Category Archives: humorous poem

Dream’abort’ Annie!

Annie as a kitten and almost 19 years later. Seems impossible. The second two photos are of the day the kittens arrived and I found Kukla on the wall in a standoff with Annie, whose meal they were eating! Fiesty little thing. (Photos will enlarge if you click on them.)

Dream’abort’ Annie

Two A.M. and four A.M., six A.M. and eight.
My nineteen-year-old cat is such a reprobate.
She awakens me with yowling to be fed again
or simply for a rubbing over ears and under chin.

My night’s full of awakenings, my days are somewhat muddled.
I try to block the sound of her. I’m bleary and befuddled.
I’m sleep-deprived, exhausted, and yet she is so old,
how can I consign her to the night air and the cold?

I awake at 5 a.m. with no bleats for attention—
that every-other-hour irritating cause of tension.
And yet what mixed emotions this five-hour rest has brought.
Finally, a full-night’s sleep, but Annie I have not!

I knock upon the closet doors, follow every lead.
I mix up her favorite cat foods, but she does not heed
all these invitations—the water and the calls—
the peering under beds, searching the bathrooms and the halls.

I look behind each open door, behind the stereo—
so many hidden spaces where a cat can go.
The old cat’s turned up missing? It’s an oxymoron that
nonetheless is true when applied to my gray cat.

You may find it silly, putting up with such a cat
once so wild and kittenish, so active and so fat.
An outside cat who never deigned to come inside,
Annie chose walls and bushes as places to abide.

Every year she grew more wild and more free,
making an appearance on demand for only me.
Twice a day for meals, she would jump up on the wall
In between, she vanished—not visible at all.

Two years ago, four kittens abandoned at my door
meant that she just left for good, and I saw her no more.
One month later, she returned, hip shattered, skin and bone.
with stomach and liver problems, she was Annie’s ruined clone.

When the vet said nothing could be done, she came to live inside.
I thought, to make her comfortable there until she died,
but two years later, she rules the house and she won’t abide
any other lesser cat to be found inside.

She eats small portions all day long and though she’s lean and spare,
it seems she’s come into her own in my cozy lair.
The problem is, I haven’t had a full night’s sleep since then.
For all the constant roarings that disturb the old cat’s den.

If it isn’t food she wants, it seems it is a rub,
or for me to clean her litterbox that’s found inside my tub
that I haven’t used for the two years she’s been here.
I use the guest room shower in lieu of one that’s near.

Sure that she’s died in some dark corner that I cannot see,
I move aside the furniture. I peer on bended knee
beneath the beds. I search each room with a fine-toothed-comb,
but no evidence of her is left within my home.

I’ve thought so often how much easier that it would be
if she would slip away one night and leave her master free.
What a lovely gift it would be for her to give me,
for often I have thought that probably she would outlive me!

The house seems oddly empty. By her water dish, her meal
left uneaten these long hours has started to congeal.
Her gray hairs left upon the rug where she liked to sleep.
Although I’ve loved her absence, it’s true that now I weep.

When the other cats give voice and I decide to heed them,
I get an extra surprise as I go outside to feed them.
When I open up the door, Annie scoots right in,
dashing from the overgrown foliage where she’s been.

Thus ends her great adventure and ends my great travail.
As I sit here writing, I can hear her latest wail.
I guess we’re back to where we were. Annie’s on my lap,
and as long as she is quiet, guess I’ll take a little nap.

 

“Heading out this morning, into the sun
Riding on the diamond waves, little darlin’ one
Warm wind caress her, her lover it seems
Oh Annie, dreamboat Annie, little ship of dreams
Oh Annie, dreamboat Annie, little ship of dreams
Going down the city sidewalk, alone in the crowd
No one knows the lonely one whose head’s in the clouds
Sad faces painted over with those magazine smiles
Heading out to somewhere, won’t be back for a while”

Prompts today are mix, follow, knock, silly and solicitude.

