Category Archives: Comedy




My ladies writing group is classy—never crass or gaudy.
Imagine my surprise, then, when I found they can be bawdy!
Just one impromptu potluck and a few bottles of wine
turned their metaphoric minds to matters far less fine.
For Jenny had just mentioned that a friend had lately lent her
a rather naughty film that nonetheless had really sent her
off into the paroxysms of unbridled laughter—
the kind that take you wave-on-wave and leave you aching after.
I’d been needing that for months—my life had been sedate
since my old gang had moved away and left me to my fate
of no last-minute games of train and late-night jubilation,
for though I still have good friends here, I lack that combination
of friends that I enjoy who all enjoy each other, too,
enough to create silliness to make my nights less blue.

“Bad Grandpa” was the film we watched, and though I must admit
I watched behind spread fingers for at least a fifth of it,
still the antics had us all just rolling on the floor
—starting with a snicker and then ending with a roar.
Scatology is not my thing, nor are pratfalls or shtick,
yet still I must admit to you, I got a real big kick
from this film filled with all of them, and so did all the others;
so as we watched, it felt like we were all sisters and brothers.
And as they left, I think we knew we’d shared a priceless treasure,
for there’s nothing that unites us like a mutual guilty pleasure!

The Prompt: When was the last time you watched something so scary, cringe-worthy, or unbelievably tacky — in a movie, on TV, or in real life — you had to cover your eyes?

Ocean Rental


Ocean Rental

Her towel is spread out on the beach, the cat is on the stoop.
The housewife sips her coffee while her husband sips his soup.
There are advantages to houses built upon the sand.
You do not have to leave your porch to get expertly tanned.
You dine on tuna every day that never has been canned.
When fishermen jerk in their fish and they happen to land
upon your porch, you eat them either cooked or sushi-raw.
The fisherman cannot complain, you see it is the law.
And that is how you know what hubby shoves into his face
is probably not vichyssoise, but rather bouillabaisse

The Prompt: An Odd Trio—Today, you can write about whatever you what — but your post must include, in whatever role you see fit, a cat, a bowl of soup, and a beach towel.

Daily Post: The Avid Student

Today’s Prompt:  You can choose any person from history to teach you any topic you want. Who’s your teacher, and what do they teach you?

The Avid Student

Mrs. O’Leary, teach me how
please oh please, to milk a cow.
I won’t leave here till you do.
I’m bored today, and feeling blue.
Yesterday I baked a cake
with that new baker, name of Jake.
It didn’t rise.  It tasted awful.
Couldn’t eat but one small jaw full.
Day before I went to see
Joe the tailor.  Him and me
made a dress of chambray lace
but when I held it near my face
I found it itched me terrible.
To wear it was unbearable.
So I went on to see the preacher.
Wanted him to be my teacher.
But when it came the time to pray,
he found he hadn’t much to say.
I fear that I destroyed his faith.
I left him white as any wraith,
but found the cobbler in a pew
and asked him how to make a shoe.
He’d witnessed what the preacher did
and so he ran away and hid.
So Mrs. O’Leary, it’s up to you
to show me something I can do.
I know it’s dark, but I need right now
to know just how you milk your cow.
I brought a lantern.  I’ll hold it high.
It’s not real light, but we’ll get by.
I’ll just sit on this straw bale.
You fetch the cow and fetch the pail.
I love the way the hot milk steam
swirls around the rising cream.
I love the rhythm and the pomp
of my light squeeze and Bessie’s stomp
whenever I let loose her tit.
I cannot get enough of it!
But now we’re done and I can see
that bucket’s much too much for thee
to lift,  I’ll put the lantern down and
come with thee to give a hand.
I’ll come right back and close the barn.
Tomorrow, I’ll have quite a yarn
for everyone I want to tell
I finally did something well!!!!

For those of you unacquainted with Mrs. O’Leary, I include this description of The Great Chicago Fire of 1871:

“The summer of 1871 was very dry, leaving the ground parched and the wooden city vulnerable. On Sunday evening, October 8, 1871, just after nine o’clock, a fire broke out in the barn behind the home of Patrick and Catherine O’Leary at 13 DeKoven Street. How the fire started is still unknown today, but an O’Leary cow often gets the credit.

