Poetry Contest 2 Results

The votes are in, a whopping 113 votes! (okay, who cheated?)

And we have some winners, some losers and some angry English teachers.

First place, with 25% of the vote (tied with the President’s approval rating), a man who couldn’t write his way out of a paper bag, especially if it contained jelly donuts…none other than…Detective Matthew Parkman! *cough*SympathyVote*cough*

Peotry is Hrad!

By Matt

I nveer lkied peotry
It mkaes my brian hrut
Is’t nto maent fro me,
Lkie a tgiht shrit.

I cna tyr raelly hrad
But it awlays flais
Myabe I cloud do it
If I lreaned how to splel.

I geuss tahts why
My wfie lfet me
Taht and the fcat
She hda anohter man’s bbay.

In second place is a man who writes poetry like normal people eat Big Macs, with heaving bouts of heart disease…Peter Petrelli!

Emo Angst

by Peter

My heart is as dark
As the deepest depths of a baboon’s anus
I see death all around me
Mostly caused by Sylar’s gayness

Saving the world, I’ve done it twice
I am FDR without the wheelchair
The impending doom was just plain nice
In comparison to losing my hair
The cut, the tragedy, caused such pain
Like a constipated loon, failing to poo in the rain
The tears flow, but for now, no more crying
Now to save my girlfriend, but is it just futile?
They all end up dying
Like a hooker in a hotel

To top it all off, my brother is dead
Denial, like with someone who gets hemorrhoids
I want to hug him once more, I want to snuggle in bed
Petrelli man-love is the only way to fill my void
The pain, the loss, my sanity will teeter
Death. Destruction. Dysphagia. Such is Peter

And finally, in third place…the loser among the winners (as opposed to Hana who is the loser among the losers)…he writes from the depth of his heart, about six feet under, Adam Monroe!

Reflections Flowering in the Abyss (haiku)

by Adam Monroe
Darkness surrounds me
Consuming spidery thoughts
Will this thought too leave? (Yeah)

People have always wanted
My looks, my charm, my flair, me
This is now a curse. (Really)

Lyle keeps ass-kissing
But he can not help, No more
Than can all others. (Help me!)

Alas! they’re almost
At the door. And I’m not just
Being dramatic. (Please)

Back, vile villainous
Creatures of the lonely night.
I am also cold. (…)

I can hear the dead people
Crawling through the soil
I think they want my box.

The poems were all very wonderful, especially my own. And that just goes to show you that many of the best works received less votes. As the great Stanislavsky said, “К сожалению, есть гораздо более плохой вкус во всем мире, чем пользы.”