Hot as Blazes
I must say that I love gazing
at a fire brightly blazing.
Popping corn or making s’mores,
a well-laid fire never bores!
And when the embers fade to dust
from a fire over-fussed,
then we’ll shuffle off to bed,
toasty warm and aptly fed!
For dVerse Poets the prompt word is “Blaze”
The prompt for NaPoWriMo was to write a poem making use of one of ten words from Taylor Swift lyrics. Once again given to excess, I’ve written a poem making use of them all. Here are the words: Cardigan, elegy, Mercurial, antithetical, albatross, self-effacing, altruism, incandescent, Machiavellian, clandestine.
An Elegy to The Ravelled Sleeve
Here’s an elegy from this bard again,
to my worn-out cardigan.
It’s challenged in its warp and weave,
unravelling about the sleeve,
and yet I wear it, nearly neckless,
causing folks to call me feckless.
I persist in my rebellion,
feeling slightly Machiavellian.
The opposite of narcissism
is my act of altruism
as I decide that it is better
to donate money for a sweater
to my local homeless shelter
so someone lacking clothes that swelter
can thereby don and thus bedeck
an albatross around their neck!
Self-effacing to the end,
perhaps I’ll start another trend
by donning daily my sweater’s dregs
instead of slit-pants on my legs.
Antithetical to current fashion,
clandestine in my garment passion,
Mercurial and incandescent,
my mood purely effervescent,
I’ll stride down the street with glee,
my favorite sweater surrounding me!
(My apologies to Mr. Shakespeare! )
Showing Up Late for Happy Hour at the Corner Cantina
I’m late because of accidents and countless little slips
like toothpaste down my shirt front, hair caught in my zips
and a seat belt that was caught and wouldn’t span my hips.
So bring out all your arsenal—your bludgeons and your whips.
I deserve your censure, your curses and your yips.
Perhaps it is my fault that you’re in tequila’s grips!
By looking at the tablecloth and counting all the drips,
It seems that all the salsa’s not contacting your lips,
and all your margaritas aren’t winding up as sips.
I’m making the assumption you might need more chips,
and more salsa fresca and guacamole dips,
which means our busy waiter must make some extra trips.
He doesn’t seem amused by all your clever quips
which increase with the frequency of your little nips,
so I’m hoping the aforementioned will earn him larger tips!
For SOCS: The prompt word is “Show”
For Fibbing Friday, today’s enticements are:
1. Who do you associate with ‘green fingers’? The Jolly Green Giant, of course.
2. Who or what was the Red Baron? The Scarlet Pimpernel’s exercise trapeze.
3. What was the significance of yellow ribbons around oak trees? So they could tell the girl trees from the boy trees when trimming out the hedgerows and thus guarantee the next year’s acorn harvesting.
4. Why did Alice follow the White Rabbit? Because she was next in line.
5. Who was The Black Knight? Balthazar, earlier in his career.
6. What is a Blue Moon? A crude gesture by the guy who sat in the blueberry pie during the picnic.
7. Do brown cows produce coloured milk? Nope, but they are definitely British or Canadian.
8. Why was the Pink Panther pink? Embarrassment.
9. Why are pandas black and white? Mixed panda marriages.
10. What is a Silver Shadow? The effect of sunlight on one of grandma’s best forks borrowed by her grandkids and left sticking up vertically in the sand pile.
Judy’s Advice on Preparations for the Afterlife
(For Jim)
Do you get a discount
or will there be none
when your time on Earth
will finally be done?
Whether it is better
to be raw or roasted well
depends on where you’re going.
Is it Heaven or to Hell?
I received this request for a poem from Jim Anshutz:
Some of my thoughts on cremation. 1. I will ask if they give senior discounts.. 2. I will also inform them that I sit out in the sun each day and get quite sunburnt. My question is, “do I get a discount for being pre-cooked? You can take it from here, Jude. Please make this a very humorous piece of poetry. Hit it, Jude
The NaPoWriMo prompt was to create a new Superhero. This is my response.
No Can Do
Who needs another superhero? Aren’t there enough?
Thinking up another one is going to be rough.
