Tag Archives: humorous poem

Slashin’ Fashion

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Slashin’ Fashion

We used to think that what we wore in public really mattered.
No one wanted to appear in clothing ripped and tattered.
But now it seems the custom is to vintage-up our fashion
like it has been ripped apart in the throes of passion.

Everywhere we go, bare skin is brashly popping out
as though we can’t afford new jeans and it’s a thing to flout.
When we gain weight we do not have to buy a bigger jean,
we simply use our scissors to augment the space between!

Old men shake their heads in shock and nearly lose their dentures,
and yet these wanton ladies draw their looks as well as censures,
for when they rouge their cheeks, they do not deal with only two.
Now they have to prep  four cheeks for the world to view.

 

I worked on this poem for over an hour and when I tried to add an illustration, I lost it all!  Nowhere to be found. Nowhere in drafts.  Yes, a bit of cussing. I don’t know about you, but after I’ve written something, I forget it completely, so I had to start out again from scratch.  This time it went more quickly, though, and although it is generally the same idea, you know what they say about the one that got away!

This time I’m copying it into my sticky notes before I try to save and illustrate it.  This is the first time I haven’t done so in a long time and now I remember why I always did so! Image found on the internet.  No credits given.

The Daily Addictions prompt is augment.
The Ragtag prompt is vintage.

Judgement Day

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Judgement Day

I’m not too keen on spelling judgment without an “e.”
It simply doesn’t look right spelled that way to me!
Judge like fudge sure has one and grudge and pudge, the same.
Judgement makes so much more sense. Judgment is just lame!
“g” without an “e” is jug. That “e” when you renounce it,
and put a “d” before it? Impossible to pronounce it!
Arrangement has an “e” in it, so it just makes sense
to put an “e” in judgement, unless you’re really dense!
Merriam-Webster has it right when they say to use either.
Those that say you cannot just need to take a breather.
Those are all my arguments for spelling Judgement right.
So now it is not my fault if you do not see the light!!!!

The Ragtag prompt today is keen.
FOWC’s prompt today is judgment.

Caught Short

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Caught Short

Caught short by the rainy season, I should have known better.
Though I’d left home high and dry, I knew I’d soon be wetter.
Defenseless  in the downpour, I ducked into a store.
Just to get some shelter,  I rushed in through that door.

I felt that I was lucky as this store was full of stuff,
though finding what I needed might be sort of tough.
The store clerk shuffled up to me, though he could barely stand—
an umbrella just as old as him held up in his hand.

Lucky when I chanced upon this ancient wrinkled fella,
he happened to be carrying a really big umbrella!
I opened up my pocket book and located a fiver.
Now I wouldn’t spend this day wet as a scuba diver!

But when I left that thrift store with my practical new find,
I found that I was actually in the same old bind.
For opening up my parasol, I uttered “What the heck?”
as rivulets of water ran down my head and neck.

The purchase I’d just made, I found, would be no help at all.
I hadn’t noticed that the shop was St. Vincent de Paul.*
The fault was no one else’s.  I know it was mine, solely.
I should have realized sooner that my purchase would be holy!

 

*St. Vincent de Paul is a secondhand store run by the Catholic Church.

 

The Daily Addictions prompt was Ancient. This poem was published under a different name four years ago.

Family Night

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Family Night

Grandma’s tired of pussyfooting, Mama’s tired of tact.
Daddy has lost his silken tongue. I fear that is a fact.
Grandpa has no further wish to sugar coat and pander.
We’ve had an epidemic of hereditary candor! Continue reading →

The Little Potus goes “Tweet, Tweet, Tweet”

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When My Baby Walks down the Street,
I Bet the Little Potus goes “Tweet, Tweet. Tweet”

Alas, it seems our head of state
so schooled in the realms of hate,
lacks the wisdom to placate
by offering to abdicate.

No matter that so many hate
this fool behind the White House gate,
he just simply doesn’t get it
and is too dimwit to regret it.

He just blunders through his life
seducing one more colleague’s wife.
He lays on hands wherever they
deign to wander, deign to stray

(up every nearby skirted ass.)
But one, at least, he gave a pass.
He must have reigned it in ( I hope)
when he visited the Pope.

Much as his tweets excoriate
all of his enemies of state,
if he were smarter, he would see
He is his own worst enemy.

 

Fandango’s prompt for the day is placate.

