Category Archives: feeling lyrical

Gunfight Poetry Contest! Win up to $50,000 in cash and prizes!

gun-folding-knife

Like I always say, “Why not both?”

Welcome to the first ever Shouts From The Abyss “Gunfight Poetry Contest.” We are giving away up to $50,000 in cash and prizes! (See official rules.)

Feeling lyrical? Have a flair for communicating big ideas using very few words? You might just win it all! (But probably not.)

We’ve all heard the classic phrase “You don’t bring a knife to a gunfight.” The Sick Puppies even turned that bit of frothy pith into a song. That’s the inspiration for this contest.

Jot down a few clever lines and you could walk away with up to $50,000 in cash and prizes. That’s a lot of scratch.

Here’s how it works:
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Elvis lyrics translated into English

The sperm about to penetrate the ovum.

The lucky sperm about to penetrate the ovum.

I have decided, as a pubic service, to run some Elvis Presley lyrics through the universal translator. I hope you enjoy these as if hearing them for the first time.

Doubt my qualifications? Don’t. I was literally married under a velvet painting of Elvis in the Graceland Wedding Chapel, Las Vegas, Nevada. (But not to my wife, mind you.) I’m qualified enough.

Now bring on the big romantic ballads…

It’s Now Or Never

It’s now or never
(Daddy is in the mood)
Come hold me tight
(I will direct the action)
Kiss me my darling
(This had better be good)
Be mine tonight
(This will decidedly not be a long-term relationship)
Tomorrow will be too late
(Parts of me are feeling blue)
It’s now or never
(No promises after the booze wears off)
My love won’t wait
(There’s a BP situation in my pants)

Wasn’t that fun? Are you feeling all romantic? Make the jump and let’s do one more.
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Rights of Convenience – The Cliven Bundy Song

cliven-bundyWhen Cliven Bundy was a little baby
Settin’ on his mammy’s knee
Picked up a rifle in his right hand
Said, “Ain’t gonna pay no grazin’ fees!”

When Cliven Bundy was a little baby
Settin’ on his daddy’s knee
His daddy picked him up, threw him on the floor and says,
“This baby’s done wet on me . . . ew!”

I don’t really have much to say. I’m just in the mood to sing.

A Papal Ode

pope-artHere’s a little ditty I just wrote
In honor of selection of new Pope

Perfunctorily crouched and kneeling in time,
Bible thumping and singing in rhyme.
Communion is served, white smoke goes up,
Burning and yearning, they strive for the cup.

Feel free to write your own verses and add to my work. I’m releasing this under a Creative Commons license. But woe be unto you if you have any commons with me.

Bury My Travelin’ Bone

travelerThe traveller is always leaving town
He never has the time to turn around
And if the road he’s taken isn’t leading anywhere
He seems to be completely unaware

The traveller is always leaving home
The only kind of life he’s ever known
When every moment seems to be
A race against the time
There’s always one more mountain left to climb
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Massive Aggressive

Note to self: Save this as a draft. Not ready for prime time yet! Perhaps it’ll make a post someday. It’s a good start, just needs to be a bit longer. Which direction should it go? Tantalizing possibilities here. Perhaps a bit too positive. Make it more edgy. Better use caution. Goal: 42 more verses. And a chorus. Don’t forget LSD.

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Ain’t nobody gonna push me around
My feet are planted and my fists are coming down
If you ever try to penetrate this zone
I’ll put in you a bag and send your body home

There is unrest in the forest…

treesMeanwhile, as an ant on the trail that just got … spored, I guess it’s all a matter of perspective?┬áDamn those spoiled, ungrateful maples. -Ed

The Trees
by Rush

There is unrest in the forest
There is trouble with the trees
For the Maples want more sunlight
And the Oaks ignore their pleas
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