Of Doctors, Bats and Green ones, it seems we’ve had our fill,
and Possum Girl or Rat Boy doesn’t seem to fill the bill.
All heroic adjectives have already been used.
“Incredible” and “Super” I fear have been abused.
So what’s a gal to do when asked to make a new one?
I think that I must answer, it’s impossible to do one!!
Just for the record, I actually did create a superhero poem a few years ago for NaPoWriMo. If you’d like to check it out, HERE is a link.
This is an alphabetically ordered list of superheroes from Encyclopaedia Britannica and DC Comics:
For NaPoWriMo Superhero prompt Image is a Marvel Stock image
Midnight Minuet
Sneaking down the unlit hall,
we take turns answering nature’s call,
awaiting our own turn to sneak
to the john to have a leak.
In the darkness, we repeat
this rather tricky hourly feat.
Him, then her, then me at last.
So are our nightly ramblings cast.
It is not choice that brings us here
to void ourselves of pop or beer.
In fact, a full night’s sleep we seek—
our intentions strong, but bladders weak.
At eleven, twelve and one and two,
sleeping is what we’d rather do.
Instead, we do-si-do—just missing
the next sojourner bent on pissing!
This poem is dedicated to all of those over sixty who find themselves taking more nightly journeys down the hall than in the past. Perhaps, like me, you are a houseguest. If so, there is no avoiding the nocturnal shuffle if your hosts, like you, are of a certain age.
The Ragtag Daily Prompt is Nocturnal
Comb vs. Hair
Every day, the great debate
as I attempt to set it straight.
Yet despite how hard I try,
it continues to go awry.
The straight and narrow is not its schtick.
It’s stubborn, willful, obtusely thick.
It wanders from my planned-out way.
Down former paths it prefers to stray.
Daily, I attempt to guide,
while it goes against the tide.
Unruly tangles and snarls abide
while I would choose to smoothly slide
down tresses lovely, shiny, straight,
instead, alas, it is its fate
to wander this way and then that.
(Perhaps it’s best to wear a hat
when wandering away from home?)
This hair will never succumb to comb!!!
The NaPoWriMo prompt today is to write a poem in which two things have a fight.
(A Hint)
Our words to “define” for this Friday Are:
1. Sardoodledom Traditional time of leisure for the highest official during the Russian Empire.
2. Callithumpian The brutal hazing of freshman students from California by ruffian seniors in Texas.
3. Turdiform What Shitologists study
4. Persiflage The whipping of an intruder with one’s pocketbook
5. Palpebrous Easily pinched and fondled
6. Chary My favorite kind of pie
7. Malapert Herb’s mom
8. Dowsabel The loud ringing of the bell in the stock exchange that signals a brilliant trade.
9. Maquillage The result of a fight between a big hamburger and a porcupine
10. Dysania An addiction to shooting craps
(This poem evolved from notes that I scribbled into the margin
of our Mexican Train score sheet while visiting my friend Gloria.)
Green Brownies
The brownie that she serves me
crumbles when I try to break it in half.
Her sense of humor allows it and so I tease her.
“Gloria, this looks like the kind of food
my grandmother tried to pawn off on us—
weeks old and crusty from the refrigerator.”
“Those chocolate chips were like that when I bought them!”
she insists, even before I question their green tinge.
I think that this is even worse than the alternative,
and say so and we both laugh as she eats her brownie
and I reduce mine to dust. Not a hard task, as it turns out.
She’s had a bad infection for a week or more.
“I’m not contagious,” she insists each time she coughs
a long low rasping rumble that threatens to avalanche.
“Now stop!” she tells the sounds that explode
without permission from her chest.
“Perhaps,” I say, “These brownies are a godsend
and that’s penicillin growing on the chocolate chips.”
Then her deep coughs transform into
gasps of laughter that echo mine.
The young man there to rake the garden
looks up at us and shakes his head
at two old ladies drinking rum and
eating something chocolate,
and it occurs to me that perhaps
what the world sees as senility
is simply evolution
out of adulthood
to a higher
stage.
For dVerse Poets Open Link 360
You can see how others responded to the prompt HERE.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 