Category Archives: humorous poem

Anything but Solitary

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Simplicity

Simplicity is something that I rarely do.
Why have only one of something when you could have two?
It takes a lot of veggies to come up with a stew,
and we’d do a lot of limping if confined to just one shoe.

Multiples are awesome. Multiples are grand.
Look how many fingers we have upon each hand.
One finger could not do the job. Neither could two or three.
Simple cannot form a hand, did not form you or me.

Simplicity’s much touted but I think it is absurd.
Who ever heard of stories comprised of just one word?
With a single raindrop, the world could not get wetter.
Sparsity may be more chic, but I like clutter better.

I don’t get minimalism. I’m a hoarder to the core.
When I ran out of wall room, I put art upon my door.
There are no piles in hallways. Hoarding need not be a sin.
I’ve built three rooms onto my house just to store things in.

With so many lovely things in life, collecting is a joy.
With life’s manifold choices, why be niggardly or coy?
At the ice cream parlor, why does one have to choose?
You need not always limit yourself just to ones and twos.

Have a scoop of strawberry and pineapple and mint.
Green tea is delicious and tequila’s heaven sent.
Load your dish with raspberry and coconut and mango.
Why do the simple two step when you could do the fandango?

In short, I am a gatherer. I have too many things.
I like to make the choices that a complex lifestyle brings.
When it comes to writing, a stuffed-full mind is fine!
Reach into words and shake them out and string them on a line.

A solitary animal will never make a zoo.
One grain of dirt, one drop of water cannot create goo.
A single cannon fired will not execute a coup.
The world just is not simple, nor am I and nor are you!

 

 

The prompt today is solitary. Yes, you’ve read this one before!!!

First Step

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First Step

When I’m feeling frail and iffy,
what revives me in a jiffy
is a tiny bit of sinning—
a little chocolate or ginning.

There’s nothing wrong with using them
unless one is abusing them.
And an abuser I am not.
(Except, perhaps, for chocolate!!!!)

 

The prompt today was jiffy.

(Dis)organize(d)

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Life Piles Up

You know that this can happen. It’s silly asking why
the books and papers pile up from desktops towards the sky.
You do not dare to open the window that’s nearby
lest the papers blow away to flutter yon and nigh.

I wish I had a simple life with time to do it all
so I could post a picture to prove it to y’all
that my house is super organized and tidy and pristine.
My life as orderly as tasks spewed out by a machine.

Unfortunately, nothing stays in its usual space.
A new thing starts before I’ve filed the old thing in its place.
Boxes from camp still stand in rows out in my garage,
while papers from last April’s trip slide down in a barrage.

I cannot find the cord and mike that belong to my amp.
Perhaps they’re buried deep within the boxes left from camp?
Or other boxes in my car from events even older?
I think perhaps dealing with life is more than I can shoulder.

Somehow I think that WordPress may have gotten word
about my loaded desktops. I know it sounds absurd,
but if you’re keeping track of prompts then surely you have noted
that lately this one topic is one on which they’ve doted!

I told you you just four days ago–I’ve cleaned off desk and table.
I promised I would clean the rest when I was free and able;
and so today I’m sorting books and papers and detritus,
but to this prompt I’d like to say, “WordPress, kindly bite us!”

IMG_3608Okay, the desk area in my bedroom that I promised to clear off the other day is a little bit better.  To check up on that by comparing to its state just four days ago when we had  a very similar prompt, go HERE.

IMG_3606In the meantime, the desk in my sala hasn’t piled up again–much. So please, WordPress–no more nagging.  I’m as organized as I’m going to get for awhile.  Okay to check up again in six months.

The prompt today is organize. This was actually the prompt two years ago, almost to the day, so I have reprinted my post for that prompt. Things haven’t changed much. I had a party a few days ago, so the desk is cleared off, but two boxes of items to “put back” in their designated places are hidden in a corner of my bedroom.  What can I say? Life piles up.

Glaring Error (Peroxide Blues)

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Glaring Error
(Peroxide Blues)

When she showed up in her new hair,
her friends could hardly stand the glare.
For though she hoped to gain some highlights,
when she stood under the skylights
and shook her head, each brilliant tress
seen without shades could cause duress.
The head she’d chosen to imbue
had turned out such a vivid hue
that every time the power failed,
she was the first one people hailed,
for when the current ceased to flow
her locks still gave off such a glow
that dinner parties could feed by it
and book clubs chose to read by it.
So ladies, heed my warning well.
When dying, please be sure to tell
your hairdresser to watch her throttle
and resist using the whole bottle.

 

The prompt today was glaring.

Hot, Hot, Hot.

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Less Spice is Nice

Once I liked my dishes spicy,
but lately it is getting dicey.
As time progresses, I find it’s not
advisable to dine on “hot.”

