Bad Poetry Contest: A Terrible Success

 Well, ladies and gentlemen, the first and hopefully final installation  of our “Bad/Dubious Poetry Contest” has come and gone. Many heads were shaken, both physically and otherwise; many jeers were spouted from behind snarling grimaces; and our first place winner walked away with a trophy that quite literally fell apart before she could raise it over her head in utter self-defeat.

Thanks be to all participants; be thee readers, writers, or spectators. We at the GLR are, as always, but a small group of word-nerds without you. This disdainful competition also proves what we at the GLR set out to believe at the event’s onset: that our campus is rich with literary artists who are so awfully talented, they  simply couldn’t pass for supreme failure.

And now, we retreat into the swollen bog from whence we came, perhaps to rear our heads again when next our lovely campus is in need of utter intellectual destruction. A thousand more thank-yous!


The Greenleaf Review


Check out Amanda Dahill-Moore’s article on our disheartening competition, published in The Guilfordian.


One comment

  1. Points off for talent at Dubious Poetry Contest

    Jeers and booing filled the Greenleaf Coffee Co-Op on the night of Jan. 27. Passersby meandering in for coffee or a place to do homework were greeted by a strange scene: students and faculty members seated in a semi-circle around an informal stage, openly cringing — and cheering — at the awful taste of the performers in the center.

    The event was the first ever Dubious Poetry Contest, brainchild of the Greenleaf Review and faculty sponsor Traci Connor, assistant professor of English.

    “It always seems like a good idea to be dubious to me,” said Connor, who was wearing a shirt that read “colonblow: poopin’ is cool.”

    Senior Paul McCullough, who served as emcee for the event, also embraced a dubious dress code. McCullough’s shirt featured a teddy bear reading the Bible, and he topped his outfit off with a pair of dark Ray-Ban sunglasses that he wore throughout the evening despite the dim lighting.

    “We are taking the ‘try’ out of poetry,” said McCullough in his opening address. “An event that intends to produce work so awful, it wouldn’t pass for toilet paper.”

    The performances ranged from unintelligible Latinate mumblings to suggestions on how to write a grad school application.

    Connor read an excerpt from a 1950s book on snaring a husband, which suggests hatching a plot involving a beetle named McDougal, short “eek-y” screams and a “real man” at the country club.

    See more at

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