Category Archives: Humor

Office Courtship

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Office Courtship

He found her shy and taciturn and not a little quaint.
She found him impetuous and lacking in restraint.
That personal space she guarded he invaded every day.
Her solo act he tried to crash, yet still she ran away.

He brought her flowers and chocolates. He courted her with rigor,
and yet the space between them seemed only to get bigger.
He had run out of wooing room. His prospects were too dim.
He felt that he had gone too far out that proverbial limb.

His thoughts that he could win her were just a wishful whim.
And so at last, he must give up. The lass was just too prim.
He did not seek her company. He did not text or call.
He gave a mere polite “Hello,” when they met in the hall.

Her flower vase sat empty. No chocolates in her dish.
It seemed that he had given her, finally, her wish.
She checked her phone charge. It was fine.
She waited for his pleas to dine

or see a film or to go dancing.
More and more, friends found her glancing
down the hallway, and they guessed
what she looked for, so they pressed

her for an answer as they queried
about why she always tarried
in the coffee room when she
usually brought her tea

in a thermos from her house.
Why she wore that low-cut blouse,
why she seemed a bit distracted
and when he passed, she overacted.

They all knew that overall
she’d gone too far to build a wall.
They told her if she wanted him,
she had to make that wall a scrim

and turn her light on from inside—

to throw her solo act aside
and show him who she really was.
It became the office buzz

then, how the one who’d been the quarry
set her cap to woo and marry
one she’d formerly eschewed—
thinking him too brash and rude.

And this is how she turned the tide.
She bought a card and wrote inside,
“Faint heart never won fair maid,”
bought flowers and chocolate and paid

a string quartet to serenade him
and by doing so, she made him
once more resume all his wooing,
add his billing to her cooing.

And thus goes office romance.
Fellows given half a chance
will resume what they once started
and if they are not weak-hearted

wind up with the prize they sought,
forgetting that the one who fought
the romance and sought to repeal it
was the one to finally seal it!

 

The photo I used to illustrate this poem is of my nephew Jeff and his wife Julie.  They are the parents of Ryan, my nephew who recently visited. The prompt words today are quaint, personal, taciturn and solo, and here are the links:

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/09/24/rdp-monday-quaint/
https://fivedotoh.com/2018/09/24/fowc-with-fandango-personal/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2018/09/24/taciturn/
https://dailyaddictions542855004.wordpress.com/2018/09/23/daily-addictions-2018-week-38/solo

A Feline Primer

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Photos may be better viewed by clicking on them to enlarge them.

A Feline Primer

Obsequious’s opposite, a cat has got its pride.
The moment that you put it out, it wants to be inside.
Then once inside it sees something outside it has to play with.
Each thing that you have planned for it is something it can’t stay with.

It knocks against your bottles, setting them astray
to crash upon the tiles, and only then, it may
consent to go outside again until you’ve cleaned the mess.
And cats have no contrition. No impulse to confess.

A dog may raid your garbage, steal your pork chops from the table,
but afterwards they’re guilty and they’ll woo you if they’re able.
But try illuminating cats regarding what they’ve done.
They will survey you blankly and go on to other fun.

A cat has grace and beauty , but very little soul.
It pays its rent with hummingbirds, lizards or a mole,
tiny snakes and bunnies, now and then a bat—
laid out for your viewing, on your front doormat.

Cats move with grace throughout your life, doing what they please.
When you least need their presence, they’re there upon your knees.
They’ll knead your finest tapestry, they’ll upchuck on your floor,
and sometimes when you pet them, they will consent to more.

A cat’s a living work of art, draped across your stool.
“Do unto others as you wish” is their golden rule.
So don’t expect a thank-you as you stroke their ruff.
To be graced with their presence should be thanks enough!

 

The prompts today were bottle, obsequious and illuminate. The links are below:

https://fivedotoh.com/2018/09/23/fowc-with-fandango-bottle/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2018/09/23/obsequious/
https://dailyaddictions542855004.wordpress.com/2018/09/23/daily-addictions-2018-week-38/illuminate

The Jerk

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The Jerk

He tended to overreact,
the truth to overly compact.
When he was touched, to be exact,
he swore that he’d been soundly whacked.

When his employer  surveyed his work
and claimed that he was prone to shirk
his labors, he was known to smirk
and say his boss was just a jerk.

He was, in short, a royal mess,
much given to his own duress.
A cavity, I must confess,
in his words became an abscess.

Often, truth he would imbue,
and he was rumored to pursue
wages that were not his due,
threatening that he’d surely sue.

His fellow workers made a pact
to somehow get this fellow sacked.
Their plot was detailed and exact.
They wanted no more of his act.

Surely, revenge was overdue.
He hid out in the john, they knew,
so as the jerk approached the loo,
they primed the seat with Super Glue.

