Category Archives: poems

Clumsy II

Clumsy

Since the first poem I posted today was really more about laziness than clumsiness, I’m posting another one about genuine physical clumsiness.  It is borrowed from an old Smiley Burnett skit. All these years later, and although I’ve grown to hate limericks, I’ve never forgotten this one. I guess we’ll forgive him for repeating a rhyme, since it is used in two connotations.

There once was a feller named Hall
Who fell in the spring in the fall.
‘Twould have been a sad thing
If he’d died in the spring,
But he didn’t, he died in the fall.

Thd prompt word today was “Clumsy.”

 

Dispelling Dilemma

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Dispelling Dilemma

No matter how sad or distressing or gory,
for a writer, dilemmas become a new story.
You should forgive us, for the truth of it is
that the pathos of life provides part of the fizz.
We simply don’t know why there’s all of this fuss,
until the dilemmas happen to us.

 

The prompt word today was “Dilemma.”

 

Let’s Pretend

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Let’s Pretend

“Let’s pretend,” the children say,
as they hurry off to play.
But that same action has often blown
up in the face of those full-grown.
Escape is easier these days
with all the various means and ways
we have to skirt reality
by what we listen to and see.

On television or movie screen,
we might pretend that what we’ve seen
is more reality than fact,
until we find that we react
so vividly to what is fiction
that it becomes a real addiction
that deflects our full attention
from that we do not dare to mention.

Escape increasingly is sought––
deflecting us from what we ought
really to be dealing with.
Instead of truth, we choose the myth.
Global warming, poverty,
Isis, the disparity
between the classes and the use
of meth and alcohol abuse.

Children wielding guns because
it is what every game now does.
Adults displaying their frustration
at our society’s obfuscation
of the truth of what goes on
in a society gone wrong.
Wealth governs us then shields us from
how far from truth we’ve really come.

We watch pretty fantasies
that entertain or shock or please
filling us with false elation
that is not of our own creation.
So life becomes vicarious,
distracting us from various
problems where we might have acted
if we had not been distracted

by the gross banality
passing for reality
of made-up people who act and preen
on TV or computer screen.
There’s something to be said, you see
in favor of reality
when dealing with the painful facts
of what it is one’s own life lacks.

The prompt word today was “pretend.”

Arachnopanic

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Arachnopanic!

Jeepers creepers, what’s a girl to do?
A great big spider just climbed into my shoe.
Don’t have a Prince Charming to drive the fella out.
Cannot think what else to do but panic and to shout.
Guess I’d better collect my wits and make a plan.
Get a glass of water, a squeegee and a pan.
Sacrifice my shoes and pour the water in.
Ruining a  Jimmy Choo surely is a sin!
When I poured it in the spider scurried out.
Lifted up the squeegee and gave him quite a clout.
Squeegeed the remains into the little pan.
I’ll give it a scrubbing—later—when I can.
Go out to the garden to empty the remains.
All my sins will wash away, later when it rains.
No Prince Charming needed. I handled it myself.
Next time I’ll store my Jimmy Choos safely on a shelf!

Today’s prompt word was “Panic.”

Time Is Generous in its Offerings, but Has its Limits.

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Petitioning Time

The day first blooms, then flowers and fades away to night;
and though I’d choose to slow its progress if I might,
no part of nature sympathizes with my plight.
It is a futile undertaking trying to seize light.

Time feeds upon us all—the ultimate parasite.
There is no way to sate her appetite.
No clever words can save us from her cruel bite,
for she feeds with equal favor on dull and erudite.

Though we might flail and struggle, it does no good to fight.
If we try to outpace her, it is a futile flight.
All our human efforts to stay her just incite.
Time always is the winner, feeding on our fright.

Though we might choose to hoard our time—to hold it close and tight,
or hope that pills and potions might hide us from her sight,
no rituals or magic words that we might recite
can keep our fading colors perpetually bright.

No matter what initiatives we choose to expedite—
no matter what our efforts are to reignite
the light so quickly fading from our sight—
we cannot defeat time through acts of plebiscite.

The prompt word today is “Generous.”

Vice Detection

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Vice Detection

Don’t you have to love the fellow
with ice cream on his diet Jell-O?

And the friend with heart of gold
who likes her painkiller freshly rolled,

or that occasional slip of tongue
that tells us how her husband’s hung?

This little “fuck,” that little “damn,”
the door that’s pulled closed with a slam––

the flaw that nearly escapes detection
that proves that no one is perfection?

