Category Archives: humorous poem

Isn’t it Obvious?

IMG_0323jdbphoto

Isn’t it Obvious?

Isn’t it obvious she dyes her hair?
A color like that is really so rare
that all of the passersby simply must stare.
And look at that bust line and that derriere!

Her skin like a peach, her curves like a pear––
Not an inch of flab on her and no wear-and-tear.
It can’t all be natural. Wouldn’t be fair.
She looks lovely in clothes and she looks better bare.

She looks great as she is, no need for repair.
The contrast is more than a woman can bear.
Though to others I maintain I really don’t care,
each time I see her it’s like a nightmare.

I look in the mirror and just can’t compare.
No facial hair has she. No need for Nair.
Her face never wrinkles, not here and not there.
Her makeup? No smudges. Her nails never tear.

Her clothes never look a tad worse for the wear.
Bags under her eyes? There have never been. Ne’er!
She looks perfect in public. The same in her lair.
And her consort’s the same. They’re the ultimate pair.

Except, isn’t it obvious, she dyes her hair????


It must be obvious by now that the daily prompt was the word “obvious.”

Final Jeopardy

IMG_6128

Final Jeopardy

I don’t feel in jeopardy, don’t feel in danger.
I feel as protected as sheep at a manger.
I’ve deadlocks and bolt locks and high walls and bars,
passwords on my iBook, alarms on my cars.
With insurance policies paid for a year
on my car, house and health, there’s no reason to fear.

Jeopardy lately is something I’m lacking.
My virus protection secures me from hacking.
And as I get older, with more things to fear,
I’ll invest in a cane and Depends for my rear.
Now nearly everything has a solution.
It seems a development in evolution.

Our hides are less tough but our hearts just beat stronger
when we replace them so we can live longer.
We can buy a new hip or replace a bad knee.
There’s only one problem that I can foresee.
Memory replacement is what they should do
so we could remember where we’re walking to!

The prompt today was jeopardize.

 

Stubborn as a . . . .

images-1

Stubborn as a . . . .

I must admit I’m stubborn, argumentative and such.
All these adverse qualities have me in their clutch.
But my mother’s from Missouri and my dad’s family is Dutch,
so they’re  the ones to blame for it, thank you very much!

If you call it tenacity it ends up sounding better.
I go from being mulish to being a go-getter,
and my stubborn tendencies cease to be a fetter.
They serve me as an asset instead of as a debtor.

As dogged as a pit bull,  determined as a cat.
A bull can be most bullish, you can’t argue much with that.
You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink,
and nothing’s stubborn as a pig, no matter what you think.

So if you say I’m mulish, it’s neither here nor there.
Stubborn is one quality that’s not so very rare.
And when you point a finger and say I’m being rancorous,
the animal you’re channeling might be just as cantankerous!

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

Goes Down Slowly

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

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

(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

IMG_8591

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

DSCN1128

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

 IMG_0688

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

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