Category Archives: humorous poem

Goes Down Slowly

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The prompt word today is “slowly.” Disclaimer: If you are offended by risque innuendos, please read no further. My Devil Muse caught me unaware this morning. Last warning. Last chance to stop.

Goes Down Slowly

When you press its end, it has a kick.
It goes down slowly but comes up quick.
Though  based on beauty you’d never pick it,
Caught in the throes, some people lick it.
When it spews out liquid from its wick,
what it produces could make you sick.
Don’t wrinkle noses and utter, “Ick!”
I’ve just described my favorite Bic!

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

Guest

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The Guest

Even though I try my best
to be the perfect sort of guest,
I fear I often foul the nest,
shedding objects east and west.
My flip flops and my cast-off vest
fall like petals as I get dressed.
I had not planned to be a pest,
with icebox leavings and the rest.
Hair brush, hairbands, toothbrush, Crest,
are left beneath the medicine chest.
And though I seem to speak in jest,
I fear that I have failed some test.
I have considered leaving, lest
this visit, started with such zest,
be ended at my host’s behest.

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

Natural Girl

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Dressed up for Xmas by my older sister.

(Photos above? Before I was a natural girl! Poem below? Fifty years later.)


Natural Girl

Underneath this hairpiece, I am a natural girl.
It’s just that blogs are waiting, and I haven’t time to curl.
I haven’t put on makeup for a month or so, but still
there’s no one here to see me as my daily prompts I fill.

I don’t need any lipstick, for my lips have grown too thin
to find a place to put it, plus I don’t know any men
around to help me kiss it off and so why put it on?
That’s why when my friends see me, they think I’m looking wan.

I no longer wear foundation, for it clogs up in the cracks.
And that’s not the only makeup that my face so lately lacks.
I cannot wear mascara, for my dry eye medication,
every time I use it, sends eye makeup on vacation.

I’m growing out my bangs and so no need to shape and pluck.
My eyebrows don’t show anyway, so I say what the fuck!
Without the rest, why take the time to make eyelashes curl?
Lately, by default, I am a totally natural girl!!!

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

A Certain (Lack of) Understanding

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Choose One

Sign Language

I know our birth tongues aren’t the same,
but still I think words aren’t to blame.
It is your means of understanding
that convinces me you’re underhanding.
For every time I give you kisses,
it seems you go to other misses
in search of the translation tips
they give by laying on of lips.
My dear, if we were dumb and blind
then translation service of this kind
might make some sense, but I must say
your excuses will not work  today.
Please have your translator of prose
stick this finger message up your nose!!!

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

Blueberry, Blueberry, Blackbird Pie: NaPoWriMo 2016, Day 26

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Blueberry, Blueberry, Blackbird Pie

Gotta get a cookie. Gotta eat some pie.
Gotta have some sugar, do or die.
Grab a fork and grab a spoon.
Sugar shack opening pretty soon.

Hey lolly hey lolly, blueberry pie.
Hope to have some by and by.

Old Mother Crank put a pie up on the shelf.
Thought she’d eat it all herself.
Along came a blackbird who grabbed a bit of crust,
then the whole damn pie as the old lady cussed.

Hey lolly, hey lolly, no more pie.
Blackbird made it go bye bye.

Old Mother Fussbudget loaded up her gun.
She didn’t have pie, but she was gonna have some fun.
When she spied that blackbird way up high,
she fired her gun up in the sky.

Hey lolly, hey lolly, no berry pie.
Just that blackbird winging through the sky.

Now old Mother Wigglewaggy baked another pie.
It’ll be ready in the blinking of an eye.
She had two pieces, then she had a third,
Since she didn’t have fruit, she used the bird!!

Hey lolly, hey lolly, no bird pie.
I prefer my blackbird served on rye!

Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt was to write a call and response poem.

http://www.napowrimo.net/

Last Little Piggy Goes to Market: NaPoWriMo 2016, Day 21

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Last Little Piggy Goes To Market

I am the littlest piggy, and when I commenced to roam,
why did I cry “Wee wee wee” all the long way home?
My sibling went to market and I followed along.
The path was rough and winding–as steep as it was long.

My little legs were tired, yet I followed close behind––
I wondered if he knew that I was following if he’d mind.
My family never let me go hardly anywhere,
so market piqued my interest. I wondered what was there.

I asked my other siblings if they wouldn’t like to try it,
but one was into his roast beef, the other on a diet.
She said she would be tempted by the pastries and the candy.
This was enough to convince me this market was a dandy.

When we crested the final hill and rounded the last bend,
the market spread out for so far, I couldn’t see its end.
Booth after booth was set up to sell its chosen fare.
My head swung fast from side to side to see all that was there.

