Category Archives: Humorous Rhymes

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

Lunch Date (Old-Fashioned Attention): JNW’s Prompt Generator

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IMG_4387
Lunch Date

One thing I’d like that I will mention
is a bit of old-fashioned attention.
The kind with no device in hand
is the kind that I can stand

better than the sort with texting
minds caught in “before” and “next”ing
and not a thought for whom you’re with
until I’m sure that it’s a myth

that I’m the one you want to see,
even though you have invited me.
For though our table is for two,
you bring so many more with you–

every relative and friend.
Your texts to them just never end.
Our tete a tete‘s become absurd.
I never get to speak a word!

So there’s one thing I’d like to state.
Please cancel our next luncheon date.
The next time you desire a munch,
just take your iPhone out to lunch!


My prompt was “Old-fashioned Attention.” To get a prompt or see more JNW Prompt-Generated posts, go HERE.

Needless to say, there will be no sequel to this lunch date, but to see posts about sequels to movies, go here: https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/missing-seqeuls/

*

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.

IMG_3244

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?

Queasy

1 Reply

 Queasy

Silas Marner did not bore me. Cosines served me well.
I did not dread the tolling of the school bell.
Geography was interesting–all those maps and facts.
History a story of migration, wars and pacts.
Psychology didn’t throw me. I learned to type real fast.
I got an A in algebra, though the knowledge didn’t last.
Bookkeeping was annoying–all those columns and their sums.
I’ll admit I caused disturbances, clowning for my chums.
But all and all my schooldays were challenging and fun.
The only time I wished that all my schooling could be done
was when my Biology teacher made me blanch and squirm
by issuing me a scalpel and then handing me a worm!!!

The Prompt: Land of Confusion–Which subject in school did you find impossible to master? Did math give you hives? Did English make you scream? Do tell!
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/land-of-confusion-2/

NaPoWriMo, Day 3: In the Market

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I had a reading to go to this morning, where I read both “At 67” and “Once Upon a Lime in Mexico,” but you heard them both here first!  “At 67” will also be published in Ojo del Lago, Mexico’s largest English Language newspaper/magazine, which is both in print and online.  Before I left at 9:30 for the reading, I got part of today’s blog post finished and I completed it in the Walmart parking lot, where I’d gone to do a bit of shopping.  Dreading the stop-and-go Semana Santa traffic, I decided to finish it so it would be ready for posting when I got home,  which it is and I am!!!  So, here goes.

I’ve been trying to combine the NaPoWriMo and the WordPress prompts each day. The NaPoWriMo prompt today was to write a “fourteener” poem where each line consists of seven iambic feet (i.e., an unstressed syllable followed by a stressed syllable, times seven.) This form is also called a ballad.

No topic was given, so I took a WordPress Prompt and went to a friend’s book and turned to page 11 and took the 11th word, which was “Should,”  and started a poem entitled “She Should.”  I later changed the title and the first line, so the words that started the poem no longer are part of it. The purpose of a prompt is to start, not serve as an end-all. So, here is my ballad.  Please let me know what you think.

In the Market

Her mother tells her not to talk to strangers in the streets–
to count on all her kin to provide everyone she meets.
But this man has such lovely eyes, so what could be the harm?
And she’s not often left to stray this far from father’s farm.
When he walks by, she gives a smile and looks him in the eye.
He looks away, but his shy smile still gives away the guy.
She drops her basket, but he still continues on his way.
It’s only then that she decides that this one must be gay.

The store where she is going is not so very far,
and yet she takes the longest way that leads there from her car.
Although it should be blocks away, instead it is two miles.
She only has this route and back to practice all her wiles.
Whenever gentlemen of note meet her questing glance,
Her winsome smile becomes a grin, her walk becomes a prance.
Some of the men seem to be shocked. The others move away.
She’s sure it is just married men she meets this market day.

But finally, one man in plaid does not avoid her glance.
She smiles at him invitingly, afraid she’ll lose her chance.
She sees him turn as she walks by and follow in her wake.
It seems she’s finally hooked one. It was a piece of cake.
When she arrives and goes into the store, he follows her.
It’s just so he can meet her, of this she’s fairly sure.
Aisle after aisle she meets his gaze by boldly looking up
while he pretends he’s looking for food on which to sup.