The firefighters, exhausted from fighting a large fire the day before, were first sent to the wrong neighborhood. When they finally arrived at the O’Leary’s, they found the fire raging out of control. The blaze quickly spread east and north. Wooden houses, commercial and industrial buildings, and private mansions were all consumed in the blaze.

After two days, rain began to fall. On the morning of October 10, 1871, the fire died out, leaving complete devastation in the heart of the city. At least 300 people were dead, 100,000 people were homeless, and $200 million worth of property was destroyed. The entire central business district of Chicago was leveled. The fire was one of the most spectacular events of the nineteenth century, and it is recognized as a major milestone in the city’s history.”

Poems by Prescription

Yesterday I promised to write a poem about the best topic presented to me by “readers.” Four were proposed, but I can’t remember the fourth, so if you proposed one and I’ve neglected you, please submit it again. I can’t promise to always write about all topics submitted, but this time I did—well, with the exception of one.


“Sisterly Squabbles”

A little weep, a little sigh,
a little teardrop in each eye.

Grandma Jane and her sister Sue,
one wanted one hole, the other, two

punched into their can of milk.
(All their squabbles were of this ilk.)

The rest, of course, is family fable.
They sat, chins trembling, at the table.

When my dad entered, we’ve all been told,
their milk-less coffee had grown cold.

*(Prompt by Patti Arnieri)

“Take a Walk and Tell about It”

Straight out my bedroom door would be a doozie.
I’d end up right in my Jacuzzi  !!!

* (Prompt by Tamara Mitchell)


If not my friend
to the end,
you might a’ been a me
lifelong enemy.

*(Prompt by Patty Martin)




NaPoWriMo Day 30: Ciao, Adios, Auf Wiedersehen, Adieu

Ciao, Adios, Auf Wiedersehen, Adieu

To NaPoWriMo we must say
a fond “Goodbye” on this last day.
I‘m able to, for I have found
the strength to say it the whole world round.

When I was young, I traveled far
from Germany to Zanzibar.
Australia, Bali, France and Spain,
to Africa and back again.

And though I mostly loved them all,
from Venice to the Taj Mahal,
as my departure time grew nigh
I had to voice a sad goodbye.

To Ethiopia I strayed.
For eighteen months I stayed and stayed;
and when I had to leave too soon,
I had to say “dehena hun.”

In college days, when I was young,
German was my foreign tongue;
but when to Frankfurt wir mussten gehen
I just remembered, “Auf Wiedersehen.”

The French were rude and cold and snotty.
They mocked my accent and were haughty,
so while I had to bid “adieu,”
I’d have preferred to say, “pee-ew.”

Florence thrilled me from the start.
Their lasagna is a work of art.
When I left, they all said, “Ciao.”
Their kitties, though, all said, “Miao.”

I never went to Israel
but nonetheless, I’m proud to tell,
the rabbi books? Read every tome.
So I know how to say “Shalom.”

Though “Arigato” is bound to do
when you want to say thank you,
Sayonara” is the way to go
to bid farewell in Tokyo.

Bali’s full of dance and art
that treat your eyes and fill your heart.
I must admit, I had a ball
before I said “Selamat tinggal.”

Mexico was saved for last
And now I fear my lot is cast
Since “Adios” I cannot say,
I’ve decided I will stay!

(for the sake of pronunciation, I have taken the liberty of adding an extra “e” to “dehna hun.”)

You might have already guessed that on this last day of the NaPoWriMo challenge, the prompt was to write a farewell poem.

NaPoWriMo Day 26: Pied Beauty II

Pied Beauty II

Thanks be to Sara Lee for appled things—
For pies, for apple fritters and for thin-rolled strudel crust;
For pastries of the fruit of Eve and sauce it swims within;
Fresh-cooked in ovens, how their sweet juice sings;
The sugar clotted and pierced— place it on plate we must;
And all taste, for how can tackling it be such a sin?

All things made of flour and Crisco and of apples sweet;
(How can they by nutritionists be so sorely cussed
With words professing they won’t make us thin?)
With their tart flavor are sure our lips to meet;
And meet again.

—Judy Dykstra-Brown

Our prompt today was to write a curtal sonnet in the style of Gerard Manley Hopkins’ famous poem “Pied Beauty”. This form consists of a first stanza of six lines followed by a second stanza of five, closing with a half-line. The rhyme scheme is abcabc defdf. I chose to make it a parody of Pied Beauty as well.

