Category Archives: humorous poem

“Not to Taste” for Classic Material, Sept. 15

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This was what I posted on this date in 2017: (True story, by the way.)

Not to Taste

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We spend so much of our time choosing, discussing, cooking or devouring food that we consider to be flavorful, but rarely do we consider just how flavorful we ourselves may be.

Not to Taste

I have no taste for seafood—neither sea bass nor crustacean.
My friends’ attempts to feed them to me end in their frustration.
I cannot stand the taste of them—their odor nor their texture.
I’ve heard that they are good for me, so please spare me the lecture!

When I was in New Orleans, they tried to feed me gator.
I politely turned it down and had a burger later.
For though a gator’s not a fish, and that’s something I know,
they must be family somehow, ‘cause both live in H2O!

Sometimes I go out birding up a river by the sea.
The grandson of the captain comes along to talk to me.
The river’s full of crocodiles, and birds overhead
fly in by the thousands to seek their evening bed.

They rest so gently in the trees that I forget the threat
of all those crocs there down below, lurking in the wet.
Most of the year the estuary’s cut off from the sea,
but this year there was one big rain that set the river free.

When I was swimming Saturday, beyond the surf, just me,
I saw some people looking at—whatever could it be?
I just went on exercising in the surf and sand.
The sun went down but I stayed out. The water was just grand.

But when I finally came to land, folks there on the beach
told me that a croc passed by, well beyond my reach.
And since I, too, was out there as handy as could be,
I sure am glad that crocodile had no taste for me!!!!

Today’s prompt word is flavorful. This poem found in my archives was written so long ago that I had forgotten it.  Hopefully, you have, too. The beautiful photo of ceviche was snapped in La Manzanilla, as was the photo of the croc. The event described in the poem was true, by the way. Since then I’ve instructed friends to call me in out of the water no matter how far away the croc is!

“Panic” for Take A Look Back.

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The prompt for “Take a Look Bacj” is to look back at what I published on this day, July 27, on an earlier year in my blog. I chose this poem published in 2016:. True now as then.

1958

Panic!!!

When I was younger and a rover,
the things I should have panicked over
never seemed to stick to me.
I guess that’s part of being free.

But now with bigger guns and Isis,
we all feel continual crisis.
Though it’s true, I must confess,
I overlook the world’s grand mess

and concentrate on creaking knees
and where I left my ring of  keys.
As I get older, I would guess,
I’ll feel more panic over less.

“Capitol Hill” for The Sunday Whirl

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Capitol Hill

He tolls the bell, this liar son
saying that the war he’s won.
He casts his spell, pretending that
the tricks he pulls out of his hat
are gospel truth as he finds fault
with saner men who try to halt
his lies and tricks and machinations
with news reports and protestations
that find him guilty of heinous acts
while he hits back with money’s power
as all around him succumb and cower
fearing their own loss of station,
fortune, job, or reputation.
“It’s fine,” they sigh, “and meant to be
so long as it advances me!”

For The Sunday Whirl #760 the prompt words are:
tolls spell inclined mind find sigh hit guilty fine fault liar 

“Seer” for the Weekend Writing Prompt #443

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Seer

Her statement that she’d had a vision
was met by general derision.
They went west though she’d said, “Go east,”
and thus were eaten by the beast
or, overtaken by the flood.
died soaked in water or in blood.
So, the moral of this little tale
is heed your mystics or learn to bail
or run faster than the beast
lest you become his morning’s feast.

For Weekend Writing Prompt #443, the task was to write a 66 word story or poem on the subject of “Vision.”

An Apologia for Poesy for dVerse Poets, Aug 27, 2025

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An Apologia for Poesy

My gardener’s broom goes whisking light
first left, then right, then left, then right
with touch so slight I barely hear
the bristles as they take their bite.

The birds were first up and about,
and then both dogs asked to get out.
Then that broom reminded me
of one more creature left to rout.

Searching for ideas and words,
I use the rhythm of the birds
and Pasiano’s sweeping broom
the braying burro, the bleating herds.

Noises fill this busy world
even as I’m safely curled
still abed, my senses all
alert and ready, full unfurled.

I hear the grackle far above,
the insistent cooing of a dove,
as in the kitchen, Yolanda dons
her apron and her rubber glove.

I hear the water’s swirl and flush
the busy whipping of her brush
around each glass I might have left,
careless in my bedtime rush.

Her string mop silent, I barely know
if she’s still here. Or did she go?
I find her in the kitchen still,
arranging glasses, row on row.

Then it is to my desk I trot.
Arranging glasses I am not,
but rather words I nudge and shift
here and there until they’re caught.

Glued to the page forever more––
be they rich words, be they poor––
nevertheless, these words are mine:
poems, stories, truth or lore.

We are not slothful, lazy, weak
because it’s words we choose to seek
instead of labors more obvious
like plumber or computer geek.