Pork and beans he passes up, chili and green beans.
He adjusts his shoulders and hitches up his jeans.
She knows that he’s not used to this. He’s not so debonair.
He will not meet her flirty glance or even her bold stare;
and yet she sees him peeking when it seems that she’s not looking.
It’s clear enough to her that something’s definitely cooking.
She’s been around the livestock so she knows the signs and causes,
yet a bull just gets right to it and a rooster never pauses.

The action quickens in the aisle where the bread shelves start.
She finally takes the upper hand and swerves into his cart.
The metal baskets scrape and crash and make an awful din.
She does not mind that people gawk. She finally has an in!
He blushes when she talks to him, and she is sure he nearly
takes her hand and flirts as he says, “Pardon,” very clearly.
He turns and walks her down the aisle. It is a date, almost.
Side by side they stroll until parted by a post

that splits the aisle in two and makes them part, then join again.
Though she is small and portly, and he is tall and thin,
they make a handsome couple. She can see their wedding stills.
She will pick the gown and flowers. He will pay the bills.
When they approach the registers, he tells her to go first.
They chat as the checker works. It almost seems rehearsed.

He asks about her family and certainly seems rapt.
The lives of mother, father, brother, sister clearly mapped.
Details others might find boring are engagingly related
and all the while his pupils stay entirely dilated.
He puts his thumb right through a peach, then grabs up a red apple,
and tells her that he’s noticed her in front of him in chapel,
sitting by her sister and wearing a blue hat.
Her sister’s hat was yellow.  He is sure of that.

When she asks him home to supper, he says, “Yes,” in nothing flat.
He talks to all her relatives and even holds the cat.
When her annoying sister talks and talks and talks,
he responds politely–he never even balks.
He finally admits that he’s engineered their meeting,
but still the news of it does not set her heart to beating.
Now it is family legend, the story of this mister,
with an unexpected ending. He was there to meet her sister!

 https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/three-letter-words/

NaPoWriMo 2015 Day 1: At 67–I Guess that It’s Too Late for Me to Live A Life Of Sin.

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In case you are wondering why I have two posts, they actually gave us an earlybird prompt on March 31, so we had two prompts for April 1.  No fooling!  Here’s the first one I wrote:

At 67

I guess that it’s too late for me to live a life of sin.
I’m simply going to have to make do with the life I’m in.
Although life’s dance has furnished me with many a wild whirl,
my past is littered with false starts at being a bad girl.

It seems that dirty dancing doesn’t fit my constitution,
for somehow I just seemed to fail the sexual revolution.
Strange sexual positions never seemed to please.
They only did my back in and ruined both my knees.

It’s much too late to try to build a palate for champagne,
for experience has taught me that it’s safer to abstain.
The guilt I felt for shoplifting had just one resolution.
I felt the only answer lay in complete restitution.

Cocaine made my nose drip and pot just made me fat.
And that’s how I got into the position where I’m at.
Too chubby now for hot pants and too frigid for them, too,
I’ve found that there is only one more thing for me to do.

Rather than complete the acts that formerly I would,
it’s easier to only do the tame things that I should.
So though I must confess my bad girl days are at a halt,
I’ll admit I am a paragon merely by default!

Today’s Prompt: Lamentation for the other lives we could have led is something we probably have all felt. Today, why not try writing your own poem that begins “I guess it’s too late to live . . . .

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/fool-me-once/

Tax Time is Most Taxing

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Tax Time is Most Taxing

I don’t like doing taxes. I’d rather eat a rat.
I saved all my receipts for sure but don’t know where they’re at.
I should have printed up reports and put them on a spindle,
for now I cannot find out what I’ve taken in from Kindle
or Amazon. Their tax sites are really just a maze.
After roaming them for hours, I fear I’m in a haze.
Money spent for doctors and dentists must be here.
I’ve even asked a Ouija Board that says I’m getting near
to where they remain hidden under piles of other papers.
If I lived in another age, I know I’d have the vapors.

