Hello Bacon Nation and all you Bacon Poets,
First of all, we at Baconfest Chicago are BLOWN AWAY by the number of truly fantastic poems we’ve received. We’ve had over 50 submissions and our intent is to crown one winner to be given two guest passes to Baconfest Chicago on April 14th. So many of the poems not in the finals are just spectacular. To say that “we had a number of great entries, and this was a tough decision” is the understatement of the bacon century. At some point we will publish all entries. I know we say that every year, but we will eventually, I promise. An “Odes to Bacon” publication will see the light of day, some day.
But for now, the Baconfest Triumvirate (in consultation with our wives, and a close circle of our most erudite bacon-loving peers) has chosen our favorite top 6. Believe me when I tell you choosing only six was NOT easy. Yes, judging poetry is VERY subjective. What can we tell you? Such is life.
Those 6 finalists’ entries are below along with a poll for voting. The poll will close next Wednesday March 21st at 1pm. Quite simply, the poem with the most votes will be our Champion – who will receive two tickets to Baconfest Chicago on April 14th.
A Note on Voting: You may only vote for ONE POEM. You may only vote ONCE.
Without further ado, here are the six finalists and their wonderful Bacon poems:
Swine?, she said.
© 2012 by Dan Alfonso
Swine?, she said,
as I began to lay the strips in the pan.
Interesting, I thought,
this could be a chance
for me to find out.
All my life I have searched
yet never have found.
From the time I was young,
I have been intoxicated by that smell.
That crackle, that sizzle.
It’s calling to me.
Would it call to her too?
As I anxiously arranged the pieces,
and dried off the grease,
the pounding of my heart,
it would not cease.
As I passed her a plate,
she refused to partake,
I had realized then,
she had been a mistake.
The Vegan – A Baconfest Poem
© 2012 by Shawna Katie Bohn
Once upon a morning dreary, in my bathrobe, wan and weary,
I stood and gazed forlornly at my open icebox door.
There was no breakfast for the makin’, no smoky hardwood bacon,
And it seemed that I would soon be schlepping towards the corner store.
Schlepping sadly to the store.
But then there came a tapping, an annoying kind of rapping
On the wooden frame that stands around my humble kitchen door.
‘Twas my pink and chubby neighbor, come to ask of me a favor,
Come to borrow almond flavor that he knew I had in store.
Only this and nothing more.
“What’s the worry? Why the hubbub?” asked the portly little cherub,
As he watched me grab my house keys and walk ‘cross the kitchen floor.
I explained I had no bacon, and the toll that it was takin’
As I gave him almond extract and I showed him towards the door.
Showed him firmly towards the door.
“That’s no problem, said my neighbor, “You can get the same great flavor
From the tofu products you can buy at any health food store.
We vegans really love it, and you too will be fond of it,
Really, going without bacon is not that much of a chore.
Not too terrible a chore!”
“Ye Gods!” I spat and sputtered, and some expletives were muttered
As I wrestled with my neighbor like a warring Carnivore.
In a rage I hit and pounded , until suddenly astounded,
I saw a curly, porcine tail slip out onto the kitchen floor.
‘Twas a pig! And nothing more.
An hour later I was sated, with my bacon crave abated,
And I never even had to journey to the corner store.
My freezer now is packed with pounds of bacon, neatly stacked
Enough to last through summertime, and maybe even more.
And my neighbor? Nevermore.
Red in tooth and claw
© 2012 by Richard Gricius
Lines that turn and bend
Striping across night black iron
Red and white and every color in between
A pop. A sizzle. That slow, slow, burn.
Languidly melting, releasing into air
Scent and flavor and memory
Feel the hunger, rising, growing
The teeth to tear, the senses feasting
Primal and beastly and human and whole
Sweet release that heralds the salty bite
Canines flashing in feral grins
We finish and feast and wait for more
Bacon: The Air I Breathe
© 2012 by Matt Grimsrud
Wouldn’t it be SUPER
If in every DINER
A HOLLOW MAN could be filled
With bacon nicely grilled?
You say, what a dumb rhyme
Diners grill bacon all the time
So I’ll explain what I mean
And you’ll see what WILD THINGS we dream
May be MURDER IN THE FIRST
To quench another’s thirst
With a bacon grease tumbler
Might as well serve QUICKSILVER
But A FEW GOOD MEN are we
We’d serve ourselves, not thee
THE RIVER WILD of grease, into us it would go
If we become FLATLINERS, we reap what we sow
On bacon ’tis a meat part, too
Our CRAZY, STUPID, LOVE for it is strange but true
The taste brings TREMORS, shakes us to our core
Yet from it we glimpse THE BIG PICTURE, feel totally secure
How much bacon per meal would be right?
We could play HE SAID, SHE SAID, be up all night
WHERE THE TRUTH LIES, I do not know
Let’s settle on a number-titled film, get on with the show
FORTY DEUCE ounces apiece
Should bring us a moment’s peace
This theme has been awkward, a pain in the ass
We’re getting lazy, we’ll close with X-MEN: FIRST CLASS
NOTE: THIS POEM CAME FRAMED IN A KEVIN BACON PHOTO COLLAGE.
© 2012 by Sarah Johnson & Chad Phillips
Single gals come gather round;
I’ll tell you how true love is found.
You try so hard to meet Mr. Right.
Sometimes you fail; try as you might.
Dating – blind, speed, online you’ve tried a few.
Oh what’s a gal supposed to do?
Why cover yourself with the scent of flowers
When another scent has much more power?
The secret is…c’mon don’t you know…
Bacon’s the only way to go!
To make his heart skip a beat,
Entice him with this salt cured meat.
When given the chance to feed a man
Serve bacon and he’ll melt in your hand.
With pancakes, waffles, gravy, eggs or toast,
Club sandwiches, burgers; whatever he likes most.
In other odd settings, like with chocolate or ice cream,
The fantastic pork flavor is every man’s dream.
So if you are ready to find the man who’s “The One”
Simply change your profile to “Must Love Bacon”!
The Quantum Dance
© 2012 by Ryan Myers
All a waste of my precious time.
Every minute I spend away from my porcine mistress, agony.
The experience of the human condition is merely what one must endure between bacons.
I am Schrödinger’s diner, caught in a superposition of states, always simultaneously eating bacon, and not.
I dance the pork belly ballet.
She calls to me, my pancetta princess.
She calls to me, from beyond the vegetable veil.
I hear her. I long for her salty, smoky embrace.
To live without bacon, is not to live.
I love you, bacon.[poll id=”5″]
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