Category Archives: Humor

7 A.M.

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Waking up Mom

 

7 A.M.

Their rebuke is most benign.
Cats yowl protest. The dogs all whine.

As outside dogs slip into gear,
Zoe wakes up and bites my ear.

Their stomachs are a timetable
that I will meet if I am able.

I drag myself out of my bed.
If only I could sleep instead!

The hour that I hit the hay
I fear was not so far away.

Three hours of sleep or perhaps four
were all I had. Surely, not more.

Just as I thought to jump sleep’s hurdle
I remembered, “Daily Wordle!”

Grabbed computer, filled every square,
weeding out vowels my only care.

Wordle in five or four or three?
I cannot sleep until I see.

But later, morning comes too soon
as animals begin their croon.

I move to kitchen to feed cats,
open the door, put bowls on mats,

fill with kibble and with wet 
catfood, and they still their fret.

Move to back door, feed each dog
different portions, mind in fog.

Zoe inside, big dogs out,
fends off pilfering and pout.

What I gain in remuneration
is their ceasing excitation.

Whines replaced by scraping beat
of metal dishes on concrete,

clicking jaw and lapping tongue
as cats and dogs both old and young

enjoy results of their design.
Then, back to bed as they all dine!

Prompt words today are concrete, remuneration, design, rebuke and timetable.

,

Fauna Fashion

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Fauna Fashion

Fox in sox and cats in spats.
Dogs in clogs and rats in hats.
When pigs are on sabbatical,
they’re rather acrobatical,

so they depend on spandex suits
as well as stretchy rubber boots
to make sure they don’t skid and fall
when they’re performing in the mall.

In urban settings, it’s a blessing
that there’s more reason to be dressing
formally. Of course that means
a negative on cut-off jeans.

Cool cats are not satisfied
until they have been spatified,
and sequined tops and silken slacks
are de rigueur, as are scoop backs.

But, perchance, have you been  guessing
the one bird not fond of dressing?
(His response you’ll find less quirky
when you hear that it’s the turkey.)

Prompts today are fox, sabbatical, negative, urban and satisfied. All illustrations are free images from the internet.

Misnamed

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Misnamed

I admit my name seems to lack a certain beauty.
I’ll never be an eponym. Who wants a town named Judy?

It’s clear that my name never makes it into poet talk.
No unfortunate child will be the chip off my old block.

Interlaced with second names —Agatha or Jeanette,
still that silly first name is as basic as you get.

The reception that it gets in lists is surely less than fine.
Somehow I always end up being sent to last in line.

It’s not correct to grumble over names, but all the same,
why give a perfect child such a clearly imperfect name?

 

 

Prompts today are interlace, correct, reception, eponym and chip.

On the Subject of Similes vs. Metaphors: NaPoWriMo 2022, Day 26

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Advice to a Poetry Critic

Each poet worth her salt adores
well-appointed metaphors,
but when they step up to the mike,
similes they only like.
Before you discuss simile
consult an expert vis a vis
the difference between the two
so you will never have to rue
mislabeling your imagery.
Hyperbole is not allusion,
so don’t add to the confusion.
Synecdoche to oxymoron––
as you choose what to write more on––
get their names right for your reader.
There’s more to poems than rhyme and meter!

This is a rerun from a few year ago, but couldn’t resist using it for NaPoWriMo.

Splitting Hairs with My Shrink

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Splitting Hairs with My Shrink

Mustard on my hot dogs, ketchup on my fries,
a paper napkin handy to ward off all the flies
trying to disport themselves by crouching on my food,
sharing all the germs they’re rumored to exude.

If I had some shrink wrap, before they alight,
I’d cover up my dinner between every bite.
Would this be outrageous? Would it be overkill?
Should I uncover it for them when I’ve had my fill?

I’m feeling quite outrageous here chatting with my shrink
sharing what I eat and do and say and think.
Will I be a protagonist or will she despise
a person who refuses to share leftovers with flies?

 

Prompts today are mustard, outrageous, protagonist, disport and shrink.