Words’ labors are most harrowing.
Our choice of them needs narrowing
and not unlike the farmer’s sow,
mind’s riches we are farrowing.

So blame us not if others mop
our houses or they trim and crop
our gardens for us as we write.
From morn till night, we never stop.

Poets, our lives may seem effete––
not much time spent on our feet––
but those feet are busy, still,
tapping out our poem’s beat.

Cerebral though our work may be,
we are not lazy, you and me,
for though we sit and write all day,
our writing’s labored––­­that’s plain to see!

The dVerse Poets prompt is “Noise.”

The Taste of Love for dVerse Poets

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The Taste of Love

What we feasted on
in those first stages of internet romance—
when nine hours was too short a conversation—was words.
We passed on to the next stage of computer dating:
our first dinner date.
He watched on his desktop computer as I prepared a salad.
This was a long and lengthy process
I recorded as closely as was possible,
using the camera from my laptop.

A prisoner of his large unmovable console computer, I watched his empty desk chair
as he repaired to the kitchen to prepare his meal, hearing sound effects but little else.

When he returned to the living room, he laid his meal in front of his computer.
I had yet to see it as I, in turn, placed my salad in front of me and took my first bite,
watching closely my technique according to my Skype image.

I chewed politely and then smiled,
revealing the lack of lettuce shards on my front teeth.
I looked up. He was watching me as lovingly as usual.
Now, it was his turn.

What are you eating? I asked. Ham, he said.
He lifted a huge hunk on his fork, taking a dainty bite
and chewing happily.
What else? I asked. Just ham, he answered.

And so he demolished the entire pound of thick ham steak,
now and then washing it down with a healthy swig of rum and Coke.

Rum and Coke.
It had been one of our bonding experiences
to find that the drink of choice for each
was Bacardi Rum with caffeine-free Diet Coke.
How could this not be a romance made in heaven?

Culinary compatibility from 2,000 miles away
seemed to be less of a problem than it would be months later,
when we first made physical contact.

But, there was a resolution. He started munching on carrots and I had no objection to ham.
We discovered a mutual mania for potato chips, and true romance bloomed
when I found the full bar of Hershey’s chocolate atop his refrigerator.
Who says we need to concentrate on our differences?

For dVerse Poets we were to post a poem about internet romance in honor of Valentines Day

“All Lined Up” for SOCS Jan 25, 2025

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“All Lined Up”

Lined up at the show
and everywhere we go,
it seems like we spend half our lives in lines that move too slow.

It seems that half the doing
consists of constant queueing––
a penance that we have to pay for eating, riding, viewing.

At cafes, traffic lanes,
post offices and trains,
museums, subways, cafeterias, we make small gains.

Standing more than walking,
muttering and gawking,
our progress is so slow that there’s less moving than there’s taking.

As we go two-by-twoing,
like milkcows softly mooing,
waiting here in lines, we find that we are all-too-often ruing

leaving our house at all
to line up at the mall
I think I’d rather be at home than waiting with y’all!

Here are a few “LIned Up” visuals: (Click on photos to enlarge.)

Santa lit and lined up with friends.
I said line up in order of size!!!
Always one that has to get out of line.
Mini Lineup
All lined up for the tasting.
Lined up for service.
The blessings of the animals were done in both Spanish and English. Frida’s smart mom noticed the long English line and that there was no one in the Spanish line, so we were blessed in Spanish. Frida died a few hours later!
Cowboys line up to herd bobble-heads. Tableau by Edgar.
The cormorants were collecting in a long strung-out line

And, for more “lined up” photos go HERE.

The SOCS prompt is “In Line.”

Burnt Toast for MVB, Jan 13, 2025

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Burned Toast and Other Little Lies

A sneeze is how a poltergeist gets outside of you.
At night a different stinky elf sleeps inside each shoe.

Every creaking rafter supports a different ghost,
and it’s little gremlins who make you burn the toast.

Each night those tricky fairies put snarls in your hair,
while pixies in your sock drawer unsort every pair.

Midnight curtain billows are caused by banshee whistles.
Vampires use your toothbrush and put cooties in its bristles.

Truths all come in singles. It’s lies that come in pairs.
That’s a zombie, not a teenager, sneaking up the stairs.

The MVB prompt today was “Toast.”

Mismatched for SOCS

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Mismatched 

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.
This is the message that went unread:
“Be kind to animals,” it said.

The SOCS prompt is shirt. Image by Marco Lastella

“Cleaning Up” For the Three Things Challenge

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Cleaning Up

Toothbrushes remove gristle from
the area we whistle from
while brooms are used to clean and prep
those surfaces whereon we step.
And lest the reader balk and bristle
o’er its lack in this epistle,
I will not overlook the mop—
that device with which we slop
water on spills of the day
we feel the need to wash away.
You may deride my need to gush
over the likes of mop, broom, brush,
but still I choose to raise a cup
to laud those things that clean me up!

The prompt words for the Three Things Challenge M786 are: bristle, broom, brush.