The truth is, that though friends revere us,
faults are what really endear us.

Although piety is nice,
I’ll take my goodness spiced with vice!

The prompt word today is “Vice.”

Isn’t it Obvious?

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Isn’t it Obvious?

Isn’t it obvious she dyes her hair?
A color like that is really so rare
that all of the passersby simply must stare.
And look at that bust line and that derriere!

Her skin like a peach, her curves like a pear––
Not an inch of flab on her and no wear-and-tear.
It can’t all be natural. Wouldn’t be fair.
She looks lovely in clothes and she looks better bare.

She looks great as she is, no need for repair.
The contrast is more than a woman can bear.
Though to others I maintain I really don’t care,
each time I see her it’s like a nightmare.

I look in the mirror and just can’t compare.
No facial hair has she. No need for Nair.
Her face never wrinkles, not here and not there.
Her makeup? No smudges. Her nails never tear.

Her clothes never look a tad worse for the wear.
Bags under her eyes? There have never been. Ne’er!
She looks perfect in public. The same in her lair.
And her consort’s the same. They’re the ultimate pair.

Except, isn’t it obvious, she dyes her hair????


It must be obvious by now that the daily prompt was the word “obvious.”

Stubborn as a . . . .

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Stubborn as a . . . .

I must admit I’m stubborn, argumentative and such.
All these adverse qualities have me in their clutch.
But my mother’s from Missouri and my dad’s family is Dutch,
so they’re  the ones to blame for it, thank you very much!

If you call it tenacity it ends up sounding better.
I go from being mulish to being a go-getter,
and my stubborn tendencies cease to be a fetter.
They serve me as an asset instead of as a debtor.

As dogged as a pit bull,  determined as a cat.
A bull can be most bullish, you can’t argue much with that.
You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink,
and nothing’s stubborn as a pig, no matter what you think.

So if you say I’m mulish, it’s neither here nor there.
Stubborn is one quality that’s not so very rare.
And when you point a finger and say I’m being rancorous,
the animal you’re channeling might be just as cantankerous!

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/stubborn/

Profound Courtship

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Profound Courtship

When my next lover comes around,
I’d prefer he be profound––
intellectual and mysterious,
also ponderous and serious.
Insight and depth I’m sure will be
the things that he looks for in me.
We’ll have no need for Cupid’s dart,
as passion steps aside for smart.

On our first night, we’ll pop a bottle,
arguing over Aristotle,
debating proton, neutron, quark
and entanglement in the dark.
I’ll reel off famous quotes by heart
from Shakespeare, Camus and Descartes––
whisper “sweet somethings” in his ear,
knowing what he’ll want to hear.

He’ll analyze our chemistry
and then discuss the Odyssey,
Plato, Aristotle, Kant––
any subject that I want.
If we don’t get around to kissing,
we’ll barely notice that it’s missing.
Who needs an interlude romantic
when they can have one that’s pedantic?

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/249091/

For the literal-minded among us, must add that I’m kidding! If it comes to a vote between Aristotle and the kissing, I’ll take the kiss every time. (Within reason.)

The Apology

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The Apology

Hello darling. Yes. It’s me,
rendering my apology
(granted, given grudgingly)
for seemingly curmudgeonly
things you might have heard I said
about your dress the day you wed.

It’s true the comment that you heard.
Yes, it’s verbatim word-for-word,
but you do not know my intent.
What you imagine, I never meant.
When I said you should be wearing red,
what was running through my head
was that you look divine in scarlet,
not that you have played the harlot!

The one who heard the words I said
knew that I had dated Ted
before you came upon the scene
but it was incorrect and mean
for her to just extrapolate
that my kind words were said with hate.

About the cake? Who told you that?
I’ve never said that you are fat.
Eat the whole thing? You never would.
I merely said I bet you could!!!
Because it simply looked delicious,
but my intentions were far from vicious.
Of course I wish you both the best
as you feather your nuptial nest.

The feather pillows, I gave you, dear?
I’m glad you didn’t find them queer.
I thought down pillows would be nice.
I surely hope that they suffice
to drown out Teddie’s awful snoring.
I remember just abhorring
all night long, that awful din
when I was in the bed you’re in.

If you don’t want to swathe your head,
the earplugs should help out instead.
I know they always worked for me
back when Ted and I were “we.”
And now that all is said and done,
I’m glad that you’re the one who won.
If it sounds like sour grapes to you,
must be because you’ve served a few!

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/apology/