Category Archives: Humor

Sifting Time

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Sifting Time

Suspended between her life and her death,
she measures the intervals from breath to breath,
noting the bed cover’s sinking and lift,
wondering when life will set her adrift.

After a lifetime of effortless health,
she is surprised by the contrasting stealth
and the strength of the grip of what waits at her ending,
no matter what care friends may take in her tending.

As the sands of her life escape through her fingers,
she treasures each grain that stubbornly lingers.
She cannot give up. She has to hold on
until the last grain is fallen and gone.

All of those pleasures that cling to her past
are pleasures now gone. Such pleasures don’t last.
Her life like a book, pages grown stiff with age—
it grows harder and harder to turn the next page.

Her life has turned gritty––a pain and a pleasure.
Each grain that remains both a curse and a treasure.
Afraid to give up what she has for what’s next,
she can’t see the ending. She can’t read the text.

There is no escape and there isn’t a cure,
and though every day goes by in a blur,
yet these last scraps of life still act as a lure
not to give up on life. To simply endure.

The prompt today is curiously similar to yesterday’s.  It is “adrift.”

Notorious Begins with “Not”

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Notorious Begins with “Not”

Though I’d love to be more notable
for poems that are more quotable,
I’d find it far less glorious
to simply be notorious.

Paris Hilton of video fame.

I’m in no sexy videos.
No married presidents for beaus.
I have no shocking tales to tell
of hobnobbing with the cartel.

I haven’t knocked off any banks,
or perpetrated major pranks.
I leave my bosoms in my blouse.
I’ve never “offed” my folks or spouse.

images

Menendez Brothers & O.J. Simpson

I simply have no talent for
larceny or sin or gore.
So even if I yearned to be
notorious—it’s just not me!

“Notorious” is today’s prompt.

(The featured photo is of Bonnie and Clyde, perhaps the most notorious female/male bank robber team of all time. All photos borrowed from the internet)

Parsing Warshington

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Translation: “Donald, we are watching you!”  jdb photo, solidarity march, La Manzanilla, MX


Parsing Warshington

Politics became a farce
the year that voting brains were sparse
and we elected that damn narc-
issistic, cretinous horse’s arse!!
It’s clear we couldn’t have chosen warse!!!!

The prompt today was “farce.”

In the Pink: Mismatch

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Mismatch

When a certain fella has had a drink
or two or three, he’s bound to wink
at the little lady dressed in pink.
Her drink’s cubes give a subtle clink
as she decides what she might think.
Is he a stud or just a fink?
His clothes are sort of rinky-dink,
yet her long lashes, swathed in ink,
flutter in a come-on blink.
One fingernail is seen to sink
into her glass. He’s at the brink
of coming over to seal the link.
She checks her breath.  It doesn’t stink.
She reaches down and dons her mink.
But then he stops and seems to shrink.
In this sure deal there seems a chink.
It’s clear that when she deigned to flirt,
she missed the writing on his shirt.
“Be kind to animals,” it said,
“Who’d be caught wearing something dead?”

The prompt word today is “pink.”

Sad News for the Bearded Lady

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Sad News for the Bearded Lady

That your girlish form is rather cute
is not a fact we would dispute;
and though you’re held in good repute,
yet every male’s lack of  pursuit
from callow youth to crusty coot
is a subject that is moot.
The men would be more resolute—
more determined to press their suit—
if only you were less hirsute!

The prompt today was “pursue.”

Ben Dykstra’s Bottom

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murdo-coyote-march-28-2013_5889da83b6d87faea58b4b72

Every region has its own vernacular and sometimes we are not aware of how familiar terms of our childhood might be to others.  My dad was a farmer/rancher in South Dakota  where a low-lying field or land near a river was called a “bottom.”  My dad loved a good joke, but not so much when it was on him; thus, while we laughed until we were ill, he never cracked a smile as he read the following news in The Murdo Coyote, our local small-town newspaper: “The men are busy this week moving dirt on Ben Dykstra’s bottom.”  

One local wit was heard to observe that his bottom must be a sizeable one to afford that amount of activity for that length of time.

 

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Another small town diversion, other than the local newspaper, was the church bulletin. Typed and mimeographed by a volunteer before the age of the computer, one of the diversions of church could be to search for snafus such as those given below.  Thanks to sister Patti for sending these.  I’d read them long ago, but I couldn’t have laughed as long and hard at them as I did today.  My stomach literally hurts, but I really needed the laugh so wanted to share them: 

