Alarm Clock Rejoinder
My alarm clock’s rude awakening I eschew vis-á-vis
a gentler mode of wakeup that is buzzer-free.
Questions upon awakening I find somewhat aberrant.
Kindly save your queries until I am more coherent.
If I’m a pebble that must drop into my daily start,
I pray the ripples of my morning come farther apart.
Prompt words today are vis-á-vis, awakening, coherent, save and ripples,
Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow
I was almost mature, I was almost thin.
Now I must start all over again.
So please have compassion. Eat your own surprise.
Don’t bring me donuts or candy or pies.
I’m redoing my fridge and throwing out naughties
homemade by friends as well as my boughties.
Ice cream and truffles go straight in the bin,
for I must amend this shape I am in.
I’ll begin my diet as soon as I’m able,
pushing myself away from the table
as soon as banana bread I baked last night
has been depleted to nary a bite.
Then I’ll eat salads and green beans and stuff.
Doing without sugar will not be so tough
tomorrow. I’ll begin tomorrow, I vow.
Tomorrow works out so much better than now.
Prompt words today are almost, mature, ready, compassion and organization.
Lack of Willpower During the Coronavirus Sequestering:
My First Two Excuses
I’ ve run out of storage for all the provender
I bought in advance, thinking chances were slender
that in a month there’d be staples enough.
I thought that the going was going to get tough.
So with my freezer full and no cupboard space free,
the only place left to store food in is me.
I forage on fudge and I’m gorging on chips—
storing them here on my waist and my hips.
Please come to my rescue. I’m tortured by guilt.
Last year at this time I was pleasantly built,
but this forced isolation obliterates “no”
as an answer to chocolate and cookie dough.
You may be amused by my failure at coping,
but I am not drinking and I am not doping.
It isn’t my fault. I’m a victim of fate.
It’s my body that’s yearning to assimilate
cookies and candies and pastas and pies.
It’s my body’s fault that I’ve grown a size.
With no one to stop me, I’ve just given in.
I guess you’d describe me as formerly thin!
Words for the day are rescue, torture, obliterate, assimilate and amused.
(Click on photos to enlarge)
Beach Boys, Second Generation
See the motley little band
trudge the beach, tip cup in hand.
A funnel stuffed into a hose––
is held to lips and then one blows.
Two other small musicians lug
a twenty-liter water jug.
Later, one begins to hum
accompanying his buddy’s drum.
I’ve shown these photos before, but the poem is new, for: dVerse Poets Quadrille Challenge: Drum
At Sixes and Sevens
East is east and west is west,
but some say north and south are best.
Thoughts on this are bound to vary.
Righteous folks from Tucumcari
say the south is best, whereas,
folks from Chicago say no town has
Chicago’s flair and wit and jazz.
Rancorous California folk
think East Coast people are a joke,
whereas upper class New Yorkians
crack jokes about the Kavorkians.
Ordinarily, I’d say
that I’m a gal who’d like to stay
out of the north-south-east-west fray.
But when it comes to the siesta,
Mexico must be the besta.
That’s south, if New York’s home to you,
but north if you are from Peru.
Thus, this bit of wisdom I’d like to give:
Direction’s always relative
to where on Earth you choose to live!!!
Prompt words today are siesta, ordinary, rancor, righteous and east.
Biker Wedding
Though I’m just your uncle and backward at that,
I’m exceedingly fond of my sister’s sweet brat.
I hear there’s a biker you’re eager to wed
and though I’d suggest a nice banker instead,
I’m here not to alienate, but advise
(since I am your kin who’s most apt to be wise.)
Instead of a veil you’ll be wearing your patches
and learning his lingo by listening to snatches
of biker bar gossip and those conversations
spawned over road talk and major libations.
You’ll be in your flannels and Kevlar-lined denim
(I’m sure that no bride ever looked better in ’em.)
You’ll whisper “I do” and then exchange your patches
before you head out for a ride down to Natchez.
But, first things being first, you have asked me to aid
in getting your wedding invitations made.
I’ve checked out your spelling. The words are all fine.
Only the printing may be out of line.
Though responsible service may not be impossible,
are you quite sure that leather is embossable?
Prompt words today are uncle, alienate, backward, responsible and service.
Photo by Ashwin Vaswani on Unsplash. Used with permission.
Jumping to Conclusions
She’s a lady of distinction. You can tell it by her walk,
in her whole deportment—her manners and her talk.
It seems it is a given, since she has a lot of dough
just where, in November, her vote is bound to go.
She lies back on her chaise, even graceful while recumbent,
but quickly springs erect when you mention the incumbent.
If you ask her about politics, she’s apt to tell the truth.
She will not give allegiance to the stupidly uncouth.
Prompt words today are distinction, apt, allegiance and walk.
Loose Lips
Your tongue is loose, it has been said,
and though you swear “Better off dead
than tell your secret,” still, it’s true
you’ll find someone to leak it to.
So though you did it without knowing,
I fear, my dear, your slip is showing.
For the dVerse Poets Quadrille Challenge: Slip
I hope you don’t mind that I used this photo I took of you a few years ago, Erin, and Pat. In no way is the poem about you. it was just the perfect illustration!! xoxo
Love’s Meander
In those first months of its success,
when first love starts to evanesce,
we flounder in its first excesses,
never guessing what the stresses
are that love will soon let loose–
when the gander feels the noose
and in his imagination
conjures up a short vacation
wherein he is free to wander
here and there and over yonder
to see what other lovebirds might
desire to feel his loving bite.
Needless to say, his sudden bolt
may give his present love a jolt,
and when he chooses to meander,
what cooks the goose may burn the gander!
Word prompts today are bolt, lovebirds, goose, evanesce and imagination. Photo by James Wainscoat on Unsplash. Used with permission.
Floral Retribution
I slink into the plant place and snag a tub of roses—
the kind that is an irritant to weepy eyes and noses.
I could have sent her chocolates, could have brought her fruit,
magazines or houseplants or other sick-room loot;
but she’s such a social-climber, such a diamond Deb
that she won’t even socialize with old friends on the Web.
She has her chi-chi social circle—stylish, rich and arty,
so cannot bother to attend her best friend’s birthday party.
Yet when she breaks her leg and is in need of a diversion,
her new friends stay away as though they have a mass aversion
to hospitals and folks who do not share complete perfection.
In short, her newest “besties” stage the ultimate defection.
And thus it is her old friends that she calls to cheer her day,
forgetting that she is the one who threw us all away.
So when I come into her room and hear her cough and wheeze,
I’ll just withdraw with card and gift and my apologies.
She needs no further problems added to her maladies.
It’s been so long that I forgot about her allergies!
Prompt Words for today are snag, tub, rose, slink and fruit.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 