Category Archives: humorous poem

He Said, She Said


He Said, She Said

When she questioned his fidelity, he said she was a loser,
though he was the real lowlife—a bully and a bruiser.
“We’re not a pair,” he snapped at her. “I never took an oath
that I would be true to you, in fact, I’m rather loath
to say that when I married you, it wasn’t a mistake.
The only thing I liked about it was the wedding cake!

I’d had a few too many the day that we were hitched
and ever since we had the kids, you have bitched and bitched.
You like to snap my head off If I partake with the boys
and come home after midnight. If I make the slightest noise
and if I wake the kids up, well, so what? They’re my kids, too.
Perhaps they’d like to spend some time with me instead of you.

So what if it is 3 a.m.? Tomorrow we’ll sleep in.
You’d think that playing with your kids past midnight is a sin!!!!
The way to keep your man is to practice your felicity.
Instead of gripes, I’d like to see some wifely elasticity.
I always was a party guy. I always was a rover.
If you expect much more of me, my time with you is over.”

To Which She Answered:

The kids are at my mother’s, your packed bag in the garage.
Almost from the beginning, our marriage was a mirage.
I’ve called the man to change the locks. I’ve closed our bank account.
There’s money in your suitcase—a very small amount.
My father bought our house and my salary, at best,
is what was in the bank account. You drank up all the rest.

So what if it is 3 a.m.? You’re used to nighttime games.
Check your little black book. It’s sure to yield some names.
If you’ve had too much to drink, it’s best you don’t drive far,

but I’m sure that you’ll be comfy sleeping in the car.
I’ve decided to withdraw from marital complicity,
and that will bring you what you want. In short, your wife’s felicity!!

Prompts today are “not a pair,” snap, partake, felicity and loser. Photo by Elvis Bekmanis on Unsplash, used with permission.

Random Orders

Random Orders

When our builder said that “It’s terribly good
as he showed us the shipment of rainforest wood,
I, for one, uttered a silent scream,
for how could I okay this endangered beam?

In like manner, when he presented the door
of yew, it elicited a quiet roar.
So instead, he then showed us a genuine fake—
some laminate made for ecology’s sake

out of plastic and sawdust fused by black light.
Okay, I’m confused. Is night day and day night?
When we asked him for details and asked him to give
us a price for this place we were hoping to live,

he gave us one total, then he gave us a few.
An exact estimate seemed the best he could do.
As if, in his string of incessant banality,
all he could offer was ultimate reality.

my husband and I are both loyal opponents
of phrases with contradictory components.
So his exact estimate clearly confused.

It was plain that the language was being abused.

When our sawyer tried selling us a smaller half
of a board for our wall shelf, I gave a small laugh.

with passive aggression, I played the wise fool.
Was this our only choice? For this was not cool.

At first just amused, in the end we were sad,
for these oxymorons were driving us mad.

Surely these word games were only a fad.
Kids in cliques may mean good when they say it is bad,

but we were adults here and now on the brink
of retiring somewhere to have a stiff drink.
A close distance away was a favorite bar
with a mean martini served in a jar.

We gave random orders for olives and gin,
telling the barkeep what shape we were in.
Then, heads swimming with opposites, we didn’t scrimp.
We told the waiter to bring jumbo shrimp!

Word prompts today are sawyer, clique, oxymoron, fad and give. In case it wasn’t obvious, I took the prompt word “oxymoron” to excess. All of the highlighted words are oxymorons (self-contradictory phrases.)

Fixer-Upper

Fixer-Upper

I am a fixer-upper. My joints are caving in.
My parts are getting even with a long life lived in sin.
Way too many hamburgers, fries and Hershey bars.
Too little time spent jogging — too much time spent in cars.
The fact I’ve been degraded, I admit is not disputable,
for since my early teens my shape has been too often mutable.

I tried to stage a victory over this decline
sometime in my thirties, but somewhere down the line
my resolve grew weaker and I gave up on pilates.
It was too degrading competing with the hotties 
who clinched their little derrieres and flexed their perfect arms.
I simply could not stand the comparison of charms.

