The Prophet Obblonge - Ode To John Keats

Ode to John Keats is a synonym for the beige, bland, non-salted, lukewarm brain cereal of
Attention-spam deficit
It was the $1,000 USG first prize winner one year for the National Library of Poetry's
Annual publishing contest, circa 1994 or something

Out of tens of thousands of entries, maybe even hundreds of thousands, my submission
Came in the top 3%
There is still an embossed certificate in my box of important papers that proclaims this

I don't know if these tomes are still published, but the outcome every year was a gigantic
Hardcover book containing what had to be every single entry into the contest
$1,000 for the first prize, $500 for second, and $250 for the third
Entrance was free, but later the entrant would be mailed an offer to write a few lines of

Author biography in the back pages in exchange for something like $10-15
My mother actually bought a copy of the hardcover for about $60
Keep in mind this is a pre-inflation calculator, slightly eye-rolling in an eye-rolling way
It was called Progress, and was, well, bleak and teenagerily depressing

I remember using the line, Baying of malnutritioned hounds, and something about polluted rain
Washing down in torrents earthbound
I was around 16
I made a joke in the author's bio section, something along the lines of the Mission Impossible

Opening credits
A recording informing the reader that these sentences were now self-destruct
The aforementioned Aunt Barbara Galvan was also a regular poetry contestant
Every year, she related to me that about 8 or 9 years later, she still remembered my

Bio blurb in the back
Writers can be, well, real fuckin' serious peoples, man
I'd most rather hang out with musicians, even though they're the worst subgenre of
The artist category

I was apparently one of the few not to be terminally boring or factual or hubristically
Serious, and the only one who actually made the entire number of allotted lines a joke
Barbara had sent in a submission every year and not scored as high as top 3%
I think she still pissed about it, like it's my fault and I pissed in her cream of wheat

As well
What a rancid cuntswab
However, we both still do agree that Ode to John Keats is just terrible, even if it's
For different reasons

Almost a madlib of a poem
Then and today
Ligon McGonagall could have written it
And please, before anyone points out that I am being unfairly and biasly critical of

A fellow artist, read Ode to John Keats first
If you're gonna talk shit, have some ammo, that's all I'm saying
I'm not Ernest Hemingway and I won't hunt you down and personally kick your ass if you
Don't like my shit

Try to keep the overlay of a madlib poem titled Generic Winning Poem Contest Entry
From forming around the words as you read
By the way, William McGonagall is often cited as being the worst poet in any language ever
Legend has it that he is the first person to actually have rotten tomatoes thrown at him

I was first introduced to his story via Ramsey Campbell
There is a theory that he may have actually been doing a sort of performance art similar
To Andy Kaufman, selling tickets by being reviled by the crowd

One would like to be charitable and thank that, but he was never recorded admitting
That was part of his awesome plan
This subject is closed until I am challenged
The last period of this deviation contains a virus that will remap your keyboard randomly

Once every 7.45 seconds
Boom

Written by:
Michael Mackenzie

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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