Category Archives: humorous poem

Unfairly Defined

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Image downloaded from Amazon

Unfairly Defined

Not really cold and not too hot—
“lukewarm” describes what it is not.
It isn’t fair it’s named for Luke.
In fact, it’s really just a fluke.
It’s really not Luke’s fault at all.
I’ll give the facts. You make the call.

Though he tried to love that girl right well,
 the truth is, that he never fell
as hard as she did. She was nice,
and yet they only dated twice.
She was in love, but he was not.
It wasn’t that they fussed or fought.

It’s just that he preferred another,
not this girl liked by his mother.
So, though the match had been decided
by their folks, it was one-sided.
He, alas, just could not fashion
anything approaching passion.

She pined as he moved on to marry
a girl who came from Tucumcari
while she remained a single maid,
much-admired, but never laid.
And Luke, who did not choose to tarry,
wound up in the dictionary.

He still defines that boring norm
not cold, not hot, but only warm.
The bit of bad luck that he had?
Though he was neither rogue nor cad,
he chose a woman who was “not” her,
and she was Noah Webster’s daughter!

The prompt was lukewarm. 

Read the Signs

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Read the Signs

Are you possibly aware
from your vantage over there,
so well-shod and so well-clad,
that you are overdressed a tad?
In fact, it would be hard for you
no matter what garment or shoe
you might have chosen to wear instead.
I fear that you have been misled.
You’d still be overdressed, you see—
you’re in a nudist colony!

The prompt today was “aware.”

Relax Redux: Empty Nest

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Tonight, one of my favorite blogs, written by Carol and titled “Relax,” published a poem that begins with the lines:

Tonight, I am missing
all half-grown kissing
–oh! I meant kittens—
an orange one, Mittens,

(HERE is a link to her entire poem.)

I, however, loved the original typo (or contrived typo) and challenged her to make a poem starting from it and remaining with that idea.  I promised to do so myself, and have, hoping she won’t mind my stealing my version of her first line.  Here is mine:

Empty Nest

I’ve been missing
that half-grown kissing
that lasts a minute
with chocolate in it.
Runny noses.
Heads of roses
picked off stems
like rarest gems
presented in
a tuna tin.
Priceless treasure
for my pleasure.

My life lacks
these loving smacks––
even a quickie,
albeit sticky
with peanut butter.
A parting stutter,
and then they’re gone
and off upon
adventures new,
away from you,
taking their kisses
to other misses.

I’m awaiting hers.  Are you up to meeting the challenge, Carol?

Neighborhood Pot Luck

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Neighborhood Pot Luck

The fellows speak of seasonal sport—
a topic wives cannot abort;
but they have topics of their own—
gossip with facts much overblown.
A bit of this, a bit of that
as the ladies chew the fat.
Any neighbors not invited
have their lives fully recited.

What ghastly illnesses are cured,
what wisps of conversations heard
over the fence or from another–
potential breakups or what new mother
driven too far by nightly crying,
bottle-warming, diaper drying?
Whose children can’t hit the mark?
Whose dog has that awful bark?

Who the widow had for dinner
now that she is so much thinner.
She’s looking great, they must confess.
Did you see the label on her new dress?
That new reverend, single still.
Is his girlfriend on the pill?
Or does she not need to be?
Does he just woo her reverently?

How do I know the tales they tell?
Their themes and topics told so well?
It’s because I never miss
those potlucks where they dish and diss.
It’s not their pot roast that I’m craving,
nor their nitpicking or raving.
It’s because when I missed a few,
I was the fat they chose to chew.

 

 

The prompt word today was “heard.”

Too Much Information

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Too Much Information

There is too much of everything—
things constantly developing.
There is no time to fool around.
We’re always off and “somewhere bound.”
The days of lying in the grass
and watching ants? They are long past.
Instead I lie upon my back
with laptop and my battery pack,
plugged into the confusing world,
downloading facts dispensed and whirled
together in my spinning brain.
I want a simple world again
composed of only what’s around me.
All these facts stress and confound me—
glossing over the fact that
I’m really only where I’m at!

Ironic that as I tried to save this, my computer refused to do so or to add the photograph to the post  because the startup disk was full.  No more memory––too much information!!! I’m going to try to post this, remove things from my computer, and then post the photo to go with it. (After one hour of removing files from my computer—success!!! Photo is added.)

Overwhelming is the prompt word today.

Queen of Clean

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Queen of Clean

Squeaky clean, squeaky clean—
no errant coffee ground nor bean
mars my kitchen’s pure hygiene.
My kitchen floor is so pristine,
of cleanliness, I am the queen.
But if you catch it in between
those days the cleaning girl has been
working her magic on the scene,
I do not brag.  I do not preen.
I fear my house has lost its sheen.
I blame it on the dog, who’s keen
on dragging sand home from the beach
and brooms and dust rags I can’t reach.
So to you who daily teach
rules in fastidiousness, then preach
that cleanliness is right there next
to godliness, I’m clearly hexed.
Except for that one day a week
when I, too, am a cleanliness freak.

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

Boob Tube?

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Boob Tube?

If only brassieres were pneumatic,
uplift would be automatic.
Once more, we’d sport that perfect coning
without benefit of toning,
surgery or silicone.
Our ladies would just stand alone,
proudly there in front of us
with less strapping and less fuss.
When they invented inner tubes,
why did they neglect ones for boobs?

The prompt word today was automatic.

Oversight

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Oversight

There’s more in life that you can view
than what folks say and what folks do.
Deeper meanings hang in the air.
You can always see them, they’re always there.
More to be learned from what’s not said—
more to the meal than what we’re fed.

I note expressions, nuance, glances.
I’m an early spotter of romances
that others seem oblivious to.
A quick expression can be a clue,
a tone of voice a giveaway
of what a person means to say.

Those who see farther can be a bore.
Always looking and seeing more
than what folks would have them see,
noting life’s disparity
between what is and seems to be—
said behind backs or vis–á-vis.

So though you haven’t told me that
you find me boring, crass or fat,
I know as clearly as though you had.
And when I seem withdrawn or sad,
it’s not that I have ESP
that tells me what you think of me.

It’s simply that I pay attention
to more than what you choose to mention.
Though these extra perceptions take their toll,
they’re nothing that I can control.
I can’t shake them, try as I might.
It seems that I have “oversight.”

 

The prompt word today was “oversight.”

Gourmand

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Gourmand

His smile an invitation I could plainly see,
I very promptly answered his implied R.S.V.P.
But later on I wished that I had just let it be,
for that smile was for another girl the minute he had me!

An open invitation is his modus operandi.
Every social gathering provides him more eye candy.
Once seen, a tiny little lick is what he seems to savor.
He likes it when each taste he takes presents a different flavor.

Every toothsome girl he sees stirs his appetite,
and even though his smile suggests he’d like a little bite,
no matter what the tasty dish is that you choose to serve,
you’ll never be a main course, but merely an hors d’oeuvre.

The prompt today was “invitation.”

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Incapable

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Incapable

Capable? I fear I’m not
for usually, I’m too hot.
Sleeves I do for vanity,
but capes weren’t made for folks like me.
If the capes are long and fem,
I get my heels caught in the hem,
and if they’re roomy and too wide,
I find that I get lost inside.
I get my purse strap tangled in,
the neck tangled around my chin.
The bat wings flap and catch the breeze.
The wool ones make me gasp and sneeze.
So, if you’re a swaddler, leave me be.
I like my torso cover-free.

The prompt word today was capable.