Category Archives: humorous poem

Not A Creature of Habit

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jdb photo/do not replicate without permission.

Not A Creature of Habit

Fortitude’s cool, but frazzled’s more fun.
I’d rather be scattered and out on the run
than to be stoically still like a nun.

Out in the village, I’ll use my fine wit,
but identical nuns would have none of it,
Me as a nun? I just wouldn’t fit.

Even clothes are a habit when cloistered in place.
A nun has no moxie, no sass in her face.
They’re out of the mainstream and out of the race.

So hand me no wimple, no habit, no veil.
Confined in such clothes, I could barely exhale.
This bird needs her freedom, not salt on her tail.

 

The word prompts today are frazzled, fortitude, wit, identical and village.

Note: I know there are many nuns who do not fit this stereotype. I claim poetic license to make use of hyperbole!!

Selective Superstition

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Selective Superstition

I don’t believe in messages delivered by astrology.
I think my personality’s a matter of biology.
Images in crystal balls I’m sure are just projections.
I’m not about to spend my dough on engineered reflections.

But still I pluck at daisies. Does he love or does he not?
And I check out daily the Tarot cards I bought.
Every scattered grain of salt I throw over my shoulder.
and I won’t step on sidewalk cracks until I’m somewhat bolder.

I’m flexible, I guess you’d say, dealing with superstition.
I want the ones I follow to match my disposition.
If I’m the one in charge of the ones that I am choosing,
I tend to have control of what I’m gaining or I’m losing.

 

Prompt words today are image, dough, message, astrology and personality.

High School Commencement, 2020 Style

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     muhammad-rizwan-VnydpKiCDaY-unsplash Used with permission

High School Commencement, 2020 Style

Here in Coyote Valley, we’ve had a small preview
of just what can happen when the world has gone askew.
High School Graduation might have gone without a hitch.
A certain senior’s choice of clothing was the only glitch.
When he approached the platform, parents nearly had a stroke.
His classmates simply had a laugh. They all enjoyed the joke.
His Hazmat suit was timely, though his mortarboard was tilted.
It beat the valedictory speech, which was a little stilted.
Thus Billy Jenkins pulled one over getting his diploma.
First the face mask and what with the principal’s glaucoma,
he missed the fact of who he had just handed an escape
from another year as senior without the dread red tape
of actually passing history, keyboarding or biology.
English, math or woodshop, PE or sociology.
Without opening a single book, Billy counted coup.
Add this to the statistics. COVID-19 got him through.

Prompts for today are coyote, valley, graduation, stroke and preview,

Street Smarts: Flo Educates the Ivy League

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Street Smarts: Flo Educates the Ivy League

Slip me a quarter, flip me a dime,
and you’ll still have your meal in the usual time.
When the diner is full due to inclement weather,
and your rowdy squad descends all together,
understand that you’ll just have to wait your fair turn
or the fries will be soggy and the hamburgers burn.

I  have a hunch you’re an ivy league boy—
a chip off the old block, your mom’s pride and joy,
but when you come slumming to this side of town,
it’s best that you play your fancy side down.
We don’t cotton to folks who think they’re our betters
or cater to jocks with their varsity letters.

Some day you’ll no doubt be someone of renown
with your designer suits or your medical gown,
but for now you’re a kid sitting there on a stool—
a self-declared prince with no country to rule.
So shut your damn mouth. Move to that empty table,
and you’ll have your burgers as soon as I’m able.

 

Prompts today are quarter, understand, squad, hunch and street.

A “Do” Review

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A “Do” Review

The sermon is boring, so with nothing to do
but stare at the preacher, I’m staring at you
and reviewing your haircut, here from behind.
I know I’m in church and so I should be kind,
but I notice the trim over one ear is higher,
and the top is so high that I can’t see the choir!
Bouffant is a style, my dear, that’s passé
unless you are Dolly or possibly gay,
and the color is glaring. It’s hurting my eyes.
You need a new stylist with subtler dyes.

Your split ends are shocking, but there’s a solution.
If you don’t pursue it, there’s no absolution
for sins of omission equal to these.
(It’s simply my sense of noblesse oblige
that leads me to share with you thoughts on your hair,
for when it comes to style, dear, there isn’t much there.)
I can give you the name of a salon I know
and it’s up to you if you want to go,
but if you choose not to, I’d advise that
you do us a favor and just wear a hat!

For NaPoWriMo 2020 Day 27, we are to write a review of something not normally
reviewed.

The Banker, the Doctor, the Rabbi, the Priest

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PhPhoto by Ryan O’Niel on Unsplash. Used with permission

The Banker, the Doctor, the Rabbi, the Priest

The banker, the doctor, the rabbi, the priest
used to jam back back in high school and never ceased.
They’ve been meeting on Saturday nights all their lives
leaving their girlfriends and bishops and wives
to drink beer and rap and have deep discussion
about riffs and choruses, notes and percussion.
The priest is the drummer. He wields a wild stick.
The rabbi’s a string guy. The cello’s his schtick.
The banker plays sax and the doctor’s on keys,
but they’re all pretty good at  shooting the breeze.

