We asked the impossible, we wanted poetry so good that Beej would have no choice but to like it. Boy did you guys deliver! Our winner was Magicpokey with his modern classic, “Going Left (The Road)”

Left.

The Road Doesn’t Judge You.

Left.

The Road Doesn’t Need You.

Left.

The Road Doesn’t Hurt You.

Left.

The Road Just Carries You.

Left.

Takes Your Abuse.

Left.

Absorbs Your Curses.

Left.

Without Complaint.

Left.

The Road Just Loves You.

Left.

As long As You Stay:

Left.

We had more than 50 (!) entries for this contest! The short list is assembled below the break:

By Laurel Morrison:

A Sonnet of Twerk

 

Would that I could dance across the floor

In sultry tango or in lilting waltz

Whirling, twirling, my starv-ed soul exalts

Partner in arms, lost forever more

 

Gone are the days of foxtrot and mambo

Our steps were filled with grace, the music sweet

We swept across the room on airy feet

Oh Beej, do tell, where did those days now go?

 

Thanks to Beyonce, Rihanna, Nicki Minaj

Today’s new dance – the Twerk – is “where it’s at”

Obsessed with ladies’ rears and decolletage

This hellish new craze that Miley Cyrus begat

 

But who are we to judge a move so bold?

When did our poor limbs become too old?

By: CWhiteMaster99

Beej is Red!

Beej is Blue!

Beej Splats the Bus,

And Crashes it Too!

 

A failed Ode to Twerk.

by Oakinwode

 

There was man by Beej of name.

Who needed something for fame.

And so he did twerk.

And twerk….and twerk?

(Nothing rhymes with twerk which is lame.)

 

David Kettle:

There was a twerker named beej

Who said poetry made him grieve

While driving a bus

He made quite a fuss

So now we’re all sending him these

 

Michael Saunders:

“A poem for Beej

For he is my liege

The gif of his twerk

Inspired this work”

 

Balleluia:

The Bones Left Behind: The Story of the Desert Bus Skulls

 

Inside, you are a scaffolding of calcium-white

like the skeleton your teacher rolled in for class

and said lived inside of you every day.

It smiled and smiled, and even then it seemed

more like death than like life to you.

 

You forgot about craggy carpals, their names

as foreign as their shapes, until you slipped

and broke your wrist. You couldn’t name

the big bone that jutted out at a painful angle,

white as the recently bleached tiles now darkening.

 

The doctor showed you them on the x-ray.

It was the ulna, but you asked about others,

repeated them: scaphoid, trapezium, capitate.

You imagined there was a circus in there, with a little

trapeze artist swinging between the bones.

 

Now, back in the antiseptic white

of a hospital, you asked me to dig you up,

when you were dead, and take those tiny bones

for my own. Why, I asked, and you told me

to place them in a bag and roll them like dice.

 

You said you always wanted to do that.

You smiled, and I cried.

 

By: Therberus

There once was a man named Beej,

Who was constantly beeing beseiged

They’d run up to his castle, to give him an *ass*-full

But the twerk would leave them appeased !

 

By: Impsylove

Beej needed a lot of booze,

For poetry just made him snooze.

But then one day,

DesertBus chat came his way…

 

He said it was great (but it was all just a ruse).

 

By: notmichaeljfox

There was a young woman named Heather,

who found her bird of a feather

In a young man named Dery

Who thought she was very

Foxy in all kinds of weather.