Second Thoughts

Second Thoughts

We’ve brought your breakfast tray for we know that you’ve been restive,
but now we’d like to urge you to try to feel more festive.
Will you remain forever, questioning and forlorn
because you could not go downstairs on your wedding morn?
You cannot stay much longer in this sealed-off room.
The wedding guests are gathering. It’s time to jump the broom.

Jumping the broom is a time-honored wedding tradition in which the bride and groom jump over a broom during the ceremony. The act symbolizes a new beginning and a sweeping away of the past, and can also signify the joining of two families or offer a respectful nod to family ancestors.

Prompts today are wedding, stairs, urge, tray and festive.

Knees, Please

Think of all the things you wouldn’t be able to do if you didn’t have knees!

(Click on photos to enlarge.)


Knees, Please

Knees, knees, folks have knees
from Katmandu down to Belize.
In Peru, where they ride llamas,
they still have knees in their pajamas.
Further north, up where it freezes,

even Polar bears have kneezes.


Knees, knees, folks have knees
to ogle, fondle, pet and squeeze.
(It’s easy when they’re under kilts.)
Some knees on roller skates or stilts
are scabbed and scaly, skinned and sore,

but still they know what they are for.


Knees are great to bounce a baby
to kick a soccer ball, or maybe
to bend in prayer when they’re in church,
or form a perfect sort of perch
for lovelorn boys on bended knee

to ask girls, “Will you marry me?”


Knees, knees, folks have knees
In sun they burn, in snow they freeze.
Yet knees can cross and knees can knock
Knees can jog you round the block.
Knees are handy and dependable.

And aren’t we glad that knees are bendable?

 

Matin for Patella


When begging, kicking,
flower picking,
shooting marbles, playing jacks,
checking out important facts
in books that live on lower shelves,
checking under beds for elves
and asking for a loved one’s hand,
you should never, never stand.
Instead, place one bent leg or more
solidly upon the floor
and as you kneel with grace and ease,

please thank the Lord for making knees!

 

This whole sequence was inspired by the first photo of little girls in the kids’ choir that performed at our Christmas party. I then remembered these silly poems I wrote years ago…and started looking for other knee photos. One hour later, here they are!  In the meantime, someone has been knocking insistently on my gate..although it is 11:30 P.M., so I called the guardhouse and had a security car drive by. The knocking stopped right after I called and no one is out there. Dogs weren’t barking. No telling what it was…..but knuckles, not knees were involved. (Putting in my tags, I see that one has already been done for “poem about knees” so perhaps I’ve run this before. Oh well. We can all read it again if we make it that far…

Belated Wishes

Belated Wishes

My greetings on your birthday, I admit are most belated,
but I hope my guilt in this can be expiated.
I toiled to construct a card, wording it in rhyme,
and then invoked winged Mercury to present it in time.
(I’d addressed it with a flourish and signed it in gold ink.
The card was of a purple hue. The envelope was pink.)

But I fear this faithful messenger shows the effects of gout
which has curtailed the usual speed with which he gets about.
He had to take a taxi, which developed a flat.
So then he had to hitchhike to get to where you’re at.
Your doorbell is defective and your neighbor wasn’t in,
and by then I fear that his resolve was growing  thin.

He sat upon your doorstep, but it seems you never came.
So it is your own tardiness, it seems, that is to blame.
As the midnight hour approached he finally gave up.
He found a little pub where he thought that he would sup.
He put your card upon the counter. It was there that he misplaced it
along with the good wishes with which this friend had graced it.

By the time he had informed me of his failure at this task,
I fear your day had ended, so what I now must ask
is that you don’t feel slighted by your real card’s surrogate—
the fact that it is Hallmark and the fact that it is late.
This card can’t compete with the first one I created,
but you share the guilt, friend, for the fact that it’s belated!!!

Prompts today are flourish, address, belated, invoke and speed.