And now, the original:

Pied Beauty

Glory be to God for dappled things –
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced – fold, fallow, and plough;
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.

–Gerard Manley Hopkins


NaPoWriMo Day 22: I Really Want A Puppy!

Our prompt today was to write a children’s poem.

I Really Want A Puppy!

All my friends have puppies.
I told my parents that.
(Except for Susie Kramer
who makes do with a cat.)

Our station wagon’s roomy.
A puppy would fit in.
He’d sit at our back window
to see where we have been.

I’d share my whole life with him–
even things I’d do alone.
My pup could smell my pants cuffs
and know everything I’d done.

He’d walk beside me calmly
when we would go for walks
or run ahead and check the road
for rattlesnakes and hawks.

A puppy could be company.
A puppy would be fun.
I know he could protect us
from a burglar with gun.

He’d watch my baby sister
while I go off to school,
but he’d still be my puppy.
That would be the rule!

He’d run with me, play tug rope
and fetch a ball—such fun.
Then sleep upon my pillow
when the day is done.

I really want a puppy.
I need one and can’t wait.
He’ll bark when I get home from school
and meet me at the gate.

When I miss my school bus
and walk home in the rain,
my pup would lick my face dry,
then lick it wet again.

Dad took me to a pet store
to see what puppies cost.
There were so many cages
that he and I got lost.

We saw big dogs and small ones
and hairy dogs and bare.
He asked which one I liked the best.
I said I didn’t care.

“Any dog will do, Dad,
I love them all,” I said,
“Can we just get one? Please, Dad?”
but he just shook his head.

We came home empty-handed
with no dog cuddled there.
Without my mom’s permission,
I knew Dad didn’t dare.

I’ve saved up my allowance
in a Snapple jar,
but Mom says eighty-seven cents
won’t go very far.

Dad promised me a puppy.
Mom said we’d wait and see.
But I know where to find one
that we can get for free!

My dad and I go to the store
to buy me some new sox.
It’s right there on the curbside—
three puppies in a box!

I pick up the curly one
and dad picks up his brother.
The one that’s left begins to cry,
so I pick up another.

Those puppies lick my face wet.
Then lick it dry again.
The other’s licking Dad, whose face
is side-to-side big grin.

He never had a puppy
when he was growing up.
I feel so sorry for him.
It’s my dad who needs a pup!!!

When we get home, Mom asks about
the hours we’ve been away,
but she is only teasing ‘cause
she knows that we won’t say.

It’s Mother’s Day tomorrow
and she knows that we were looking
for flowers or for perfume
or some gadget for her cooking.

Next morning when we all wake up,
she sees the package there;
and she rips right into it
in her robe, with messy hair.

She gives a moan of pleasure
when she sees what is inside.
A soft new robe of fuzzy stuff
with pockets on each side.

She rips her sad old robe off,
modeling her new robe for us.
“It’s just the robe I wanted!
You guys get an A plus–

in gift shopping,” she tells us
and does a little dance;
and when she does, her eyes
look down and give a little glance

at what is still within the box,
in paper nestled there
beneath where her new robe had been—
three little balls of hair.

“Three puppies?” she throws up her hands
and glares at dad and me.
“Three puppies to devour our sox,
chew furniture and pee

upon the rugs? To take for walks
and buy shots for, and food?
For Mother’s Day my mom was surely
in a bad bad mood.

One puppy, then, jumped over
the side of that big box,
and ran right over to me
and tugged at my new sox.

Another one jumped out as well
and grabbed my Dad’s jean cuff.
He picked it up and burrowed into
that dog’s furry ruff.

The third just whined, for it was left
lonely once again.
My mom leaned down, the pup reached up
and licked her on the chin.

My mom’s not mean, just careful,
so she murmured, “What the heck!”
and put its little furry head
right up against her neck.

That puppy burrowed into
Mom’s messy morning hair
and quickly fell asleep again
while it was nestled there.

And that is a true story
of how we came to share
our house with three new puppies
who are still living there.

My curly one is Rosco.
My dad calls his dog Coors.
The third one’s still without a name.
My mom just calls it hers!!