It’s true, they heard his sounds of stress
coming from that small recess
where he had chosen to undress
in order that he then might press

His ample bottom to the seat
of his favorite retreat.
They heard his loud resounding bleat,
the pounding of his booted feet

upon the metal, well-locked stall,
his futile poundings on the wall,
but they heeded not his call.
Did he distress them? Not at all.

Much later, he was seen to pass,
a ring attached to his bare ass.
The doctor must have thought it crass.
So did the pretty little lass

who was his nurse, who’d often guessed
he imagined her in states undressed
as she passed this macho pest;
and, if you cannot guess  the rest:

as she raised the needle, gleefully aimed
at ample butt, so red and maimed
and yet so elegantly framed,
she gave witness as the beast was tamed—

and the frequent shamer was finally shamed.

 

The prompt words today are smirk, compact, duress and pursue. Here are the links to the bogs that gave them: (Disclaimer: The photo above was used for illustrative purposes only. The man photographed is actually the opposite of a jerk.)

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/09/21/rdp-friday-smirk/

https://fivedotoh.com/2018/09/21/fowc-with-fandango-compact/

https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2018/09/21/duress/

https://dailyaddictions542855004.wordpress.com/2018/09/17/daily-addictions-2018-week-37/ pursue

Reluctant Guest

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Reluctant Guest

It was infatuation. He was there at my behest,
and although I hoped for more, he proved to be a slippery guest.
When I reached out for him and he escaped my grasp,
I improvised a harness out of scarf and belt and clasp.

Before you form ideas about my brashness in this tryst,
imagining the lengths that I might go to to be kissed,
I fear that you misunderstand the situation. Maybe,
I did not make it clear that I was bathing sis’s baby!

 

 

The prompt words today are slippery, guest, infatuation, improvise.  Here are the links:

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/09/20/rdp-thursday-slippery/

https://fivedotoh.com/2018/09/20/fowc-with-fandango-guest/

https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2018/09/20/infatuation/

https://dailyaddictions542855004.wordpress.com/2018/09/17/daily-addictions-2018-week-37/improvise

Good Sport

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Good Sport

Although he’s just a featherweight with arms and legs like sticks,
he survives all the scrimmages— the shoving and the kicks.
He’s always game to play the sport in any sort of weather,
with his helmet duct taped to his head and gaiters of fine leather.
He’ll show up to participate whenever they might please
with elbow guards and shoulder pads and cushions on his knees.
Every game he joins his teammates in the dugout trench,
where though they never let him play, he’s faithful to the bench.
And no matter how much they may  laugh and jeer and chide and tease,
When it’s time for the team photo, he’ll turn up and mutter, “Cheese!”

Cheese, feather and game are the haunted wordsmith’s prompts today. Here is the link:
https://thehauntedwordsmith.wordpress.com/2018/09/18/three-things-challenge-18-sept-2018/

Good Taste

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Good Taste

It was an ongoing debate
that never tended to abate.
One friend was too prone to oration
concerning the education
of her friend much given to
items that were too frou-frou:
clothing full of frills and ruching,
fluffy pillows good for smooshing,
carved furniture too ornate.
She feared bad taste would be her fate
forever unless she stepped in 
to counteract what might have been. 

She tried to teach her friend restraint
in ornaments and clothes and paint.
She tended to excoriate
items that were too ornate, 
curbing her psychedelic bent
while showing her what Bauhaus meant.
She declared ruffled skirts too silly,
weeding out what was too frilly.
And though her friend declared it wasteful, 
she threw out all that was not tasteful.
Ignoring her friend’s deep depression
as she culled out each possession.

She honed her house goods, cleared her shelves,
deprived her yard of frogs and elves.
Gave her flamingos to Good Will,
banned nicknacks on her window sill.
So finally, when she was through
relieving her of garish hue,
replacing all her things with new,
the friend knew what she had to do.
Her belongings spare, her wardrobe small,
her house was sparse, from wall-to-wall.
The most that she could say of it
was it was tasteful, but lacking wit.

‘Til when the culling was all ended,
the one thing left that still offended
was the friend who had advised her.
By the end, how she despised her.
So, with her training in good taste,
she acted now in confidant haste.
She first picked up, quickly upending
one last thing that needed tending—
dragged it clear across the floor
and tossed it out of her front door.
And that is how it came to pass
she pitched her friend out on her ass!

For more examples of extreme bad taste, go to A Visit to the Weird.

For Daily Addictions: Ornate.

Not Prone to Marry

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Not Prone to Marry

I am a happy spinster—a perpetual “Miss.”
I cannot fathom sinking into a passioned kiss.
I am without an anchor. Obligations have I few.
No imperious husband tells me what to do.

I have no need to ferret out the reasons why I’m single.
It’s not for hate of men and I am not loath to mingle.
I simply like my privacy, have no need for a kid.
While others chose to say “I do,” I simply never did.

