Category Archives: humorous poem

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Right to Brag.” Tell us about something you (or a person close to you) have done recently (or not so recently) that has made you really, unabashedly proud.
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Acclaim

Those who seek to elevate
their fame with words too profligate
often find that others balk
at such narcissistic talk.

One heard tooting his own horn
is often lonely and forlorn.
When it comes to charity,
many have reached parity
who do not need to try to flout it,
let alone to shout about it.

Others have performed great acts
without broadcasting the facts
of honors won or feats achieved,
and one who boasts is oft believed
to be exaggerating––or,
is simply thought to be a bore

So, even though you’re justly proud,
please don’t voice that fact out loud.
If your act is worth a plaudit,
best leave it to another to laud it!


No News is Bad News

As I eat my morning toast,
I like to read the Morning Post.
But often, once my toast is browned,
The Morning Post’s not to be found.
I brew the coffee and have a cup,
willing the newsboy to show up.

As I eat my morning eggs,
my husband sputters, nags and begs
until I fantasize a muzzle.
He wants his morning crossword puzzle!
Yet that newsboy still delays
as breakfast passes without a phrase.

We leave for work sad and bereft,
looking to the right and left.
My husband prods and pokes and pushes
in case the news lies in the bushes,
but only finds an errant bee
and a missing front door key.

All day that sense of loss still lingers
as I crave newsprint on my fingers.
Somehow the day just isn’t nice
when it passes without advice.
No comics page? No horoscope?
All day I sit alone and mope.

Others ‘round me may be seen
watching news upon a screen.
But it isn’t quite the same,
so please excuse me while I blame
my bad mood once more on the kid
who brings the news––but never did!

By evening when I arrive home,
that rolled up, backless, coverless tome
has finally shown up by our door;
but day-old news is just a bore,
and comics read to a setting sun
somehow do not seem so fun.

As our puppy greets me, paws and muzzle,
I extract the crossword puzzle,
then smooth the rest and scoop it up
to place it under our wiggly pup
who lifts his leg and pees upon it.
News is not made to sup on it!

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Connect the Dots.” ––Scour the news for an entirely uninteresting story. Consider how it connects to your life. Write about that.

                                             “If Only”–Third Time Around
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It has gotten sort of intiguing to see how many times the same prompt will come around.  This is #3 for this one.  To see the poem “If Only I Could Play Guitar,” go HERE.

(To see what others wrote on the same topic, go HERE.)

The Year I Gave Up Childish Things

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The Year I Gave Up Childish Things

At the age of sixty-eight,
I’ve no wish to equivocate.
Is there a time when childhood ends?
When we give up playful friends?
Cease to lie in grass and dream?
Drink our coffee without cream?
Always do what’s reasonable
in order to avoid life’s trouble?
Say no to candy and dessert?
Cease to giggle, joke and flirt?
If so, I can’t remember mine.
Perhaps when I am sixty-nine!

The prompt: Write about a defining moment in your life when you were forced to grow up in an instant (or a series of instants).https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/when-childhood-ends/

I Feel Good!!!

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yes
I Feel Good!!!!

The mirror that’s in front of me shows very little gut,
and when I look behind me, I can’t even find my butt.
It’s true I am so lithe and slim that I can’t cease my looking,
for self-admiration has replaced the fun of cooking.

Gazing deeply at myself—my mesmerising eyes—
has replaced my fascination with cookies and with pies.
Time spent in the past communing with burgers and fries,
now is spent perusing my waistline and my thighs.

If you want to ask me out to pizza or to pie it,
I cannot follow either plan, in fact I must decry it.
I could not even get a date before this year-long diet,
so if it involves calories, I fear I must deny it.

It’s not that I’m objecting to a bit of her and himming.
It’s just that I prefer activity that is more slimming.
A jog perhaps or calisthenics in the local gym—
something that will keep us both toned and tight and trim?

And afterwards if you should ask me in to have a drink,
the reason that I turn you down is not what you may think.
It’s true that since my bod is fit, I don’t want to abuse it.
The problem is that I’m too tired to ever get to use it!

Picture Prompt #29

IMG_4795The Old and Unrested

The old and unrested return to their beds,
propping their pillows under their heads.
Pulling their blankets up to their ears,
they let up on the gas and go into low gears.

