Day’s End
One more stitch in the garment of life.
The NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a Monostich Poem–a one-line poem. (I couldn’t resist the pun.)
Day’s End, NaPoWriMo 2024, Day 11, Monostich Poem
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Tag Archives: bad puns
Penultimate/Ultimatepen, For The Daily Prompt, Jan 5, 2024
Penultimate/Ultimatepen
He said they couldn’t fence him for he liked to roam free.
No sty could ever hold him. No captive pig was he.
That he was a wild pig was true without a doubt.
As soon as they would pen him in, in seconds he’d break out.
But the farmer, too, was resolute. As his prize pig departed,
he vowed that he’d contain him. He wouldn’t be outsmarted.
He built a sturdy metal fence, and then he strung it higher—
woven fine and tight of the premium barbed wire.
Then he caught Porky and closed him in, determined that he’d win,
for it wasn’t up to any pig to refuse his fencing-in.
But indeed the pig devised again a means by which he left,
leaving the farmer feeling defeated and bereft.
Once more caught and then re-penned and taking his repast,
the pig had not a clue that this meal would be his last.
This escape his penultimate, now the die was cast.
His days of glorious freedom, alas, were in the past.
Then, his last meal finished, he made his next advance
toward a fence reconstructed, ready to take his chance.
But, alas, he’d met his match. Escape would never be,
for the farmer had infused the fence with electricity.
This time not the penultimate, it was the ultimate pen,
for Porky has been seen, I fear, just one more time since then.
Spread out on a platter, an apple in his jaws,
his final feat a foolish one, bound to give one pause.
When he said they couldn’t pen him in, I fear poor Porky lied,
for when he hit the fence this time, in minutes, he was fried.
Ham that he was, I fear that poor Porky’s lot was cast.
For the pen after the penultimate turned out to be his last.
Probably not the first time a pig who was a sinner
paid the price for it by turning into Easter dinner.
“Slang with a Bang” For Fibbing Friday. Last of the Year!! 2023
Auld slang syne this week: Your interpretations please!
1. Sling your hook: What the doctor said he was going to do to Mohammed Ali when he was taken to the emergency ward with a broken left arm after his last fight.
2. Here’s mud in your eye: What the female mud wrestler said to her opponent just before she trashed her eye makeup.
3. Bun in the oven: Describing Jennifer Lopez as she stuck her head into the oven to test the temperature.
4. Twinkle Toes: Anyone going barefoot in the Mardgras parade.
5. Moolah: Money spent on enlarging one’s cattle herd.
6. Brazillian: A new term above million and trillion that described Playtex’s total income.
7. Airhead: What they call the bathroom on a jet.
8. Goof off: The challenge is not punctuated correctly. It is what Goofy said to Pluto when he was ready for him to abandon his lap. It should read,
Goof: “Off!”
9. Mickey Mouse: Request made by Cinderella, arriving home exhausted from the ball. Also a bit tipsy, thus her stutter as well as her need to request help in opening the door from one of her tiny rodent companions. “Mi-c-key, Mouse!”
10. Razz: Really good with Red Beans.
For Pensivity’s Fibbing Friday. Dec 29, 2023 Image by Lawrence Makoonah on Unsplash
Pants on Fire (For Fibbing Friday, Oct 20)
We were tasked to define these words for Fibbing Friday today:
(Where does Pensitivity come up with these words????/)
1. Eunoia: A condition of continuing Intense aggravation in dissenters to Great Britain’s joining the European Union
2. Fika: A misspelled federal insurance program
3. Redamancy: The state of being a Native American
4. Aliferous: The description of someone who has had one too many beers.
5. Peiskos: What they call tiny pastries in the Soviet Union.
6. Querencia: A psychotic condition that comes about from asking too many questions in rapid succession.
7. Metanoia: A term used to describe women who have turned down too many marriage proposals.
8. Ataraxia: What they called Scarlet O’hara’s state of claustrophobia at the end of the Civil War after being confined to Tara for too long.
9. Lagom: What the French call “Double Bubble,” generically.
10. Apricity: What one calls the country area on the outskirts of Paris.
(Please forgive me for I know not what I pun!)
A Valediction Forbidding Morning
Disclaimer: John Donne wrote “A Valediction Forbidding Mourning.” This is not that poem!!!
A Valediction Forbidding Morning
When the moon is at its peak
It is the nighttime’s time to speak
words worthy of our full attention
yet this is a mere audition.
Another speaker’s coming soon
who has hopes to debate the moon.
The sun will soon commence to snivel
that moon’s sentiments are drivel.
Thus day and night both ebb and flow
informing us by what they show
of light and dark and sun and moon,
all of their phases gone too soon.