 

The prompt words today are fathom, anchor, imperious and ferret. Here are the links:

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/09/16/rdp-sunday-fathom/
https://fivedotoh.com/2018/09/16/fowc-with-fandango-anchor/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2018/09/16/imperious/ 
http://www.inlinkz.com/new/view.php?id=797445 ferret

Waiting for the Prompt

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Waiting for the Prompt

This poem is sort of slapdash, for the prompt came in too late.
By the time that it was posted, I was running for the gate.
I had to grab my car keys and then the birthday cake,
lock up after the painters and one more phone call make.

It was my neighbor’s birthday. We were going out to lunch
and to hear some mariachis with a most congenial bunch.
We feasted on tamales and chiles en nogada
in between our lively rounds of “Yada, yada, yada.”

Movies, books and U.F.O.’s were topics of our pleasure,
and then of course some politics were thrown in for good measure.
All in all a lovely time with friends, music and food,
and a few rounds of tequila to lighten up our mood.

When I got home, I checked it out, but still no prompt was posted.
and that is why, my friends, the tardy prompter’s being roasted.
“Prompt” means “on time,” I think that we all have to agree.
So I find the fact it’s “late” to be the final irony!

 

(All meant in good fun.) The RDP prompt today, too late to be in my combined poem, was “slapdash.”  Here is their link: https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/09/15/rdp-saturday-slapdash/

New Bachelor in the Neighborhood

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New Bachelor in the Neighborhood

Eccentric little ladies bring him grubby little pies
and their dead husbands’ left-overs: their suit coats and their ties.
Their hopes that he will fill them is literally factual.
Their need for a fresh husband is absolutely actual.
As they woo him with their chicken soup, they tease with fading eyes,
flaunting assorted figures of every shape and size.
In caftans or in aprons, in capris that are disarming,
they troop up his front sidewalk in numbers most alarming.
When one attempts to pass by with footsteps that are swift,
another elbows her aside, starting an ugly rift.
They’ve been neighbors for a lifetime and best friends for most of it,
but this new man in the neighborhood seems to make toast of it.
He cowers behind his pulled-tight drapes, not wanting to look out.
He cannot face another pie, let alone another bout.
He grasps the want ads in his fist, retreating to his study.
He’ll find another rental or move in with a buddy.
He tries to move without a sound. He’s bolted tight the door.
He hears their voices on his porch—each minute there are more.
Somebody should have warned him—kindly clued him in
about what happens to widows too long deprived of men!

The word prompts today are grubby, tease, eccentric and swift. Here are the links:

 

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/09/14/friday-rdp-grubby/
https://fivedotoh.com/2018/09/14/fowc-with-fandango-tease/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2018/09/14/eccentric/
https://dailyaddictions542855004.wordpress.com/2018/09/09/daily-addictions-2018-week-36/swift

A Misanthropic Anti-Creed

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Version 2

The assignment was to write a 6-line alphabet poem that started each line with a letter of the alphabet in a 6-letter sequence.  I.E. abcdef, qrstuv, etc.  Being a creature of excess, I used the entire alphabet, forwards and backwards, ending with a final Z to boot, since the title began with an “A.”  Please note that this is the cynical rant of a misanthrope—not necessarily my own view.  And this is the only photo I could find in my album that smacked of high society.  Actually, it’s a photo of me and my date for the junior prom.

A Misanthropic Anti-creed

After all is said and done,
brotherhoo is not much fun.
Cliques are just a machination
Dumbing down imagination. 
Each misanthrope must find his own
Final method to disown
Galas thrown to feed the poor
Hawking excesses they abhor.
In jewels, ladies you could die of,
Jostling to catch the eye of
Kings of minor countries or
Lords who are the things of lore.
Meanwhile, gents in tux and tie
Nod to try to catch the eye
Of that next lady in Dior
Possessed of means to feed the poor.
Quickened now, they move to kill,
Ready to restore their till.
Society’s main charity
Trying for a parity
Under the understanding that
Verisimilitude is boring.
What’s important is just scoring
Xcess being all the norm
Yielding to those who most conform.
Zero, then, goes to the poor.
You must admit, they are a bore.
Xtravagence is what they come for.
Widows they won’t waste a crumb for.
Very likely that the starving
Urgently needing  this feast’s carving
Taste not one small bite of it,
Still hungry now in spite of it.
Rich charity spends what’s allowed on
Quality that draws the crowd on.
Pheasant under glass costs more.
Only beans left for the poor. 
Not a charitable hope
Mars ponderings of our misanthrope.
Let not one charitable thought
Knit his brow.With doubts it’s fraught.
Jarring thoughts are all he thinks
In between ironic winks.
Hear well the stories he might tell—
Gory threats of burning hell
For that well-heeled society
Eating up the profits of
Doubtful fund raisers of love.
“Charitize” to feed the poor,
But really serve their own needs more.
Ask the misanthrope at the door.
Zero is left to feed the poor!!!!

The dVerse Poets prompt is to write a 6 line alphabet phone, using 6 letters in sequence to begin lines.  Here is the link: https://www.blenza.com/linkies/links.php?owner=dversepoets&postid=12Sep2018&meme=12493