Ever After

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Ever After

A pair of decent buttocks could bring him to a halt.
Distorted or unusual to him was not a fault.
High or low or sagging part way to the floor,
he cared not how big they were. He cared not what they wore.
Clad in silk or denim, chambray or flour sacks,
he simply loved what bodies carried on their backs.
You would find him tongue-tied if you met him on your way,
but as he turned to watch you as you walked away,
he could pen a sonnet on what went through his mind
as he reconnoitered you purely from behind.

Prompt words today are unusual, halt, buttocks, distorted, decent.

Impertinent Food: NaPoWriMo 2022, Day 20

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Impertinent Food

I don’t enjoy it when food talks back.
A potato chip or Crackerjack
makes too much noise when you are chewing,
and gives away what you are doing.

Beans tattle in retrospect
so all around you folks suspect
that you have eaten of their fruit,
betrayed by legume’s blatant toot.

Food should be eaten but not heard.
That it talks back is most absurd.
That’s why edibles less rude
are my favorite sorts of food.

NaPoWriMo prompt: I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that anthropomorphizes a kind of food.

Culinary Apologies

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Culinary Apologies

Though some would say that I’m a flake
when I’m called upon to bake,
and though I qualify just barely,
I feel I’m typecast most unfairly.

True, I rank with all the rookies
when it comes to baking cookies,
and my cupcakes don’t win prizes
at anything but worst surprises.

Nonetheless, my precedent
at providing less than I had meant
is never intentional.
It’s just that I am rather dull

when it comes to pleasuring
by sifting, baking, measuring.
I lack that culinary calm
so never cook without a qualm.

When I baked banana bread
and measured powdered sugar instead
of flour, yes, I must confess
it created an awful mess.

And when I burned the chicken stew
because I had so much to do,
I hope that you remember that
I trimmed the plants and fed the cat,

wrote a poem and made some art,
(scorched the toast and burned the tart)
took the puppy for a walk,
phoned a friend and had a talk.

So though my fridge is lacking stuff,
I find my life is full enough
All in all, what I’ve got cookin’
may not be where you are lookin’.

Prompts today are flake, calm, intentional, typecast and precedent. (If you want to read about the powdered sugar debacle, click on the link where it is mentioned in the poem.)

Early Release

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Early Release

He barely saw the morning view, he was in such a pother.
He skipped his juice and pancakes. He simply couldn’t bother.
Today no one could find a way to dispel his grief.
His nervousness was clear to all. He couldn’t find relief.
His summer bliss was over. The truth blatantly cruel
as his worst fears came true at last with the first day of school!
He dragged his book bag in the dust and lagged behind the others.
He’d be out at the fishing hole if he had had his druthers.
Pencils his ma had sharpened, he broke against the wall,
so when he had to write things down, he’d have no way at all.
He used his brand new ruler to pry up stones and rocks
to catch red ants and spiders to tie up in his socks.
He caught a lizard just before it zipped under a log,
and put it in his pocket with a field mouse and a frog.
So when he got to school he’d have ample ammunition
to bring the brand new school marm to a sure state of contrition
for imprisoning them all inside on such a nice fall day,
and school would get out early if he had his way!

Prompt words for today are grief, nervous, pother and morning view.

Syncopated Poesy

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Syncopated Poesy

An iamb becomes a trochee and an anapest a dactyl.
Spondees get less pointed and  the pyrrhics turn more tactile.
Syncopated Poetry turns everything around.
Loud words get hushed down and the quiet words pick up sound.
“By the shores of Gitcheegoomie” loses all its zing.
That’s what comes from meddling with a verse’s swing.

 

The Daily Spur post for the day is syncopate. In case you’ve forgotten, below are the metrical feet of poetry: iamb ul, trochee lu, dactyl luu, anapest uul, spondee //, pyrrhic uu

Syn·co·pate:to displace the beats or accents in (music or a rhythm) so that strong beats become weak and vice versa. Or, to shorten (a word) by dropping sounds or letters in the middle, as in symbology for symbolology, or Gloster for Gloucester.