I feel like I should write a poem introduction to this article, but I am rhymed and metered out.  Considering I won our Bad Poetry Contest, this is to be expected.  Below is a series of poems, written by BJGers.  I think some of the best ones were written by Pete, prodding everyone into writing poems.  He at least deserves honorably mention!

The Start

Pete started off Bad Poetry Day with an email to the company.

Monday, August 18, 2008
At BJG will be great
You will be happy to know
It’s National Bad Poetry Day – ho ho

In honor of this festive event
A contest I propose to present
To the worst poem a prize
I can already see the gleam in your eyes

Please email to me
Verses at least three
Subject no matter
But tasteful as cookie batter

Any that are Great
Will be posted, not ate
The accolade that is won
Will definitely be fun

As is to be expected, some people were a little slow at getting in their submissions, so Pete sent out this little diddy:

Total awful submissions so far
Is not to the number I crave
It is true that I’ve gotten 5 sets of prose
Yet 25 do I yearn to save

Fear not however it’s not too late
The promised deadline is near
August 18 is the date
Write deeply and quickly and send to me
Prizes are waiting – you will love what you see

On the last day of the competition, Pete sent out this:

9 sets of verses so far
Today is the end of the game
Submit your prose
Or hold your nose
And avoid the fame

The Results

Today, Pete sent out the winners with this attached:

The submissions are in
The votes have been tallied
The rules say someone must win
Regardless how language was sullied

I’ve analyzed the verses
I’ve looked for good rhyme
I eliminated the curses
We had a good time

The winner is Elliott
Who penned a memorable phrase
“My Boss is my Wife”
“BJG is my Life”

Second goes to Denise
Who  rhymed Great and potentate
Also list and subsist
If only I could find a rhyme for Denise

Third must be awarded to Charles
For if bad is to be good
His poem is the worst
And reward terrible we should

The Contenders

In no particular order, here are the submissions.

Untitled by Monica

There once was an employee named Frank
Who failed to complete his timesheet
On payday he cried
And wished he had died
For there was no money in his bank.

There once was an employee named Rita
She wanted to order a fajita
But no money she had
For she was quite bad
Again, her timesheet was incomplete.

There once was an employee Dirk
Who wanted to go on vacation
He had hoped to avoid an altercation
But I’m afraid
a big deal was made
And now he will just have to work.

If it’s my week for kitchen duty
Would people think I was really fruity
If I dumped all the mold
The refrigerator can hold
And threw away the containers?

The Good Old Days by Pete

Oh when I was a young engineer
My head wasn’t as full – my thinking was clear
We used pencils and paper to create our inspirations
No computers but plenty of dripping perspiration

The code was all in a pocket-sized book
No bookshelf was needed; a small vessel to store was all it took
To stockpile the sum knowledge of engineers great
Now we know so a great deal more, it’s no piece of cake.

Calculators were simple, just plain RPN – reverse polish you know
Now we have parentheses, functions, equations – all blow
Today we have SAP, Etabs, STAAD and more
Give me a break, programs do bore.

In sum, it’s gotten much harder to do what we do
More books, more programs, more machines in the stew
Are our designs better for all of this stuff?
I think not – technology in lieu of judgment – that’s tough.

Untitled by Elliott (winner)

I am really excited about BJG poetry day
I finally have a chance to say what I want to say
The burden on my chest
I can finally rest
I am really excited about BJG poetry day

The P-town office is the best around
A nice little community is what I have found
Close to the bay
It’s sunny almost every day
The P-town office is the best around

Oh so happy at BJG I am
Like someone eating a Christmas Ham
My boss is my wife
BJG is my life
Oh so happy at BJG I am

Composing Poetry by Ed

Composing poetry is a lofty goal.
Crafting the words must come from your soul.
Think carefully about each verse you write
The words must have meaning….don’t be trite.

And once you have gathered the proper thoughts
….with frustration it may be wrought….
Don’t give in to this formidable test
Trying hard and again will make it the best.

It’s such pleasure to hear each word you compose
Your thoughts joined together in wonderful prose.
So sit down now don’t be afraid to start,
But don’t stress too much lest you cut a fat fart.

Untitled by Teresa

I wondered why, I wandered far
Then I stumbled on my car
I thought for a bit
Then opened it
And sat and slouched and sighed

I turned the key
Hopefully
It coughed and gasped then started
Is the only thing that rhymes farted?
Well that stinks

Off I went into the night
Like a solar landscape light
Strong at first
Yet undoubtfully cursed
To fade away

Untitled by Scott

Alone at my desk I sat thinkin
Out with my mates I should be drinkin
So I picked up the phone
Heard the ring tone
And had three on the way without blinkin

So I jumped in my car
To a pub not too far
for libations of plenty I was seekin
as my mates and I drank
I started to think
Awww…..crap I forgot to turn in my report to Pete!

Untitled by Noko

Pete is the one who found me in cyber.
Beat will be counted for me in the binder.
Short daily meeting appears on our calendars.
Only to be sorted for highly respected affairs.

Nothing much to do when I first started.
Little did I know that was soon to be changed?
Delegate work to me, so I can fill my time.
Now he’s the King of “Forward to Noko.”

Here we communicate a bit better than before.
As I recall the days when I couldn’t talk at all.
To be around a boss who is truly capable.
Only makes me humble and very inspired.

Yes, you are right that I’m totally sucking up.
As my review is near right here in his office.
Yet, I wonder how this one will be handled.
Bet it will be another warm and fuzzy one.

Poem by Charles (worstest place)

roses are red
violets are blue
I’m schizophrenic
so am I

Untitled by Cliff

You would think everyone would know it
That is, what it takes to be a bad poet
Is it enough to just not rhyme
Or would it be better to lack rhythm and time

Most good poems have a point to get across
They have alliteration, versus, things learned in class
Good ones can be short or long
Not much different than the lyrics in a song

So “what is it” to myself I ask
That makes a bad poem such a task
Maybe it really does just come down
To the words at the end of each line

Untitled by Marlon

I hate writing poetry
Can’t you see
But I’ll do it this one time
Just to practice my rhyme
My versus are horrible
Unlike our calcs for structural
Our new office in Pleasanton
Will one day make dollars by the ton
And let’s not leave out Henderson
I’m sure they’ll go on one hell of a run
And as for BJG’s architecture
Don’t worry architects, its respected for sure.
Bad poetry isn’t my fortay
But at least I tried and that’s all I have to say

It’s Badder Than Bad by Denise (second place)

“Bad Poetry” has been requested by our Potentate
What exactly does that mean
Who will judge which are less-than-great?
Who has sense that keen?

I will write what comes to mind
Hoping for some badness
But I sit here most resigned
Amongst the daily madness

Sitting amongst the madness you say?
What of your utilization?
It will go unnoticed I pray
When I charge to the most recent frustration

AT&T, ProLogis, the latest TI
What else is on the list?
Maybe the Hyatt has finally let fly
How else will I subsist?

International Language of Love by Mary

Ick bein American
Ich wohne in Americka

J’exprime ma passion á mon aimé
Par la poesie et l’amour

Scrivo le parole che ritengo, affinche tutti guardino fisso su
Ma quado la gente ha letto I miei pensieri su carta,

Cualquier lengua escribo
Cualquier lengua hablo
Lo que déjà mu pluma

It’s jacked

——-

(German)
I am an American,
I live in America

(French)
I express my passions to my beloved
Through poetry and love,

(Spanish)
Whatever language I write,
Whatever language I speak,
Whatever leaves my pen,

(American)
It always sounds like Greek