Category Archives: humorous poem

Call to Arms

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Things That Cling


Call to Arms

Sweaters do it, slips do it.
Even crackers and clam dips do it.
Let’s do it. I want to cling!!!

Saran wrap was made for it.
Lonely hearts first lust then fade for it.
Just put your arms in a ring.

Hold me and squeeze with them.
I’m the thing that you should seize with them.
Want all the hugs you can bring.

Monkeys in trees do it,
pointer fingers when you sneeze do it.
Let’s do it. Let’s do that thing.

Don’t hesitate o’er it.
Gotta tell you that I adore it.
Let’s do it.  Let’s have a fling!!!

The prompt word today is “cling.”

Off-Kilter

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img_2063Nude Descending the Beach. Wall sculpture and photo, jdb

Off-Kilter

Who cares if your bangs are uneven,
your hem hanging down on the left?
If the picture frame’s a bit off-kilter,
who here would feel most bereft?

Who fusses and dithers whenever
the pizza’s unevenly cleft,
or in the new rug he just purchased,
if the warp is not square with the weft?

When it comes to most talents,
he’s not especially deft.
He has little talent at singing,
and he has neither looks, charm nor heft.

Yet if your smile is crooked,
my dear, I fear you are effed.
for with our friend “Even Steven,”
a mil off is as bad as a theft.

 

The prompt today is “uneven.”

Everything Old is New Again

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Everything Old is New Again

To dress passé? A fashion sin,
yet everything old is new again.
So if your dress length’s out of date
all you have to do is wait.
In twenty years, you’ll be in vogue,
in what last year marked you a rogue.

Who dictates fashion is beyond me.
As are those who wait to see
whether ankle, thigh or knee
is where a garment’s end should be
and whether cowl or boat or vee
is the right neckline for the tee

they tuck into their faded jeans—
now ripped and shredded like a dumpster queen’s.
Following fashion’s every word?
I fear I find it most absurd.
I want the knees left in my jeans,
my butt well-covered, by all means.

What clothes you wear should be your passion,
not merely what’s okayed by fashion.
There should be no laws or rules
regarding clothes or hats or jewels
except what shows us who you are.
Each woman her own runway star.

The prompt today is renewal.

Arrive Clapping

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Version 2

Arrive Clapping

The prima ballerina, the starlet and the queen
might give the appearance that they’ve neither heard nor seen
the hooting and the hollering, the screams and wild applause
emitted by the hoi polloi with very little cause
except for their appearance on the street or on the stage,
where they put themselves on view like exotics in a cage.
Yet imagine their surprise, not to mention consternation
if even a mere glimpse of them did not prompt an ovation!

 

The prompt today is “Ovation.”

 

Over-enthusiastic

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I bought this cane with a built-in flashlight for my sister when I thought she was going to have knee surgery.  Little did I think that I’d be the one using it! (Her surgery was cancelled.)

 

Over-enthusiastic

My enthusiasm’s quickly fading
as my energy’s abating.
Took a fall this morning, so
I’m getting around mighty slow.
My knee is wrecked, I cannot bend it.
An Ace bandage I’ve found can’t mend it.
My wrist is swollen out an inch.
(Being a klutz is not a cinch.)

I hope I’m better by and by,
but I can’t bear to touch my thigh.
I didn’t see the vacuum cord
there on the floor, and then, oh Lord,
since I was rushing, I took a fall
and now I cannot run at all.
When it comes to walking, I’m a gimp.
I lurch and stumble, sway  and limp.

The only thing I’m grateful for
is how it happened and nothing more.
Two nights I’ve slaved and worked ’til four,
then gone to bed happy but sore.
I’ve painted, cleaned and stowed away
so I’d be ready for this day.
And although I’d had no warning
I’d take a tumble late this morning,

my work’s all done. I’ve trimmed the tree,
and the last thing put away IS ME!

 

The prompt today was enthusiasm.

Poor Timing

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Senora! I’ve found more lights!  It looks promising.  I knew I had many more strands, but these look unfamiliar.

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So I pulled them out of the bag and untangled them, and when I plugged them in?  Out of seven strands, only one worked!  I mined the errant strands for a few replacement bulbs and tossed them into the trash. Planned obsolescence?

Poor Timing

Whoever wrote this prompt today cannot have all the facts
If he thinks merely by wanting to, I can just relax!

Relaxing’s fine for those who have all their “to do’s” done,
but until the last one’s checked off, it’s not yet time for fun.
It’s true that life is not all work. There’s wisdom in each word.
But to rest prematurely is clearly just absurd.