A Little Night Music

maeghan-smulders-pIY5yM0bmMQ-unsplashPhoto by Maeghan Smulders on Unsplash. Used with permission

A Little Night Music

It may seem eccentric to sing in your sleep,
but when I’m in slumber so sound and so deep,
sometimes my voice just wants to get out
in some type of utterance—whisper or shout.
And then if I must, would it be such a pity
to let out my voice in a full-throated ditty?
Folks walk in their sleep, so why can’t they sing?
Why would you consider it such a strange thing?
Dreams can’t be censored, directed or herded.
There are times when  a melody must be asserted.
So if you should hear my somnambulant song,
please stifle complaints and just hum along!!

Prompt words today are sleep, rare, eccentric and sing.

On Display

On Display

He’s so ostentatious. He turns up his nose
at other folks’ houses, vehicles and clothes.
He only wears Lagerfeld, Lauren or Kors.
His decor is elegant, but he hates yours!

Your neighborhood barbecue starting at twilight
will never be his calendar’s highlight.
Picnics to him are truly the pits.
He dines at Spagos. Slums it at the Ritz.

In his microcosm, he reigns as the king
of all refinement. Each exquisite thing
that resides in his house is an objet d’art,
but, concerning your taste? Darling, don’t start.

When it comes to decor you have no idea.
He buys antiques in Paris. You shop at IKEA.
Of his sense of design, you know not one iota.
Do you need further proof? You drive a Toyota!

 

The prompt words today are microcosm, barbecue, twilight, ostentatious and nose. Photo by Kevin Bhagat on Unsplash

White Knight

photo by Moss on Unsplash. Used with permission

White Knight

His choice of her as wife must clear enough betoken
that he has a predilection for the damaged and the broken.
When they met, ’twas clear she was a maiden in distress.
She’d tipped a cocktail over and ruined her favorite dress.
He furnished first a hanky, and when it proved ineffective,
he replaced the sodden garment with a new one less defective.

She seemed to have no talent save for partying and shopping.
Her credit cards were all maxed out, but still she wasn’t stopping.
Prada, Hermes, Target, Ross—she loved to shop them all.
After Amazon, her favorite was, of course, the mall.
She never checked the price tags. Didn’t money grow on trees?
But she had a fatal beauty that brought him to his knees.

Enchanted by her problems, he sought to solve them all.
He’d demonstrate his prowess. He’d get right on the ball.
He fixed her dripping kitchen sink and jacked up her foundation,
solved her termite problem and her rodent infestation.
And once her house was perfect, his role clear as her savior,
he settled in to trying to solve her bad behavior.

Language lessons, charm school, manicures and waxing.
It’s clear she found these self-improvement strategies most taxing.
She flunked out of the classes and grew back all the hair.
And yet he felt no let-down. He was feeling debonaire
as he came up before her and sank down on one knee,
produced a six-carat diamond and a “Will you marry me?”

The advent of their wedding found his family full of wrath.
They prayed she’d trip upon the stairs or drown within her bath.
But fate did not oblige them, and soon there was a wedding—
the showers and the ceremony, honeymoon and bedding.
He had bought a bride as though purchasing a house.
A little money down and the rest when she was spouse.

She brought her problems with her and once he’d paid her debts—
her bills and parking tickets—then there were the pets.
A cockatoo, a cobra, a Saint Bernard, a kitten.
They filled his living room, his den, and yet he was still smitten.
After a month, his house in tatters, patience growing thin,
her extended family started moving in.

Her father was a gambler, her mother fond of gin.
Her little brother played the drums, which set up quite the din.
Yet not a friend felt sorry for these things that disconcerted him.
His servants soon gave notice and his family deserted him.
They’d all given their warnings—advice he hadn’t heeded,
yet he marveled over where friends went when they were really needed!

The moral never occurs at the start, where it is needed,
probably because it knows that it won’t be heeded.
Experience works better than any threat or warning
to curb initial excitement in favor of deep mourning.
The end is most predictable. The marriage didn’t last,
and with no prenuptial, the lot was surely cast.