The time that I have left is surely waning and not waxing.
And things just keep on getting worse–for tax time is most taxing.
Next year I will do better.  I’ll start out nice and early
and tax time will be easier and I will be less surly.
I’ll pat myself upon the back for files filled with slips
alphabetical and neat–no coffee spills or rips.
I will know to the penny what I spent on medicine.
I’ll save up all my dentist bills, fastened with a pin.
All my insurance payments and social security
will be neatly filed–correct from A to Z.

But as to this year’s taxes, I fear I’m out of luck.
I shake my head over the forms and murmur “What the – – – -?
I do not want to do this.  I fear I’m in a mess.
I want to write a letter to the I.R.S.
giving them my bank account and telling them my pin,
for I fear my patience is growing rather thin.
“Just take whatever cash you need and leave enough for me
to live upon ’til I expire in two thousand-five-three.”
Instead, I go back to my desk to sort another pile.
Please don’t e-mail, phone or text. I’m busy for awhile!!

The Prompt: Set It To Rights–Think of a time you let something slide, only for it to eat away at you later. Tell us how you’d fix it today.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/set-it-to-rights/

Fault Lines

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Fault Lines

She lives up on a hillside far from the busy town,
and every year she lives there, she’s less likely to come down.
Her dog sits on her house’s dome and barks at all that pass.
One day she’ll likely join it, but for now she feels it’s crass.
Besides, she’s not that agile.  She seems to fall a lot–
merely due to clumsiness. A drinker, she is not.

She spends too much on artwork. The results hang down her halls,
sit upon her furniture and cover all her walls.
Her closets? Full to bulging with sizes large to small.
Her friends keep telling her there is no need to keep them all,
but to toss the ones that do not fit would cause her great duress.
She cannot throw any away, for next year she’ll weigh less.

Her refrigerator is her favorite scenic spot,
though entering’s an adventure with dangers amply fraught:
dog food barely balanced on a small sweet pickle jar
she has to brush against to get to where the short ribs are.
I’ve said that she is clumsy.  She doesn’t take her time.
This really isn’t new, for she was like this in her prime.

Her elbow strikes the pickle jar, the dog food comes out spinning.
They crash upon the tile floor. Our heroine stops grinning–
her thoughts no longer on the food but on the awful mess
of dogfood, pickles, broken glass–the rest you’ll surely guess.
The exercise that she will get mopping all this glop up.
will surely compensate for all the ribs she’ll later sop up.

And so she’ll lose her weight again and fit in that size eight.
As soon as this feat comes to be, he’ll ask her for a date.
Her dog will come down from the roof and she’ll come down the hill.
Her fridge and all her closets will suddenly unfill.
She’ll sell the art and cease to fall and fulfill all her scheming.
For the sixth thing true about her is that she’s prone to dreaming!

The Prompt: Far from Normal–Take a step back and take a look at your life as an outsider might. Now, tell us at least six unique, exciting, or just plain odd things about yourself.

For more writing on this topic go here: https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/far-from-normal/

Today’s prompt was really “Plead the Fifth” about a question we hate to answer.  We were given the choice of an alternate prompt, which is the one I chose, but ironically, it was one I didn’t want to answer so my post really fulfills both prompts.  Tricky.  If you want to see today’s prompt and other answers to it, you will find it:  HERE.

The War of the Words (Love and War)

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 The War of the Words

The words packed tight within my mind
seek the empty page.
They fly like hummingbirds and hawks
escaping from their cage.
But when all my empty places
I seek to fill again,
too many words rush in at once,
creating such a din
that nothing can be made of them.
I cannot restore order
in these alien syllables
that flood across my border.

I did not think these previous lines.
They just crept up on me.
I place them here upon the page
and thereby set them free.
They have no place within my head
where I had plans to write
a valentine or love poem.
Instead, they spar and fight.
One trying to beat the others
to the front line of my mind.
Love words elbowing their way
through “sensitive” and “kind.”

So shyness steps on anger’s toes
and sloth runs out of steam
trying to reclaim the place
where words like it must dream.
I no longer know the purpose
that I set out upon
I fear the mood is broken–
my concentration gone.
The thought that any love poem
will come is now absurd.
Ten minutes ago I was in love,
but now I have been cured!!

The Prompt: Write an Ode to something or someone you love. Bonus points for poetry.

Happy Valentine’s Day!!!!!