It’s as hot as a sauna and still they play on.
All through the night and into the dawn.
the priest squeegees his glasses off with his left thumb
while his right is engaged in beating the drum.
He’s a stickler for rhythm, enthralled with the beat.
He stirs a small zephyr while stomping his feet.
When they’ll stop playing is anyone’s guess.
It’s obvious they overlook my duress.
They’ve had a good jam. A most excellent session,
but the priest better scoot or he’ll miss my confession!

Prompts for today are stickler, squeegee, zephyr, enthrall and guess.

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Empty Datebook

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Empty Datebook

Another lonely Saturday. The singles are all vexed—
a world of restless wallflowers, feeling they’re surely hexed.
If I may be candid, Corona’s not at fault.
You’re not some precious treasure, sealed up in a vault.
If we did our homework, we’d know the truth of it.
You didn’t have that many  dates  before the virus hit!

 

Prompts today are Saturday, Candid, Lonely, Vex and Homework.

Yoga and Chocolate Chip Cookies in a Time of Shelter in Place

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Yoga and Chocolate Chip Cookies in a Time of Shelter in Place

I   stands alone at stiff attention,         cooking to release her tension.
 S   does curls to contradict her             tendency toward getting thicker.
 O  shows effects of chocolate chips     on her tummy and her hips.
 L   just sits there in her hut                   trying to compress her butt.
 A   Hands on knees, head on floor,      “A” vows that she will binge no more.
 T   spreads her wings but cannot fly.   “Eating in Place” the reason why.
  I   folds her wings tight by her side.
 O   eats more cookies, growing wide.
 N   sits on butt in yoga pose.
       Each hand on floor behind her goes,
       feet raised up, point to the sky,
       resisting the effects of pie
       on tummy, waist and hips and thigh.

 

For NaPoWriMo 2020, Day 23, the prompt was: “to write a poem about a particular letter of the alphabet, or perhaps, the letters that form a short word. Think about the shape of the letter(s), and use that as the take-off point for your poem.”

Contemplating the Letter “C”

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                                             The Letter “C”

Here’s to the letter “C” that marks what is in the middle.
Somewhere between “A” and “F,” it has been known to fiddle.
While “A” studies most diligently, “C” is bound to shirk.
It has a certain phobia regarding too much work.
It’s head and shoulders above “F” and far better than “D.”
Nobody ever flunked a course by maintaining a “C.”

And yet it calls no sound its own. It’s either “K” or “S.”
At birthday time,  we’re given kake and winning brings suksess.
We’re stopped dead in our trases. When we’re kissed, it’s a karess.
Why “C” has no sound of its own, not one of us kan guess.
When the sirkus komes to town, it’s happened onse or twise
that the krokodiles eskape. It isn’t very nise.

Townfolks run and skurry—skared as they kan be,
for katastrophes kan happen when krokodiles run free.
It isn’t too konvenient, as you kan klearly see
to be a kurly letter the likes of letter “C”
that’s firmly in the middle, with no sound of its own.
Does “C” dream of being “S” when it’s fully grown?

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For NaPoWriMo 2020, Day 23, the prompt was:

“to write a poem about a particular letter of the alphabet, or perhaps, the letters that form a short word. Think about the shape of the letter(s), and use that as the take-off point for your poem. ”

While I’m thinking of a new letter poem, I’m publishing this reblog of one I wrote that meets the prompt two years ago. As you ponder “C,” I’ll be Pondering the Possibilities of the Perfect other alPhabetic subject–maybe “P.”

Morrie

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Morrie

He displays such fierce bravado, barking at the man
who dares to try approach me. He’ll bite him if he can.
If he does not get his nuance, perhaps he’ll get his grasping.
If he can’t heed the exposed teeth, perhaps he’ll get their clasping.

If that human could but read the globes of Morrie’s widening eyes,
he’d need no communication in any other guise
from this dog that has decided he is his only rival
for his mistress’s affection. Every time, there’s a revival

of his barking and his lunging should this man dare approach me.
It’s as though he fears he’s coming with intentions to come poach me.
With everybody else, he is a charmer through-and-through.
He cannot wait to make a friend of anyone who’s new.

His emotions are a crazy-quilt of trying hard to please—
of greeting you with ball in mouth and jumping at your knees.
He cannot wait for you to sit to jump up on your lap
and insists on long ear rubbings before he takes a nap.

He’s every visitor’s best friend. Greets strangers on the beach,
and will bring a ball to anyone he finds who’s within reach.
Never will he wear out when chasing after balls.
He goes to bed when I demand and answers all my calls.

But why he feels my gardener of nineteen years duration
is a threat to me, and such a threatening aberration
that he flies to my defense whenever he is near,
is a mystery that I’ve not solved, and never will, I fear.

 

Prompt words today are bravado, globe, quilt, nuance and grasping.