I’ll never flip this body. I can’t touch neck to heel.
How can I execute “down dog” when I can barely kneel?
In spite of diligent efforts now and then throughout my life,
with starts and futile endings my biography is rife,
I came up with excuses, I “hee”d and “haw”ed and “hem”med.
Then finally had to admit, this property is condemned!

 

Prompts today are fixer-upper, diligent, victory, mutable and degraded. Photo by Basil Anas on Unsplash, used with permission.

Contronyms and Clarity

Contronyms and Clarity

The word “cleave” is an enigma—first itself and then its opposite,
for it can mean “to cling to” but it also means “divide or split”.
What’s with the English language, with words meant to confuse?
Why bother to define a word that seems meant to abuse
our reason and ability to know what a word means?
Has our whole lexicology reverted to our teens
where “bad” is “good” and “sick” is “amazing, awesome, cool?”
What’s with these double meanings that make me feel a fool?

Do you believe the world of words has somehow let you down?
You imagine you’re a scholar, but turn out to be a clown?
That “hold up” means “support” but also “impede” is mendacious.
What next? Will “roomy” come to mean both “cramped” as well as “spacious?”
A rock is something solid—the opposite of jerking.
So why does “rocking out” involve this gyrating and twerking?

Someone “left” remains  but one departed also “left.”
What happens in a language where there is not a cleft
between what a word means and its opposite as well?
Have we run out of ways to enumerate and spell?
Are there not sufficient different words to go around?
Must we ascribe to opposites the same spelling and sound?

Though it’s anything but spartan, must our language play the fool
and accept a meaning for a word that clearly breaks the rule
that a word must stand for something clearly understood?
That a word can mean its opposite ultimately would
turn “black” to “white” and “white” to “black”, turn “happiness” to “sadness,”
and once given this opening, our world would turn to madness.

If “yes” meant “no,” how many brides would be sadly wed
when they meant to marry another man instead?
If “up” meant “up” but also “down,” how would folks reach their floor?
And imagine the concussions if “solid wall” meant “door.”
So, so much for contronyms. Let us cease to spout them.
It’s clear enough to me the world is better off without them!

Prompts for the day are opening, spartan, mendacious, cleave and let you down.

Dressed to Kill the Blues

Dressed to Kill the Blues

If you’re feeling washed out like your blossoming’s through,
feeling less than capricious and aged and blue,
why not ransack your closet to find something gaudy,
colorful, crazy, a little bit bawdy?

Don’t nurse a depression that you can dress up.
Why be a sad dog when you could be a pup?
Wilder clothes make you happy. Put joie in your vivre.
Tight clothes and stilettos—a  trick up your sleeve.

That impulse to give up is something to hide.
Folks will respond to what they see outside.
So when life deals the doldrums, why give in and mess it up?

You will feel better if only you  dress it up.

Prompts for the day are washed out, nurse, capricious, ransack and  blossoming.

 

Lest you think this is how my friends and I always dress, I’ll reveal that this was a Poor Taste party I threw one New Years Eve. Friends were to come dressed in the worst possible taste and to bring a dish that was tacky but delicious. It was a fun party!!!! 

Birthday Heist


Birthday Heist

The rumors are untrue. He is a scurrilous liar.
I did not steal the birthday cake. I did not start the fire.

My serenity is not a ruse. I’m innocent of error.
I swear I had no hand in your recent birthday terror.

The dog has done his utmost to brand me as the thief,
but the fool is barely lucid. Could you not see his relief

when you started to upbraid me as he chased me, headed south,
crumbs falling from his chest hair, frosting around his mouth?

Oh that I knew your language and I could tell you that,
but instead, for ever after, you’ll be blaming “that damn cat!!”

Evidence of an earlier crime: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tvtfDaBi8XE

Prompt words today are liars, lucid, scurrilous, utmost and serenity.

Ascension Dementia.