Church Ladies With Typewriters

They’re Back! Those wonderful Church Bulletins! Thank God for the church ladies with typewriters. These sentences actually appeared in church bulletins or were announced at church services:   
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The Fasting & Prayer Conference includes meals.
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Scouts are saving aluminium cans, bottles and other items to be recycled Proceeds will be used to cripple children. 
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The sermon this morning: ‘Jesus Walks on the Water.’The sermon tonight:‘Searching for Jesus.’
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Ladies, don’t forget the rummage sale. It’s a chance to get rid of those things not worth keeping around the house. Bring your husbands.
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Don’t let worry kill you off – let the Church help. 
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Miss Charlene Mason sang ‘I will not pass this way again,’ giving obvious pleasure to the congregation.
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For those of you who have children and don’t know it, we have a nursery downstairs.
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Next Thursday there will be try-outs for the choir. They need all the help they can get.
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Irving Benson and Jessie Carter were married on October 24 in the church. So ends a friendship that began in their school days. 
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A bean supper will be held on Tuesday evening in the church hall. Music will follow.
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At the evening service tonight, the sermon topic will be ‘What Is Hell?’ Come early and listen to our choir practice.
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Eight new choir robes are currently needed due to the addition of several new members and to the deterioration of some older ones.
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Please place your donation in the envelope along with the deceased person you want remembered.
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The church will host an evening of fine dining, super entertainment and gracious hostility. 
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Pot-luck supper Sunday at 5:00 PM – prayer and medication to follow.
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The ladies of the Church have cast off clothing of every kind. They may be seen in the basement on Friday afternoon. 
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This evening at 7 PM there will be a hymn singing in the park across from the Church. Bring a blanket and come prepared to sin. 
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The pastor would appreciate it if the ladies of the Congregation would lend him their electric girdles for the pancake breakfast next Sunday.
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Low Self Esteem Support Group will meet Thursday at 7 PM . Please use the back door. 
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The eighth-graders will be presenting Shakespeare’s Hamlet in the Church basement Friday at 7 PM. The congregation is invited to attend this tragedy.
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Weight Watchers will meet at 7 PM at the First Presbyterian Church. Please use large double door at the side entrance. 
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And this one just about sums them all up

The Associate Minister unveiled the church’s new campaign slogan last Sunday:
‘I Upped My Pledge – Up Yours.’

Reincarnation

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Reincarnation

Two things of value that are fleeting––
life and love both set hearts beating.
Both sadly lost by types of cheating:
one by libido overheating,
the other just by unwise eating.
Once over, though, both bear repeating.

 

 

The prompt today is “temporary.”

Small Fry

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Small Fry

We were small fry in a grown up world,
our dresses starched, our hair tight-curled
on a candlestick by mothers
who scrubbed the faces of small brothers
with fingers they had spit upon
to purge the dirt they’d lit upon.

We had no choice in any of this.
Nor in the neighbor lady’s kiss.
Sour and moldy though she might smell,
we pretended we loved it well.
So went the life in days gone by
so long as you were just small fry.

Now children pose for selfies and diss
the thought of an old lady’s kiss.
They refuse to  run through traces.
Don’t allow spit-scrubbed-at faces.
Skirts go unstarched, hair goes uncurled
now that children rule the world!

Fry is the WP prompt today.

Regional Differences

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Regional Differences

They joked about their names. His name was Johnnie, she was Frankie.
It’s true that she was beautiful, he handsome, tall and lanky.
He was a genteel southern boy, while she was born a yankee.
Every time she looked at him, her heart went a bit wanky,
but the slowness of his courtship rites was making her most cranky.
For though she appeared shy, at heart she was a trifle skanky.
As he contemplated holding hands, she dreamed of hanky panky!

 

 

The prompt word today is cranky.

They Do Not Like Me in Mongolia

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I just noticed that they’ve reinstated the stats page that shows readership of blogs country-by-country.  I always enjoyed it and so I was very happy to see it back again.  Then I started to notice little blank spots that indicated countries where no one has ever read my blog, and of course my obsessive side took over. The result is this poem. This happened once years ago with Greenland and eventually they caved in and someone viewed my blog and even commented.  Of course, it was a Filipino who had moved to Greenland, so I am aware of the fact that native Greenlanders still resist my charms, but it took care of that big gap on the map, so I’m happy.  But!  What about all those stans?  Does no one read English there? Is their taste too impeccable to give me even a chance?  Clearly, something needs to be done, so if you know any stans that you can toss into my blog begging cup, please help. Have I been at this too long?  Is it time to stop and find a less public obsession?  Well, we will see.  At any rate, here’s my plea, in rhyme, as usual:

They Do Not Like Me In Mongolia

They do not like me in Mongolia. My blog they are not reading.
The advice I give that they might need, I fear they are not heeding.
The Russians do not snub me, nor do the Turkestanis,
But I see that I have zero stats for Turkmenistanis.
They enjoy me in Samoa and endure me in St. Kitts.
The folks in Montenegro just love me all to bits.
But why won’t they read me in Uzbekistan, I wonder?
I’ve never once insulted them. I’d not make such a blunder.

Tajikistan might like me if they’d give me a chance.
Just ask my faithful readers in Great Britain and in France.
It’s true my knowledge of where Kyrgyzstan lies is most hairy,
and I can only spell it if I use a dictionary;
but still, why won’t they read me? They could have a look and rate me.
And if they noted what my blog is lacking, educate me.
For a year there were no stats that showed us views country by country,
and so I didn’t suffer from the shame and the effrontery

that there were countries missing from my readership
who are surely suffering from lack of leadership
in how to train a Scottie with fifty percent success.
and how best to deal with the chaos and the mess.
How to avoid chocolate, at least one day in ten.
How to post too many pictures of everywhere I’ve been.
I’m expert in so many things that, really, they should know,
so if you know folks in these countries, please be sure to tell them so!

Note: Let’s see if the Eastern block countries will have a little compassion and cave to our pleas.
And since stats are surely a measurement of readership, this post works for the Daily Prompt as well!