Buttons, bolsters, bumbershoots and books with songs or riddles.
Little dainty donuts with whipped cream in their middles.
Tinkertoys and rubber balls and cricket bats and kites.
My eyes could not keep up with all these delicious sights.

I lost sight of my brother, but I didn’t care.
I was too busy ogling all this varied fare.
My tummy started rumbling. Ice cream, cakes and pies.
I wished that I could put my mouth where I had put my eyes.

But then I stopped to look at a very curious rig
and a big sign that said “Barbecue—what? Barbecue pig????
Folks stood around with sandwiches filled with dripping meat,
and then I saw another sign that said “Pickled Pig’s Feet!!!”

My pigs’ feet took me out of there as fast as I could joggle.
I didn’t stop for donuts. I didn’t stop to ogle.
I scurried for my own safe yard, squealing “Wee, wee, wee!”
Now when I seek adventure, home is enough for me!!!

 

The Prompt: write a poem in the voice of minor character from a fairy tale or myth.
http://www.napowrimo.net/day-twenty-one/

 

Mr. Green Jeans Takes on Monsanto

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Captain_Kangaroo_promotional_postcard_1961

Captain Kangaroo promotional postcard, 1961

Mister Green Jeans Takes on Monsanto

David confronting the giant,
he has both the hammer and the stepladder
with which to confront the colossus.
Once the school bell rings
and I have vanished halfway through
Captain Kangaroo’s lilting theme music
that signals that one last commercial––

barreling out our front door
towards the vintage wooden elementary school
that leans so close
across the gravel street that divides us
that I can start out on the first ring of the final morning warning bell
and be in my seat on the second floor
by the time the last dong sounds––

Mr. Green Jeans is going to take on Monsanto
in a wrestling match––
transformed by his color
and that ladder
into a Jolly Green Giant
who will save the world
for future generations.

Of course, this is a dream I had.
Each brave nation not our own
must take on the task for itself––
saving the world one enlightened country at a time.
Anyway, even in fantasy, any kid of the fifties and early sixties
knows Mr. Green Jeans was a handyman, not a horticulturist.
It is poetic license that wrote this poem.

See Mr. Green Jeans here:   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f_nrfpPcxQw

Mute Assistance

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Mute Assistance

Trapped in a lake under the kelp,
I’m gonna need a little help.
While climbing ladders, as I stand there
I could use a steadying hand there.
A sous chef’s nice when cooking meals,
a strong arm needed when I wear heels;
but when I tell a funny story,
or one that’s scary, tense or gory,
as towards the denouement I’m wending,
don’t help by blurting out the ending!

 

 

The prompt today was HELP!

Drop It!!!

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Drop It!!!

Drop a hint or drop your jeans.
This word sounds like what it means.
A little word both curt and short
that seeks to tell dogs to abort
their plans to hoard the stick we’ve thrown.
“Drop it, boy,” we all intone
when it’s time for them to stop it,
bring the stick to us and drop it!

I’ve dropped a cake and dropped a name
now and then.They’re not the same.
We’ve all dropped––and been dropped as well.
The first? Relief. The second? Hell.
Eye drops soothe an aching eye,
To drop’s to cease, or fall or die.
“Dew Drop Inn” is a timeworn name
for a motel that’s rather lame.

To drop someone a line is nice,
but dropping in on me’s a vice.
So call ahead, if you are able––
Email, Skype or Tweet or cable;
but do not show up at my door
no matter how much I adore
you, for I do not like to drop
what I’m doing to have to stop

to talk or buy or give direction.
“Dropping in” is an infection
endemic to a smaller town
where neighbors given to plopping down
daily might enact the sin
of dropping by or dropping in–
bad habits that when they aren’t stopped
result in those friends being dropped.

In short, I’ve dropped this hint enough.
Enough of subtlety and fluff.
I will state clearly this one set truth.
“Dropping in” is just uncouth.
If my house is on your route,
just wave or give your horn a toot.
That is sufficient for you to do.
If you drop in, I might drop you!

You haven’t had enough?  Here is another sillier poem on the subject of dropping in.

(The one-word prompt today was “Drop.”)

Half a Love Story

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“Half a Heart” detail of mixed media wall sculpture by jdb  (Wood, moss, shells and assorted dried beach scrub.)

Half a Love Story

Lately, when it comes to kissing
something seems to have gone missing;
for if the kissing rules are heeded,
it’s clear two pairs of lips are needed.

I have the half that’s labeled “me.”
I only lack the one called “he.”
So when it comes to birds and bees,
I must rely on memories!

The one-word prompt today was “Incomplete.”