Tag Archives: humorous poetry

No Longer in the Present

jdbphoto

No Longer in the Present

Seated around the table in our favorite cafe,
attention to each other has come to be passé
We are not present here and now. We’re all in other places
as we stare at tiny screens, intent on other faces.

The friends we have around us will simply have to wait
for our interest in the world-at-large to finally abate.
The news that’s happening elsewhere is simply more amusing
than what might be happening in this space our body’s using.

Other friends are funnier in their “selfie” poses—
pooching out their lips at us and scrunching up their noses.
It won’t do to look natural, we have to look unique
in the selfsame pose that all selfie-flashers seek.

So if your friends are boring, not half so chic as you,
you always have the option to make a Tweet or two.
Check out the latest fashions available from China.
They’ll only take three months to reach you here in Carolina.

Check out the weather in Tibet and give YouTube a glance.
Companions won’t distract you if you don’t give them a chance.
Living one life at a time no longer has to do
so long as you remember to have your phone with you!

So if you’ve dropped a French fry and spilled ketchup down your dress,
you needn’t be embarrassed. It couldn’t matter less.
Intent on Twitter, Instagram, Facetiming and Facebooking,
the friends with you won’t notice, for nobody is looking.

The prompt word is present.

The Persistent Suitor

IMG_2115

The Persistent Suitor

He has no right to loiter here, has no permit to tarry.
He looks no more familiar than  Tom or Dick or Harry.
And yet he is persistent, as though it’s his profession.
He gives no apology and renders no confession.

One day he carries chocolates, another a bouquet,
yet they do not grant him access. They do not pave the way.
Then one day he’s missing.  He doesn’t grace her door.
She hears no insistent knocking. There are no offerings more.

All day, she thinks of him and where he might have chosen to wander.
It seems perhaps that once again, absence has led to fonder
reflections on the part of one who’s playing hard-to-get.
(She is noted for her skill at it among the party set.)

One more day he’s absent. She claims she doesn’t care.
It’s easier to leave her house without a suitor there.
Yet when he finally comes again, she opens up her door
flushed with her power to attract. Victorious to the core!

“Yes?” she says, one eyebrow lifted in disdain,
as though another suitor is an aggravating pain.
And the confidence of her suitor seems never to have swerved.
As he handed her an envelope and said, “Ma’am, you’ve been served!”

 

 

The prompt today was permit.

How Not to Walk a Crocodile

IMG_6200

How Not to Walk a Crocodile

I’ll admit, it’s been a while
since I walked a crocodile,
so my technique is rather rusty
and my memory is dusty.
Still, I’ll tell you if you sit awhile
how not to walk a crocodile!

Don’t walk him through the butcher shop.
The butcher will just call a cop.
Don’t visit bakeries at all.
His roar will cause the cakes to fall.
That store where Mother bought her dress?
No place to walk your croc, I’d guess.

And though your pet may need some air,
it’s best that you don’t take him where
small dogs are left out for our viewing
just right for crocodile chewing.
Dog parks do not work for crocs
Find a new place for your walks.

Don’t walk him on your grandma’s floor.
She’ll sweep you both right out the door.
Don’t take him to your Sunday School.
He’s sure to break the Golden Rule.
And if you take him to the deli,
no saying what ends in his belly.

I’ll share a secret with you now.
It is, I really don’t know how
to take a crocodile for a walk.
All of this has just been talk.
And can I guess by your big smile,
you do not have a crocodile?

I guess it was the recent sighting of a croc on the beach at night that sent this little ditty rushing into my head this morning. I would love to have someone illustrate this.  Anyone want to try? Send a sketch of your vision of the croc in one of the given situations. You can either email it to me or put it on your blog and send me a link!
Here’s a photo of the croc that was on the beach near the house I rent. You could see my house in the background if it were light! Photo by Susana Vijaya. (She estimated the croc to be 3 meters long!)

Update: If you’re not ready to leave croc world yet, here’s an oldie but goodie. (Thanks to Marilyn for the memory jog.)

Behaving French

Version 3

Behaving French

Today I find it suitable
to practice my inscrutable.
It’s part of my act femme fatale
that men can’t fathom me at all.

They’re wiles my mother taught to me
back when I was only three,
and I admit it’s served me well
putting bon vivants through hell.

When situations new astound me,
I wrap my femme fatale around me.
I use it everywhere I go,
’cause it’s the only French I know!

The prompt today is inscrutable.

Happy Ending

IMG_8769
Happy Ending

He was a follower, a grunt
who married a lass dominant.
She led, he followed in their dance.
He wore an apron, she the pants.
It was a perfect unity
if folks had only let them be;
but, alas, the other blokes
had to make the usual jokes.

They called him pussy-whipped and meek—
berated him as timid, weak—
and so, simply to please his mates,
to end their jeering cruel debates,
he went against his true love’s wishes
and refused to do the dishes.

The facts, there’s no need to imbue.
Both words and dinner plates, they flew.
He could not match her swift invective
of ways in which he was defective,
and so he simply stood and waited
until her fury was abated,
then asked this cyclone he had wed
if she would like to go to bed.

Their skirmish ended in romance.

He shed his apron, she her pants.
A worn-out lover well-behooves
a meeker husband in his moves,
and nothing like a little tiff
to make a timid fellow stiff.
Now that her angst had flared and passed,
he got to be on top, at last.

The prompt today is dominant.

More Hats

I couldn’t help it. I kept finding more hats in my photo files, so I had to share more with you! In penance, I wrote a new homage to hats named “Hat Envy.” You’ll find it after the photos. Click to enlarge. If you are on Facebook, you’ll only see a few photos and no poems unless you click on the title of the blog or the URL.

Hat Envy

Please tell me where you got your hat,
for I must have one just like that!
Are you sure it is unique?
Perhaps if I could have a peek
at the label, I could find
its maker to make two-of-a-kind.

You’re leaving? Then, sir, would you mind
if I just happened to walk behind?
If there’s no label, perhaps I could
see if your hat fits me good.

If I just tried it on a minute
I could see how I look in it!

You shake your head and walk away.
How rude of you, I have to say!
You say you do not want to see
the hat on you on top of me?
Keep it then, you silly nerd!
Upon reflection, your hat’s absurd!

 

For more hats, look HERE.

 

 

Cozy in My Skin

IMG_3144


Cozy in My Skin

I seem to fit my life now, I’m cozy in my skin.
No matter how far out it goes, I always fit right in.
When I gain a pound or two, my skin grows out to hold it,
and when my skin begins to sag enough for me to fold it,
my flesh grows out to fill it in. It’s become symbiotic.
That state of growing me out to my skin’s become hypnotic.

When encountering fresh pastries, a fugue state might ensue.
A box of chocolates empties, though I only ate a few.
Whole pizzas vanish in thin air, to my midnight grief.
They left the box behind them, this culinary thief!
The thought of uninvited guests is not very nice.
I make much of the mystery. Could it be dogs or mice?

Perhaps once more the kittens have discovered a way in
and at night when the lights go out, pursue their lives of sin.
Feasting on my pizza. Gorging on my pies.
Surveying my milk chocolate with their greedy feline eyes.
I spin a pretty fantasy, but the truths of this tale
are revealed to me each morning as I step upon the scale.

IMG_5405

The prompt word is cozy.