Her knees began shaking she fell down on the floor shaking like a fish out of water but asked me to give her more |
Lainey Bancroft The Legs go Last At eighteen, long and lean At twenty, curvy mean The ass, oh so tight The titties, upright Mid thirties, still fit Hit mid forties, that's it The ass? No more ass, but a butt that is draggin? The cleavage? A mass of pale flesh that is saggin? No bikini, no crop tops, no ring in my belly No short skirts or short shorts to show my thighs are like jelly Under-wire used to push up for the sell The middle aged, industrial sort just hurts like hell To confess this is probably sickening and wrong But no matter the panties, they all crawl up like a thong I'd like to tell you at this stage of my life, I'm the best And I would if my hips would quit racing east to west If you get past the fact that I'm wearing two chins You might notice, my friends, I've still got damn good pins! |