Tag Archives: humorous poem

Nose Job

Nose Job
The precipitant of my angst is this macro of my nose.
I didn’t vie for this when my friend asked me to pose.
I thought she’d use my profile in a locket or some token,
not knowing that she’d use it for purposes unspoken.
If she had told me earlier what the shot was for,
I would not have been compliant. I’d have shown her to the door.
It’s true my nose is cone-shaped, but no one has ever rated it,
disparaged it or laughed at it or scoffed at or debated it.
So, her dad’s a plastic surgeon and what did he use it for?
Someone else the “after,” and my nose the “before!!!”
Yesterday a letter came–inside two hundred bucks
for my rights to the photo from the clinic mucky-mucks.
I’ve discovered I’m no beauty, and yet I’m charmed in life.
I just got a “nose job” without suffering the knife!!

 

Today’s prompt words are macro, profile, precipitant, cone and unspoken.

Memory Games

Memory Games

Half over-achiever, my other part is zen.
Sometimes I concentrate on now, other times, where I’ve been.
This morning’s evanescent. I can’t remember shit.
I know I found my car key but what did I do with it?

Ameliorating circumstances? Sorry. There are none.
I simply have no memory of what  I have just done.
I know I wrote a poem, but I can’t recall a bit.
I haven’t the foggiest memory of what I said in it!

It’s said I have good judgment and a judicious mind,
but as to short-term memory? I fear I’m in a bind.
I remember blow-for-blow what happened as a child.
My college years I recall well. My twenties are well-filed.

When I write, the memories pop readily to my brain.
It’s only hours later that the memories don’t remain
of what I have just written or the words that I have used.
The present and my recent past simply are not fused.

So if you want a memory, please choose one in my past.
The farther back, the better, if you want my reply fast.
Fifty years ago are fine. The details I’ll relate.
But details of this morning? I’m afraid you’ll have to wait.

Prompt words today are ameliorate, judicious, zen, evanescent and bit.

Orgulous of Orgulous!

Orgulous* of Orgulous!!!

I’m suffering from reluctance and a bit of perturbation
that is interfering with my blog’s administration.
Embarrassed for this rhyme, I’ve no proclivity to flout it.
I’m sure my stats will plummet. There is no doubt about it.

We’ll ascribe the blame to Ragtag, for “orgulous” is the word
they’ve chosen for our prompt today—a choice that is absurd.
Who uses it in common speech, or formal speech, in fact?
Any poem I used it in, I’d afterwards redact.

I’m not a jolly blogger. I’m delaying activation.
I feel no need to add to my reader’s education
by using words requiring their use of dictionaries.
I prefer clear writing that requires no further queries.

It’s habit that demands that I find a way around this.
But now I feel no further need to otherwise expound this.
I’ve flailed around in writing this. I edit and I stumble.
Tomorrow may they choose a word that is a bit more humble!

 

*Orgulous: haughty, proud, ostentatious, disdainful!.

Prompt words for today are stats, jolly, activation and orgulous. (Good grief!)

Boomerang Boy: New Syndrome Defined––Grown-up Kids Who Won’t Leave Home

Photo by Clem Onojeghuo on unsplash. Used with permission.

“In many countries, the phenomenon is so widespread that new terms have developed to describe it: bamboccioni [literally, big babies] in Italy, “hotel mama” in Germany, boomerang children in Australia, parasaito shinguru [single parasite] in Japan. These young men and women don’t leave home and don’t get married, because they only want to buy brand names and enjoy themselves and to live, as an ideology, at their parents’ expense. It’s nothing less than a pandemic.” https://www.haaretz.com/.premium-new-syndrome-grown-up-kids-who-stay-home-1.5336944

Boomerang Boy

If more interest charges he wishes to defray,
he needs to find a paying job without further delay.
He should at once take heed of my excellent advice
and give up on his former full-time job of shooting dice.

He might become a rose vendor, a troubadour or chef
or become the famous author of a roman a clef.
if only he would get a job, his parents would rejoice,
but, alas, sheer laziness is his career of choice,

The prompts today were rose, delay  and sacrifice.

Confessions of Hatface

Confessions of Hatface

My father calls me hatface because of my addiction
for wearing things upon my head because of my conviction
that I look prettier in hats or hairdos most original
to make me look exotic––French or Greek or aboriginal.

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I wear my cat under my arm, my socks upon my head.
Rather than be ordinary, I’d rather be dead.

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Sometimes I walk my rabbit. When he walks on his hind feet,
for sure, we’ve the attention of everyone we meet.
My rabbit sheds his rabbit skin and wears a shirt instead,
and me? I change my head socks and put bows upon my head.

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Our skin is very pliable. It stretches like Band-aids,
so Sis and I just pull it up in pretty little braids.

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In sunlight, flowers surprise me by sprouting from my head.

I never know what to expect when rising from my bed.

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I have two patron blackbirds perched one upon each shoulder.
They’d be perching on my head if they were any bolder.

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A bluebird doubles as my kite, the string held in its mouth.
Sometimes he flies me east or west, and sometimes we fly south.
I’m a very special girl. I’m not at all predictable––
a miracle that Jackie Hurlbert found me this depictable!

 

Thanks to Charmed Chaos for thinking up this picture prompt for dVerse Poets and to jackie Hurlbert for letting her use her beautiful paintings as prompts.  We were to choose one to write about, but I chose all of them. Click on her name to see more of her work.

Query for a Backseat Driver

Version 6

Query for a Backseat Driver

Your directional demands are wearing rather thin.
They’re wearing out my eardrums. Getting beneath my skin.
Must you demand in public? Must you always nag?
Have you all the answers in your Mary Poppins bag?
Must you simply always be so self-sure and so stolid?
Is there no effervescence in your dependably solid?
You always quote statistics, so I would like to hear
what is the percentage of the facts you know, my dear,
that you think would fit if you stuffed them up your rear? 

Prompt words for today are directional, percent, stolid and public.

 

Dinner Party Snafu–a Sonnet for NaPoWriMo 2019, Day 27

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Dinner Party Snafu

That tiny jar of olives on the shelf
called out to me to add them to my list
carefully planned by no one but myself
and yet, it’s true that I could not resist.

To add to salad, plotted from the first
to blend so perfectly into the meal
to whet the appetite and prompt the thirst
for my perfect wine-soaked succulent veal.

Who knew that bottle would be so well sealed
that it would remain steadfast to my grip?
meanwhile, the veal course cooled and congealed
as I used armpit, hand and tooth and lip

to try to budge those olives from their jar,
to spill them onto salad quickly wilting.
My guests called out for dinner from afar,
their hunger-weakened voices softly lilting.

Thus do dinner plans oft turn out Hellish
due to starter courses we can’t relish!


http://www.napowrimo.net/day-twenty-seven-5/