I’ll paint the window frame and then put up Christmas lights.
Then unpack nacimientos–those Mexican delights.
I’ll hide the suitcase of old clothes I’ve been meaning to sell,
then close the guest room closet–best described as hoarding Hell!

Clothes of every era. Clothes of every size.
If you are into “retro,” you’d find it quite the prize.
Then hang up all the pictures and replace all the art
that’s been consigned to the upstairs since my remodel’s start.

We’ve wiped and swept and blown and washed ’til all the dust is gone,
but now must put away the stuff all the dust was on!
Two days from now, houseguests arrive. ‘Til then my life is taxing,
It’s when they finally get here that I’ll have time for relaxing!

 

 

 

The prompt today is “relax.”

Conundrum

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A conundrum is a kind of riddle based upon some fanciful or fantastic resemblance between things quite unlike. It creates a puzzling question, of which the answer is or involves a pun. Solve this riddle and win a prize. (My admiration.) Try not to look at the comments until you’ve guessed the answer yourself. Then, please brag to me about it in the comments section!
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What does not think but has a head?
Has many stories never read?
For each of us, just one, not many.
Contains much heart, yet has not any.
Some say once gone, you can’t go back,
and though one letter it may lack,
with it, if you hit the ball,
you’ll have the finest luck of all.
Add “r” and cover all the bases,
and you’ll bring smiles to many faces.
And when you finally come in free,
you’ll find you have come back to me.

 

Today’s prompt word is “conundrum.”

Meat Market Surprise

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Version 2

Meat Market Surprise

Her low-cut dress clearly bespoke
her dire need to meet a bloke.
When she removed her swathing cloak,
a dozen men at once awoke
from barroom reveries to choke
on swallows of their Rum and Coke
or beer or whisky. “Okeedoke!”
their eyes said, as they shared the joke.
Which one would have the night’s best poke?
One chugged his drink, as if to stoke
his courage. One more took a toke.
They circled round, craving the yoke
of one night’s spree–perhaps a soak
in penthouse hot tub most Baroque?
Then, as though wishes could invoke
more luck, a mini-skirt and toque-
clad example of fine womanfolk
appeared , more passions to provoke—
another goddess made to evoke
a duel, heart attack or stroke!
But then, alas, their bubbles broke
as she sauntered up and pulled an oak
stool to the bar and spoke.
Her voice was sultry—fire and smoke—
as she killed their dreams in one fell stroke.
“Darling,” she said to the other miss,
enfolding her in an ardent kiss.

The prompt word today is “bespoke.”

Transcendental Bad Boy

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img_0410Transcendental Bad Boy

Nowhere to go, nowhere to flee.
I cannot run away from me.
I’m stuck inside with no way out.
Just me, with no one else about.
All the others are there outside
this place where I alone abide.

If I could climb out of my skin
and leave this body that I’m in,
escape myself from head-to-toe,
I wonder where I’d choose to go?
Perhaps a river, perhaps a sea––
anyplace that wasn’t me.

For one day, I’d be a cloud
if changing stages of matter’s allowed.
Floating high up in the blue,
I’d think of new things I could do.
I’d find parades for me to view,
then just for fun, rain on a few.

If I were water and you drank me,
I’d view you internally.
Tickle your uvula and then
slide down the chute inside your skin.
Inside you, I would rage and thunder,
from your throat to way down under.

If I were wind, I’d lift the skirts
of dour old ladies and teenage flirts.
I’d muss the hair of social mavens,
pluck nestlings from the beaks of ravens.
No telling what a menace I’d be
if I’d not been limited to me!

The prompt word today was flee.

Swimming in the City Reservoir

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p7180280_2jdbphoto


Swimming in the City Reservoir

You can’t swim waters meant for drinking.
I should have known. What was I thinking?
Yet nonetheless, I found it rude
that my skinny-dipping interlude
was ended on that summer’s day
by a cop who wouldn’t look away.
Instead, he watched as I stepped, dripping,
from water one day he’d be sipping.
Picking up and then unfolding
my clothes, I listened to his scolding.
“Lady,” he was muttering,
all worked up and sputtering,
“You cannot put yourself into
The water meant to put in you!”

I woke up with two of the lines in this poem going through my head.  I had to go find the other lines to go with them.  I was hoping they’d match up with the daily prompt, but it was too far a stretch, so here it is, all alone on its own.