Simple-Minded

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Simple-Minded

I’m a hayseed sort of girl. I don’t believe in fancy.
To me, anything foreign is likely to be chancy.
I don’t eat things like escargot. I shudder at foie gras.
I buy my shoes in canvas, but never peau de soie.
When folks speak French to order food, I find it most pretentious,
and when they draw me into it, I’ll likely grow contentious.
I don’t like words that prettify. I view them angrily.
Like au courant, je ne sais quoi, pardon or vis-á -vis.
Why don’t folks just eat and say what comes naturally?
I think it’s done to irritate simple gals like me!

 

For Fandango’s Daily Word Prompt: Simple

“My Humorous Anecdote” by Sarah Southwest (Reblog)

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I love this poem that Sarah wrote for dVerse Poets this week.  I’ll prime the pump, then you need to go to her blog to read the rest:

My Humorous Anecdote 

                                 –by Sarah Southwest

We have a funny story
that we often try to tell,
so funny, when we start it,
we giggle for a spell

We can’t remember how it starts
or recall how it ends,
so perhaps we shouldn’t share it
with our dinner party friends

but it’s really so amusing,
it always makes us smile,
so we keep on trying to tell it,
and we struggle for a while –

we argue on location,
can’t recall the time of day,
but it was so hilarious,
we must tell you, we say, . . . .

(To read the rest of this poem, go to:  Sarahsouthwest’s Blog.

Green Brownies

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Green Brownies

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(This poem evolved from notes that I scribbled into the margin
of our Mexican Train score sheet while visiting my friend Gloria.)

Green Brownies

The brownie that she serves me
crumbles when I try to break it in half.
Her sense of humor allows it and so I tease her.
“Gloria, this looks like the kind of food
my grandmother tried to pawn off on us—
weeks old and crusty from the refrigerator.”

“Those chocolate chips were like that when I bought them!”
she insists, even before I question their green tinge.
I think that this is even worse than the alternative,
and say so and we both laugh as she eats her brownie
and I reduce mine to dust. Not a hard task, as it turns out.

She’s had a bad infection for a week or more.
“I’m not contagious,” she insists each time she coughs
a long low rasping rumble that threatens to avalanche.
“Now stop!” she tells the sounds that explode
without permission from her chest.

“Perhaps,” I say, “These brownies are a godsend
and that’s penicillin growing on the chocolate chips.”
Then her deep coughs transform into
gasps of laughter that echo mine.

The young man there to rake the garden
looks up at us and shakes his head
at two old ladies drinking rum and
eating something chocolate,
and it occurs to me that perhaps
what the world sees as senility
is simply evolution
out of adulthood
to a higher
stage.

 

 

Are you feeling a sense of deja vu? This is a reblog of a piece I wrote four years ago. The WordPress prompt word today was infect.

Loud Music in the Rainy Season

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Click on any photo to enlarge all.


Loud Music in the Rainy Season

Up above me, such a din!
I feel my patience growing thin.
Cross fingers that they do not fall
as workmen scamper over all,
balancing on domes and peaks,
replacing roof tiles, sealing leaks.

They’re taking the old surface off
all my domes and drainage trough,
putting membrane down and goo
that will not let the water through
in June when rains beat hard and steady,
although, alas, they’ve come already!

The dogs are sent into a tizzy.
Looking up, I just get dizzy.
In this world that I love so,
down here in lovely Mexico,
now the grinder joins the din.
In a noise Olympics, it would win!

My thoughts all center on escaping
this chipping, drilling, pounding, scraping.
How I’d like to leave this all
for relative quiet at the mall!
But, alas, I must remain
a martyr to construction pain.

Ear plugs having no effect,
before my sanity is wrecked,
I turn up music to a SHOUT
to let Bob Dylan drown them out.
Now Caitlin Cary croons and sings
that she is “Sorry” and other things.

Eliza Gilkyson’s rough croon
is over oh too soon, too soon.
The silence that her true love speaks
replaced now by the sander’s shrieks,
I turn the iPod on again,
full force, to drown out all the din.

I’ve no sympathy for the neighbors’ plight.
Their damn dog kept me up all night,
and if my eardrums are to be shot
I would rather that it’s not
by machines like those above,
but rather by a sound I love.

The prompt word today is “thin.”

Mongrel Maven

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Mongrel Maven

My bloodline’s scattered here and there—
a genealogist’s nightmare.
Racially, I’m broadly mixed.
The KKK would have me fixed.
My lineage being under-par,
I cannot join the D.A.R.
I have no claims to royalty,
so my name is title-free.
Who I am is merely me.
For this I need no pedigree!

 

The prompt word today is pedigree.