Category Archives: Humor

Cartoon Thinking

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Cartoon Thinking

If our thoughts grew out of us in a gigantic bubble,
perhaps they might give warning to keep us out of trouble.
They might flow on ahead of us in a big balloon
to tell folks what we’re thinking, like in a cartoon.

Sometimes our thoughts scream out at us. At other times they whisper.
Sometimes our minds are in a fog. At other times they’re crisper,
but with prior warning of dangerous or sad thoughts,
perhaps our friends would intervene to circumvent  bad thoughts.

Folks in crowds we’re entering might split to left and right
when we’re in a pissy mood and spoiling for a fight.
Those we meet might warn us of what we’re about to think,
or chuckle at our naughty thoughts and give a little wink.

What would the world be like if folks knew everything we thought?
One friend would know we hate her hair, one know we think he’s hot.
There would be no mysteries, not one Christmas surprise.
No detecting secret thoughts by staring into eyes.

The whole world would be literal. No nuances or mysteries.
Strangers would know our secrets, both our present and our histories.
No reading of expressions, for the truth would all be there
floating in thought bubbles, right above your hair!

Prompt words are scream, ahead, bubble, right.

Drought Year Fourth of July

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Drought Year Fourth of July

Dakota natives were sure to know
the Aurora Borealis show.
Why set off fireworks as well
risking that dread fire truck’s bell
that signaled prairie fires to quell?

The Weekend Write Prompt is to write a 28 word poem making use of the word aurora.

Skinny-dipping in One’s Sixties

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Skinny-dipping in One’s Sixties

While driving on a country lane, I spy a little lake
and decide that I should skinny-dip, just for old time’s sake.
Lack of a suit is not a problem, for this spot is so secluded
that I jump into the water both nuded and deluded,
for after just five minutes, although the night is dark,
three cars pull up with lights full-on and proceed to park
directly in my exit spot with windows all rolled down,
music spilling out from them. Teenagers from the town
out here for the thrill of it to swill a little beer
and have a wild party with no parents near.

Like a deer in headlights, I am blinded by the glare.
I quickly put my hands back to obscure my derriere.
Then, desperate for cover, sprint for a nearby bush.
But when I cover up my front, I have to bare my tush.
Skinny-dipping simply doesn’t work with lookers-on,
and I guess that I am trapped until these partiers are gone.
With no hope on the horizon, I hunch and drip and cower,
forgetful of the blanket I had slung over a bower
just a few short yards away, but finally I sprint for it,
and wrapping it around me, I am grateful that I went for it
in spite of all the cheers and huzzahs and the blinding light
of the headlights of the teenagers who view my frenzied flight.

Once I reach my car, the far horizon is my goal.
I gun the engine and I speed over dip and knoll.
If I need to teach the lesson of this ill-advised adventure
of senior citizen skinny-dipping, I’m the one to censure,
for I was a solo-act swimming swimsuit-free,
and the only one that I can implicate is me.
I guess that skinny-dipping is best left in the past,
for the skinny body necessary simply doesn’t last!

Prompt words today are forgetful, horizon, desperate, implicate and deer.

The Dangers of Early Halloween Shopping

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The Dangers of Early Halloween Shopping

Well, just a few more weeks before those little Halloweeners will be flooding through the gates of the Raquet Club. There are more every year and a few years ago we started all contributing candy and making up bags for each trick or treater and handing them out at the gate to the club. So, I made my trip to Walmart and bought 7 big bags of miniature Snicker bars and suckers, as well as a bag of chocolate chips so I could make cookies for my neighbors who are always bringing me shares of their suppers. I then made the mistake of bringing the Halloween candy into my house.

Instead of baking cookies, I  took a little nap, but awakened to that candy calling my name. I resisted for about 15 minutes before I tore a corner off one of the Snickers bags and had a single miniature Snickers bar––about one inch square.  I sealed up the bag. Tried to take my mind off it. Then felt suddenly thirsty and on my way to the water jug, had to pass very close to the chair the shopping bag holding all the candy was on. The bag that had been opened seemed to be saying something to me, so I leaned closer. “Eat me!”  Shades of Alice in Wonderland. I opened the bag and had just one more tiny piece of chocolate, caramel and peanuts before I called my next door neighbor and asked if I could bring the rest of the candy over to his house until it was time to take it down to the clubhouse to pack up the bags.

After he stopped laughing, he admitted it wouldn’t be much safer at his house. “You would eat my candy?” I queried. Shocked.

Well, no, he admitted. Probably not.  Were there Andes mint bars involved, he asked? No way. I don’t believe in mixing mint with anything but chewing gum. So he agreed and we met in the street outside our houses for the hand-over.

So, end of story until this Skype exchange between ForgottenMan and me.  By the way, the chocolate chips were still unopened in the cupboard. Cookies still unbaked at the time of this interchange a few minutes ago. The comments to the right are mine.

 

Forgottenman says I “might wanna” explain that an r&c is a rum and coke and g&t is a gin and tonic. I think he’s underestimating my audience!!  And thus go our evenings!! Somewhere I’m sure people are discussing great thoughts. Not so this evening with us.

Hop Scotch (Don’t Worry. Be Happy!)

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                       Click on photos to enlarge.

 

T

                                  Hop
Scotch

                      “How green is blue?” the child asks,
“What is the taste of pink?”
                        A prodigy koan-master
 with a novel way to think,
                        such problems keep a child’s mind
engaged in matters other
                         than all the daily problems
of a father or a mother. 