Ascension Dementia

When it comes to penthouse parties, I’m an equivocator
if it is a building that lacks an elevator.
Lately, my flair for climbing stairs seems to be out of whack.
When it comes to floor ascension, I do not have the knack.

My gumption seems to flag a bit as I reach the brink,
for as I run short of breath, I simply cannot think.
Thus, I’m an oxymoron, for when I climb the stair,

my mental acuity simply isn’t there.

At the bottom I am boisterous and have a lot of pep
that vanishes too quickly as I take step after step.
I try to remember what I climbed nine stories for,
but I can’t for the life of me remember anymore.

 

(According to poetic lexicography, an oxymoron is someone who loses mental acuity due to oxygen loss to the brain.)

Prompts today are flaggumption, oxymoron, whack and boisterous.

 

Last Ride

Last Ride

He was a motorcycle zealot,
so when his wife said he should sell it,
he protested, “It’s too soon!”
and headed out under the moon
in zipped-up jacket and leather boot
for a ride along that route

he’d ridden in his glory days,
but this time it was in a haze.
Those gorgeous hills and dales he’d ridden
somehow now seemed to be hidden,
rivaled by McDonald’s and
Target and Computerland.

Gone all the open road that he
had ridden when he’d felt so free.
His buddies ’round him in a pack—
Rowdy Bill and Badass Jack.
That place where they had raised such Hell
now turned into a Taco Bell.

He turned his bike back homeward then,
back to his place in Shady Glen.
Tacked a sign that said “For Sale” 
over his bike next to the rail
whereupon he hung his youth,
wild and free and so uncouth:

his leather jacket, his buckled boots
his companions down so many routes.
Hills and valleys away from home
where in wild youth, he’d gone to roam.
Finally knowing those days were done
now that he was ninety-one.

Prompts today are soon, zealot, gorgeous, rival.

Die Laughing


Die Laughing

Much of his popularity 
stemmed from his jocularity.
Those who described him as laconic
were certainly being ironic,
for he was fond of show and tell—
where he was rumored to excel
and used his talents more than once
to amuse a captive audience.
His violent end was unexpected.
His funny bone became infected
and went for too long undetected
until his remains were dissected.
But all agreed he’d be amused
to know a bone so overused
would be the one that would so lend
itself to bring about his end.

 

Prompt words today are jocularity, laconic, amused, violent and show. Image by Denis Agati on Unsplash, used with permission.

Spring Brakes


Spring Brakes

Her freshman year at college, my sis brought home a guest
that dad said was a nincompoop–rude and badly dressed.

His pants were tight, his buttons opened half way down his chest,
but my sister made excuses for the crudeness he expressed
by saying he was sensitive and recently depressed.

He strode into the kitchen and jerked open the door
of the refrigerator and began to pour
milk right from the carton, down his chin onto the floor.
What’s more, when he was finished, he asked if there was more!
Well, I could sense Dad’s anger before I heard his roar.

“He can’t help his behavior, he’s parched!” my sister cried,
pleading with our father as he threw the jerk outside.
Where, by his own volition, the kid sauntered to his ride,
put the keys in the ignition and, gathering his pride,
put the pedal to the metal, but then the engine died!

To inject a bit of humor would probably be rude,
but I simply can’t resist expounding on the dude.
My parents called his parents who came a bit unglued
and gave the kid a lecture on respect and rectitude,
imposing a Spring Break spell of solitude.

And that is why my sister spent her term vacation
in a state of martyrdom and excess perturbation.
I chalked it up to part of her farther education
and gloried just a little bit in her situation,
trying to abstain from another smug oration.

And that’s part of the story of when sister was a fool
and chose a dud as boyfriend, but to dwell on it is cruel.
That year she learned more lessons that weren’t taught in school.
When it came to spring vacation, it became her rule
that mixing  dads and boyfriends really wasn’t cool.

 

Photo by Mark Decile on Unsplash, used with permission. Prompts today are parched, nincompoop, inject, bide and guest.