Setting their brandies or porters or gins
on their bedside tables, they settle their chins
upon their chests and watch some TV
on laptops that sit where their boobs used to be.

Life is confusing when you are too near it,
especially ’cause it is so damn hard to hear it.
Then when you’re alone, it’s entirely too loud.
These neighborhood noises should not be allowed!

They turn up the volume to drown out the noise
of the car alarms, weed eaters and screaming boys.
They lie all morning, secure in their beds.
Life is much easier lived in their heads!

Before the protests start to roll in, I have to say that this is meant in fun.  I was feeling contrary In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Young and the Rested:” When was the last time you felt truly rejuvenated and energized? What made you feel that way?

No.  I never ever drink gin in the morning.  Hardly ever.

Stronger

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Stronger

“That which does not kill us makes us stronger”.

I wish that when it didn’t kill me it had made me stronger,
for I don’t know if I can hold this lion’s mouth closed much longer.

 

Tina, The Bo Bina provided this favorite quote for me to use as the prompt for a poem.Go see her website as well!

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Relax, it’s only henna! I get a Mayan tattoo on my lower leg every time I go to the beach. It fulfills all my contradictory impulses.

Change of Mind

Tattooed pierced and branded, or to be marked for life
with patterns carved into the skin with a sterile knife?
I cannot help but tell you that I find it very strange–
this trend to decorate ourselves by means that we can’t change.

When I was in my twenties, I bought a gorgeous hat
of pink and blue with colored plumes that swayed this way and that.
But what if I had had it sewn forever to my head,
so when I desired a wedding veil, I had feathers instead?

What if those chandelier earrings I found so cool in my teens
were implanted so I couldn’t take them off by any means?
So when I trekked across the jungles, weaving through the trees,
those earrings caught upon the vines and brought me to my knees?

My hair would be a helmet, and my eyes would look so queer
if worn like I did at twenty with eyeliner ear to ear.
So I cannot help but think this child with corks stretching her lobes
might regret them in her forties as she dons her judge’s robes.

Or the youngsters with the tongue studs, one day when they are men
might regret it as the shots they drink leak out onto their chin.
I’m so glad those mini skirts I wore—a poor choice even then––
are not still sewn upon my hips now that I am more Zen.

Thank God those darker outlined colors that made our lips less thin
and those psychedelic tie-dyes are not printed in our skin.
For although our taste was laughable, at least we can repent–
for the choices that we made in youth were not permanent.

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And, that hat mentioned in the poem? It really existed and still does, although no, I have not worn it in over 40 years. Here it is, a side view!

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Tattoo….You?.” Do you have a tattoo? If so, what’s the story behind your ink? If you don’t have a tattoo, what might you consider getting emblazoned on you skin?

F

Re”tire”ment

When I was younger, my mind turned on a dime.
I did what I had to do in very little time.
But now that I am older, things don’t go so fast.
I’m not “spur-of-the-momentish” as I was in the past.

I don’t throw big parties as I did in former days,
for dealing with the details just puts me in a haze.
I can’t do many things at once without getting confused.
Now I simply write my blog while once I danced and boozed!

At first I felt ashamed of how my life is slowing down,
hating that I do not seek the company of town.
But then I noted patterns in nature around me
and saw that this is simply how our lives are meant to be.

Each thing in its season and each thing in its time
is how our lives are ordered—to accept this is sublime.
Why do I need to live my youth and middle age again?
Why not just accept that this is how my life has been

and go on to the next stage without sadness or regret—
going on to see just how much better life can get?
Yes, it is the pits to get arthritic, slow and hazy;
but we are compensated by excuses to be lazy!

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Heat is On.” Do you thrive under pressure or crumble at the thought of it? Does your best stuff surface as the deadline approaches or do you need to iterate, day after day to achieve something you’re proud of? Tell us how you work best.

A Quote A Day

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The cure for boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for curiosity.
–Attributed to Dorothy Parker

This Quotation is number one.  As I was typing this, I remembered that I wrote a poem entitled  “Dorothy Parker and Picasso at the Beach” last year.  If you’d like to read it, go HERE

I was nominated by  Jane Basil to participate in the Three Quotation Challenge. You can see Jane’s wonderful blog site HERE. Thanks for thinking of me, Jane.