Each noonday sun flashing its warning,
every moon forbidding morning
while warning the ladybug
to check her babies are all snug,
for as the sun climbs ever higher,
it might set her house on fire.
Prompts for the day are valediction, drivel, audition, worthy, peak and ladybug.
Defences Make Good Neighbors
Defences Make Good Neighbors
My neighbor is gregarious but I never talk back,
although I feel I’ll detonate for rejoinders I lack.
They all swell up inside me because they come too late
to be used against her in a retaliatory debate.
If only I’d known what to say before it was too dated,
but alas, past tirades can’t be rejuvenated.
Her face and clothes are scrumptious, but her view of life is black.
She sees the worst in people, and it turn they see it back.
Every time I look at her, no matter how I try,
I only see a personage that I want to pass by.
So all her earthly beauty, her jewels and her clothing
cannot compensate for a world of mutual loathing.
Prompts for today are rejuvenate, before, scrumptious, detonate, look, black and gregarious. Image by Christian Wiediger on Unsplash.
My apologies to Robert Frost for parodying his last line of “Mending Wall.” (Good fences make good neighbors.) Actually, eight years ago I wrote a parody of his poem as well. HERE it is if you aren’t already tired of the topic.
Old Bones on a Long Hike
Old Bones on a Long Hike
Traipsing along under vanilla skies,
the splatters of rain came as little surprise.
Then the spray of the sea salt blew into my eyes,
providing my tears a means of disguise.
Climbing the hillside, away from the surf,
my ancient legs struggled with the rough turf.
Once I tripped lightly whereas now I trod
with difficulty over each giant clod.
But then a companion looks down from the view
and points out it’s wild ginger we’re struggling through.
Regaining my humor, I start to have fun,
always a sucker for a corny pun,
for without a clue and with no way of knowing,
I’ve been gingerly coming and gingerly going.
For the dVerse Poets prompt, we were given a list of spices and asked to include at least three in our poem. I couldn’t find a picture of me hiking lately (for good reason) but could only find this photo of me in my twenties, perhaps imagining how I’d be fifty years from now ????
The Rear Admiral Earns His Title
The Rear Admiral Earns His Title
The ensign and Rear Admiral, together in a boat,
after their ship’s sinking, the only ones afloat,
were trying to determine what caused their craft to sink,
dumping them at midnight from their sleep into the drink.
“Who’s at fault?” they speculated.
What misdeed had instigated
this horrific interlude
that left them soaked and nearly nude?
What meeting could be worse?
Could any tryst be more adverse?
And thus they squandered precious time
in expostulations and in mime
when they could have better plotted
in the time they were allotted
how to get out of this mess,
for it’s true, I must confess
that the boat they were in now
had a knothole in the bow
and as they fussed and fretted,
their feet and then their legs were wetted
by seawater seeping in
that was soon up to their chin,
and of the highest and the lowest
the one who turned out to be slowest
was cast out upon the sea,
claiming his priority,
while the one who was most rapid,
keen of eye and much less vapid,
grabbed the only life vest there
where there should have been a pair,
and shifted into his high gear
leaving the admiral in the rear.
Prompts for today are: meeting, squander, instigate, ensign and fault.
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 flag, gumption, oxymoron, whack and boisterous.
Coronavirus and the Corner Bar
Coronavirus and the Corner Bar
He scrubbed the bar with cleanser and moved apart the chairs
with six feet in between them and just a few in pairs.
He sterilized the counter with that gelatinous goo
that had become ubiquitous, as he was told to do.
He laid off all his servers and bartended well-masked,
ready to do with diligence whatever he was asked.
Yet his barstools sat neglected, for no one came to play
and his profit margin was shrinking every day.
His savings were depleted by rent and overhead
as all his favorite regulars stayed at home in bed.
When he looked at the percentages, he knew he had to act.
In one month he’d be ruined—bankrupted, in fact.
He took a bottle of the gin he’d used to such acclaim,
forgot vermouth and olives, taking careful aim,
to spill it down the counter where it ran down to the rug,
then upset a candle and departed with a shrug.
Carefully he locked the door, got in his car and left.
Basically broken-hearted, feeling gutted and bereft.
He saw flames in his rear-view mirror, his problems rectified
as he took the only out, committing barmecide.
Prompts for today are cleanser, basic, barmecide, acclaim and percentage. Photo by Jack Prichett on Unsplash, used with permission.
P.S. If you wondered, as I did, what “barmecide” really means, as an adjective it means illusory or imaginary and therefore disappointing. As a noun, it means a person who offers benefits that are illusory or disappointing. Nope, I just couldn’t inflict that upon you.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 