John Grogan | Poetry that's just begging to be slammed

Happy New Year, readers!

And what a bountiful holiday you have given me. Exactly what I asked for to start 2007 with a roar.

I've been reading your entries in my first Really Bad Poetry Contest. You did not disappoint.

Who would have thought to pair Fumo with sumo? Or clinic with cynic? Or Happy Valley and Nittany rally?

Move over, Robert Frost.

Normally, no one ever listens to me. Not even the dog.

This time everyone listened. I said bring it on, and you brought it on.

I said make it bad, really, really bad, and you took me at my word.

There's enough cringe-worthy verse and clunky rhyme flooding my inbox to sink the Queen Mary.

I will announce the three winners Friday (and will continue to accept e-mail submissions through Wednesday). Each winner will receive a signed copy of my book, Marley & Me. (What can I say? I'm on a budget.)

But for today, let's sample the submissions. Joe Robinette of Richwood set the tone early on:

A poetry contest to celebrate the Philadelphia region?

It seems the possibilities would certainly be legion,

But I think most of us bards - how can I phrase it?

Would prefer to skewer, rather than praise it.

Oh, yes, indeed. Which leads us to Carol Rochon of Audubon, Montgomery County, who paired up the region's abysmal state of child welfare with the false promises of gambling revenue:

They aren't safe in foster care,

In school, on the streets or anywhere.

What chances have our children got?

Triple Cherries on the slot!

In a shameless attempt to unfairly sway my fellow judge, Gracie the Labrador retriever, she added this postscript: "Who's a good dog? Gracie's a good dog! You're a good dog, Gracie, yes, you are."

Carol, have you no shame? (And Gracie, put that tongue back in your mouth!)

Several entrants played around with the legal troubles dogging Mayor Street's brother, Milton. Take it away, Joseph Wileczek of Philadelphia:

There once was a man named Street

Who had allegations to beat.

While dodging big trouble,

he inflated his bubble,

and his brother took the heat.

Another popular topic was the brouhaha over The Gross Clinic, a painting by Thomas Eakins that I hadn't even heard of until the Wal-Mart fortune tried wooing the work to Arkansas, spurring a furious local fund-raising effort to raise $68 million to keep it.

As Laurie Connor of Prospect Park penned:

Number five on the charts of most dangerous cities is not enough to cause concern,

But the sale of a painting

Two hundred years old,

Brings out people with money to burn.

My opposition to guns in the home brought this retort from Mike Silverman of Elkins Park:

There was a young writer named John

Who ranted like Attila the Hun.

About pistols he riled

His views were so wild,

He should be blaming the gangs, not the gun.

Bill Rose of Philadelphia was one of many to target legislators' late-night pay raise:

Perzel, DeWeese and Cappy

Give new meaning to the word "crappy,"

Steal and guffaw,

"We're above any law."

To the klink, I say, and make it snappy.

Donald Trump's dustup with Rosie O'Donnell brought many entries, such as this blessedly brief one from Arax Kendikian of Lansdale:

Trump around the Rosie,

Can we all just say no-sie?

Stay tuned. More to come on Friday.