Somehow, my tastes have seemed to tame
It’s all those extra years I blame,
that turn me once more into child.
Please, make my taco extra mild!

 

The prompt word today is spicy. (Another reprint.)jdbphoto

Best for Last

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DSCN1325jdbphoto

 

Best for Last

Just as I’m ready to ingest
the morsel I consider best
and so picked out from all the rest
to be my last bite, savored with zest—
last memory of this gourmet fest—
from north and south and east and west,
descends each winged little pest,
radared in on diabolical quest
as though invited at my behest.
They put my appetite to the test,
settling as though to the nest,
their hairy feet intimately pressed
upon that morsel that I loved best.
I wave my hand over them, lest
they eat too much, then I confess
I guiltily consume the rest.

 

The prompt today is pest.

Green Tea and Me

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Green Tea and Me

The taste of green tea is a taste to which I do not cotton.
Instead of tasting fresh and green, to me it just tastes rotten.
Although it is a liquid that I must daily swallow,
it clearly is a flavor in which I don’t choose to wallow.

Health drives us to those foods and liquids we would never choose.
Makes us eat our kale and fish oil, takes away our booze.
If we want to keep our blood pressure from simply soaring,
we’ll be giving up our salt for flavors much more boring.

So nature takes our simple pleasures from us one by one.
Things like buttered popcorn become a smoking gun.
If we want our  bodies to cooperate and function,
we’ll gobble less for pleasure and nibble more for unction.

The prompt today was tea.

Pick a Pickled Pepper

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Pick a Pickled Pepper

Some girls lick on lollipops, but I never will.
I prefer the piquant taste of vinegar and dill.
Pickle up some peppers  and shove them in a jar.
Put a label on it to show them who you are.
If a cute boy eats one, he will pucker up,
and perhaps you’ll plant a kiss where he deigned to sup.

Pick a cherry pepper, press it to your lips,
and that spicy boy might want to steal some sips.
Do not tell your mother. Do not tell your dad,
or that might be the only pepper that you ever had.
Lollipops are sweet but just a little coy.
Pickles work much better for picking out your boy.

 

The prompt today was lollipop. Strangely enough, the song “Lollipop, Lollipop” has been going through my mind for the past few days.  I even made up different lyrics to the tune of it to sing to Annie, my 15-year-old ill cat,  as I drove her (meowing all the way) home from the vet the other day. The men who stand in the road to wave people into the fish restaurants near San Juan Cosala must have wondered at me as I hollered out the strange song at the top of my lungs, just like my dad used to do to startle a howling baby into silence.  Ah well.  We get odder as we get older but have more of an excuse for it!

Also, for the Ragtag prompt: https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/06/08/rdp-9-pickle/

Prattle Practice

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DSC09337Whenever my older sister’s friend Karen came over to spend the night with her, she’d bring her Bonnie Braids doll to sleep with me.  It kept me out of their hair and gave me someone to talk to.  Perhaps it established a precedent? When I went to visit her in Minneapolis 60 years later, she still had Bonnie.  Here, we reminisce. She still lets me do all the talking.

Prattle Practice

I don’t have any roommates since I lost my spouse,
so I chew the fat with animals and objects in my house.
“How did you get way over there?” I mumble to a spoon.
I converse with my potted plants, complete with off-key tune.
Sometimes I jolt myself awake, talking in my dreams.
What I have to say at least I want to hear, it seems.
I’ve had a conversation with the sidewalk, face-to-face.
I’ll have another talk with it once they remove this brace.

I hold my kittens in a trance by talking in their ears,
and though they do not answer in the manner of my peers,
they have their personal language of meows and purrs and squeaks.
While I speak back in high-pitched tones like baby talk for freaks!
I hope the neighbors have not heard as I advise the trees
 to only shed their debris on their own lawns, if they please. 
I sometimes gripe to flowers that they are too soon dying
and to potatoes in the pan that are too slowly frying.

I grumble to my router and cold water from the tap.
Soundly, I upbraid them in my own domestic rap.
I talk to nestlings from below as they cheep from their nest,
but, dive-bombed by the mother bird, I give our chat a rest.
When I prattle to the furniture, the cook pots and the cactus
in lieu of human company, in fact it is just practice.
All my other blatherings just keep me there on track
for when I meet with human folks who no doubt will talk back!

 

Don’t know where else this photo of the Bonnie/Judy reunion would ever fit in so here it goes into fun photos, along with the poem I wrote to go with it.

Sleight of Knees

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IMG_7755doll by Louie Gann, jdbphoto

Sleight of Knees

When the circus clown was lauded,
marveled at, praised and applauded
for hanging from the high trapeze
for 24 hours by his knees,
though he was admired for his moxie,
it turns out it was just epoxy!

 

The prompt today was moxie.