                         No spider ever stumbles
when spinning out her strands,
                         for the feet she walks around on
are really only hands.
                         No specter of a problem
ever plagues a goat.
                          He simply feeds upon the world
and lives his life by rote.

                       And so it is with children.
They go from thing to thing
                      with no worries of the outcomes
that their acts might bring.
                       They leave to human adults
the worries of such things
                        and simply live with pleasures
that every new day brings.

Prompts for today are “How green is blue?” spider, stumble, specter and goat.

Unfortunate Signage: Last Apartments

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Last Apartments

The Lake Chapala, Mexico area where this apartment building has been going up for over a year is home to the largest group of American and Canadian expats in the world—most of them over 60 years old. That taken into account, I don’t think its sign sends the correct message to their targeted renters. I’m sure the name “Last Apartments” is a rather unfortunate translation of “Ultimos Departamentos,” and for the superstitious, it is definitely not a great selling point. (Most probably, their intention was to convey that they will be the latest or best in design, but the translation from Spanish to English leaves the impression that no renter will be leaving the premises alive!)

Please post your own example of unfortunate signage on your blog, pingback to this page and use the tag “Unfortunate Signage.”

Dear Joan (Note Found Pinned to a Husband Left at the Curbside)

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Dear Joan
(Note Found Pinned to a Husband Left at the Curbside )

We’ve been friends for forever, but I fear that we are through.
I have no further patience for the awful things you do.
Pretending to be humble, but not shouldering  the blame,
you’re just a kindred spirit in appearance and in name.
There’s no need for thanksgiving for you are that crafty kind
who is an ally when it’s easy but vanish in a bind.
Your friendship is fair weather, for you suddenly get busy
when good times are over and my life is in a tizzy.

I find myself alone in most times of perturbation.
Then you reappear when it is time for celebration.
Our need for help’s not only when we’re rolling in the clover,
so when it comes to friendship, I think our time is over.
A real friend should be one who also shares in all your sorrows
instead of all that sharing that happens when she borrows
appliances and money, your clothes and then  your house.
Then before you notice it, she’s borrowing your spouse.

So I must insist that you find a different friend.
There is really nothing new left for me to lend.
You’ll need a better job now that you have my honey,
for I am the one, my dear, who’s always had the money.
You’ll be needing to support him in his accustomed manner.
He needs a proper tailor and a booth to make him tanner.
He prefers the Riviera, Monte Carlo for the gambling,
a Lear jet for his weekends, Maseratis for his rambling. 

He was whining like a puppy—a most pitiful yelp—
when I dumped him at your walk-up, so I hope that you can help
him carry all his baggage up to your third-floor flat.
I fear he’s not accustomed to labor such as that.
Feed him three square meals a day. He fancies caviar.
But watch him like a hawk. I wouldn’t trust him very far.
You might survey your friends again and find one who is plucky
who will take him off your hands for you if you are really lucky!!!

 

Prompt words today are humble, shoulder, kindred, thanksgiving and kind. Photo by 俊逸 余 on Unsplash, used with permission.

 

Love Song of a Pessimistic Spouse

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Photo by Andrii Leonov on Unsplash, used with permission.

Love Song of a Pessimistic Spouse

Look before you leap. Run with scissors pointed down.
Stay away from drafts, dear, when in your dressing gown.

Careful on the the stairs, don’t hasten your descent.
Don’t turn on the gas without opening the vent.

Put alcohol on cuts and scrapes, mercurochrome on splinters.
Drive slowly during rainstorms and use chains during winters.

Death is always lurking and I fear that you are jaded
thinking life’s perpetual when in fact it’s dated.

There are way too many dangers to sweep us from our feet,
so always look both ways when you cross a busy street.

Remember, dear, you’re not alone. Your “I” turned into “we”
the day that we were married for perpetuity.

Life is a roulette wheel. Take care not to spin it.
Life wouldn’t be much fun, dear, if you were not in it.

 

Prompt words for today are splinter, jaded, death, descent and look.

Gremlins: A Teenage Mythology

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Gremlins: A Teenage Mythology

A sneeze is how a poltergeist gets outside of you.
At night a different stinky elf sleeps inside each shoe.

Every creaking rafter supports its resident ghost,
and it’s little gremlins who make you burn the toast.

Each night those tricky fairies put snarls in your hair,
while pixies in your sock drawer unsort every pair.

Midnight curtain billows are caused by banshee whistles.
Vampires use your toothbrush and put cooties in its bristles.

Truths all come in singles. It’s lies that come in pairs.
That’s a zombie, not a teenager, sneaking up the stairs.

 

This poem is posted for: The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Canned Cantos

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Canned Cantos

Behold the simple can of soup.
Outside it’s hard. Inside it’s goop.
Cream of mushroom, turkey noodle—
kids adore the whole kaboodle.

Crass men raid the chicken coop
to gather poultry for our soup.
They chop up onions, slice potatoes,
murder mushrooms, slay tomatoes.

Must Warhol then immortalize
this canned concoction I despise?
The world agreed. He must. He should.
They called his canned art very good.

Yet this icon that he chose
to paint and to overexpose,
I could easily view myself
lined up on my kitchen shelf.

Why pay a thousand bucks or more
for something that each day I pour
into a pan and then ingest?
I think, friends, that it was a test

to see how gullible we are.
As we made this elf a star,
fanned his fame, increased his rank,
he laughed his way right to the bank.

For dVerse Poets Andy Warhol prompt.