They split his fortune down the middle. She made off with half,
but she had to take her family, so he had the last laugh.
The animals went to a zoo. The drums went with her brother.
He packed up all her cousins and her father and her mother
and left them on the doorstep of the mansion that she’d bought.
And so ends our story with its moral clearly taught.

All dragons were slain long ago and white knights are passé,
so solving maidens’ problems is clearly déclassé.
If you wish to save the world, try starting a foundation.
Send needy kids to summer camp or fund their education.
Chivalry, I fear is dead, so don’t try to revive it.
For as I’ve demonstrated, there’s a chance you won’t survive it!

 

Prompt words for today are enchanted, damage, advent, predilection and bath.

Fortieth Anniversary Addendum

Fortieth Anniversary Addendum

Although you pull the conversation back to matters topical,
I sense my feelings for you are becoming much more tropical.
Bounteous jungles teem with orchids sensual and clinging.
As you ponder politics, my hormones begin zinging.
I can sense you’ve zero interest, yet I ponder what
it might take for me to get you pulled out of your rut.
It’s true that we were married forty years ago today,
and it seems we should do something more to celebrate the day.

Dinner out and flowers have come to be the norm,
but I’ve planned a celebration that’s a bit more warm.
Champagne in a bucket on the bedroom floor
might, if all my plans go well, lead to a little more
than a heavy meal and flower petals falling to the rug.
A remembered twinkle in the eye? A heartstring’s gentle tug?
Of politics and prime rib, I’ve had my yearly ration.
Now I’d prefer to celebrate with a bit of passion!

 

Prompt words today are ponder, inflict, zero, bounteous and tropical.

Lovesick

photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash. Used with permission.

Lovesick

Your proposal that we call in sick and the steady beat
drummed against the windowpane by the driving sleet
divulge a secret pleasure long-buried in my actions
of playing hooky and long days devoid of verbs and fractions.
Zealous plans to fool Mom with coughs and groans and wheezes.
Crumpled Kleenex, put-on gags and manufactured sneezes.

In spite of what the calendar reveals to be a Monday,
stretching out the weekend into another fun day,
I call your boss, you call mine. By noon the clouds have lifted.
All the sleet has vanished from the corners where it drifted.
We put on boots to splash through puddles, bringing back our youth,
as silly as mere teenagers a bit long in the tooth.

We gorge on pizza, eaten in front of the TV.
I win at double solitaire. You win at Tripoly.
We pop some corn and eat it with peanut M&Ms
until the clouds roll in again and when the sunlight dims,
we return to bed again to get a little nookie—

that added pleasure when it is adults who play at hooky. 

 

Prompt words today are calendar, divulge, proposal, zealous and sleet.

Suspicion

IMG_1309Suspicion

It’s daybreak when the rude alarm
is shut off by your questing arm.
As you roll over, the blanket’s pull
is your daily ritual.

As you leave the room, I do not stir.
I hear the blender’s angry whirr.
I hear you shower, brush and groom,
but stay wrapped in our bed’s warm womb.

I feel your presence. I hear you cough.
A rapid hug and you are off.
And in these hours away from me,
I suspect infidelity.

All day long I wait and wait
in an agitated state
for the creaking of the gate
that says you’ll soon alleviate

my loneliness this whole day through
that I’ve spent pining over you.
I leave the house, then come inside
to find the presents that you hide

to keep me entertained while you
do whatever you must do
to keep a roof over our head—
to provide shelter, food and bed.

Finally, a slamming door,
your footsteps on the hallway floor.
You bend down for our first caress.
and I’m suspicious, I confess.

I smell your collar, arms and cuff
until I’ve gathered facts enough.
I find no odor, no stray hair.
No other dog has tarried there!

The prompt words today are hug, rapid, suspect, alleviate and daybreak.