Tag Archives: Humor

Tropical Gig


Tropical Gig

A cricket and a katydid in need of some excitement
when the cold winds started, and with no other incitement,
set out on upon a sea journey, their ship an old guitar.
(It wasn’t very roomy. Oh, but it was yar!)

They christened her as Lulabelle after an old amor.
They thought they’d sail the whole wide world from shore to shore to shore.
Setting off from Mexico, they drifted with the breeze,
their water and provisions stacked up around their knees.

The cricket sang such lullabies. The katydid chimed in,
a catfish as a tagalong stroked rhythms on its fin.
Guileless in their motives, they sought no fame nor riches.
From port to port they drifted, with only minor glitches.

On Isla Mujeres, they met a small land crab
that had been used in research in an oceanic lab.
It lit up in the darkness with a thousand little lights.
And so they offered it a ride to light up starless nights.

They drifted off to Cuba atop an ocean swell,
telling all the stories that they had to tell.
Traitorous loves and conquests, flight through the summer night.
The sand crab told of capture after a valiant fight.

The cricket had such stories of houses he’d been in.
The katydid could mime a leaf: long and green and thin.
When they made their music, the crab just clacked its claws.
All night they chirred and clattered—sometimes without a pause.

By the time they got to Cuba, they had a stirring act.
They drew the gulls and pelicans to listen—it’s a fact!
They got a gig in Havana, playing in a bar,
drawing folks to hear them from both near and far.

The cricket’s name is Chirrup and and Katydid is Slim.
The Crab’s name is Oblongus—based on the shape of him.
Their act can be heard nightly in the ocean dunes,
where they will serenade you with their blended tunes.




Prompt words for today are guitar, guileless, traitor, research and excitement.

The Wager


The Wager

When I was a mere teenager,
my dad made a little wager.
Could I manage to exist
by guile and craft and will and fist

without allowance or assistance?
It was not at his insistence,
and in no way was I miffed
at his challenge aimed at thrift.

I packed a bag and caught a lift.
For one year I would simply drift.
Quietly would I abscond 
and win my keep as vagabond.

I’d leave a life humdrum and canned
to live a life less gray and bland.
And thus I started my vacation
around our great and varied nation.

In California, I mowed lawns,
in Texas, worked at shucking prawns.
Combined wheat in South Dakota.
Then made off for Minnesota.

Washing pots and dishing curry,
worked my way down to Missouri.
In Tennessee I met with luck
and crossed the whole state in a truck,

but by D.C. and Baltimore,
grunt labor had become a bore,
so when I finally reached the ocean,
suddenly I had the notion

to make a call to dad from son
telling him his son had won.
The call I made was not in vain,
for next day I was on a plane.

Tattered, back-sore, sunburned, chapped,
I showed my dad the miles I’d mapped.
He slapped my back and said, “Well, son,
you’ve done what I wished I had done

before I did each of those things
that doing what one ‘should’ do brings.”
He slapped a check into my hand
and promised college, job or land.

I would be sent to school or hired—
whatever now I most desired.
I told my dad I’d let him know
but for just now I had to go.

I hit the bank and cashed his check,
bought new clothes and washed my neck.
Grabbed my passport, kissed my mom,
let her feed me, dropped the bomb.

Hugged my dad, then counted coup
and hopped a plane for Katmandu.
I hadn’t traveled my last mile,
but from now on, I’d go in style!


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The prompt words today are drift, humdrum, abscond and wager.

Tongue in Cheek

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Tongue in Cheek 

If you cannot still your tongue and it tends to flutter,
my remedy’s a sandwich of bread and peanut butter.
It is the perfect cure-all. If your problem is your stuttering,
it quickly turns your dialogue into a slower muttering.
And if your daily habit is reorganizing clutter,
a palate full of pb gives a different way to putter. 

Although you may be jealous that I have a sure solution
for stuttering and puttering, please grant me absolution.
Don’t hold my thoughts against me as I offer resolution
to problems such as famine, global warming and pollution,
then give my sure-fire remedy for war and revolution.
I simply cannot help that I’m ahead in evolution!

I tend to wax nostalgic when I think of all the times
I’ve solved our planet’s problems within my daily rhymes,
for as I view predicaments in all the different climes—
political maneuverings and other selfish crimes—
all the foolish misdeeds best abandoned in our primes—
I feel I owe it to the world to dish out paradigms!!!

If my constant words of wisdom set your stomachs churning,
cause regret to fill your minds and set your eyes to burning,
if you reject solutions, thereby all my wisdom spurning,
considering “unfollowing” and never once returning,
please reconsider doing so. Try being more discerning.
And let me be your guru—your font of further learning!!!



The prompts today are putter, jealous, nostalgic and return. Here are links:

TrackRbravo Lament

TrackRbravo Lament

There was a little gadget I bought two years ago
but when it came to using it, I was a little slow.
Since instructions were too difficult, I maintained the status quo
and continued, when I lost my keys, to seek them high and low,

looking in the old way by fumbling through my purse,
perusing tabletops and hooks and wastebaskets and worse.
Every time I lost my keys, I’d fuss and swear and wheeze,
searching drawers and closets on my tiptoes or my knees.

But recently I found the box where I’d stowed the appliance
and decided that I’d make another try at an alliance.
I tested its small battery and found plenty of juice
to assure its assistance in my tracker’s use.

After struggling to get the battery inside
the little TrackRbravo disk where it would reside,
I fetched the brief instructions which accomplished not a thing.
I could not pair it to my phone, and it refused to ring.

I made a trip to YouTube which helped a small bit more.
When I pushed the button, I heard a small faint roar.
And after just an hour, I’d linked it to my phone.
No more would my keychain roam this earth alone.

At first I searched and searched and searched, and I searched in vain
for the spot upon my phone where I could complain
when I could not find the place where my keys had hidden
so I could find them in the spot to which I had been bidden.

When I finally found the spot—a paltry little dot,
where I had never thought to look, although I looked a lot—
I pushed the button and I heard for the initial time
my keychain’s piping little voice––it’s initiation chime.

As hard as this procedure was, I knew it could be worse,
and I felt a sense of power tossing keys into my purse
full of reassurance that I’d not be late
due to searching for my keys before my luncheon date.

But hours before I had to go, I heard a little buzz
making more disturbance than a mosquito does.
I tracked it to my table, then tracked it to my bag.
insistently, it whined at me––an annoying little nag.

I went back to my phone and found the place to quell its stammer,
then settled down to work again, relieved of all its clamor.
But then, alas, five minutes more, and it went off again.
It seems that it can’t wait for my request to start its din.

And so now, five hours later, I’ve been out and came back home.
I’m sitting at computer, composing this dumb poem.
I feasted with three favorite friends and I enjoyed it so,
but, alas, my TrackRbravo didn’t get to go.

I removed it from my car keys and stashed it far away
thinking that a quiet place its panic would allay.
But hear that little buzzing sound coming from my closet?
No matter what I try to do, I cannot seem to pause it.

And though I know what’s causing it, I cannot make it freeze.
It just goes off at random, whenever it may please.
Perhaps it’s looking for my keys and does not have a clue
and instead of just one problem, I find that I have two!


The prompt words today are closet, paltry, fetching and feast. Here are the links: