Tag Archives: humorous poetry

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Re”tire”ment

When I was younger, my mind turned on a dime.
I did what I had to do in very little time.
But now that I am older, things don’t go so fast.
I’m not “spur-of-the-momentish” as I was in the past.

I don’t throw big parties as I did in former days,
for dealing with the details just puts me in a haze.
I can’t do many things at once without getting confused.
Now I simply write my blog while once I danced and boozed!

At first I felt ashamed of how my life is slowing down,
hating that I do not seek the company of town.
But then I noted patterns in nature around me
and saw that this is simply how our lives are meant to be.

Each thing in its season and each thing in its time
is how our lives are ordered—to accept this is sublime.
Why do I need to live my youth and middle age again?
Why not just accept that this is how my life has been

and go on to the next stage without sadness or regret—
going on to see just how much better life can get?
Yes, it is the pits to get arthritic, slow and hazy;
but we are compensated by excuses to be lazy!

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Heat is On.” Do you thrive under pressure or crumble at the thought of it? Does your best stuff surface as the deadline approaches or do you need to iterate, day after day to achieve something you’re proud of? Tell us how you work best.

Bogged Down in Blog

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Bogged Down in Blog

It’s hard to write while traveling–
your half-knit thoughts unravelling
as they call you in to talk
or have a meal or take a walk.

You sleep in other people’s houses,
wrinkles in your unpacked blouses,
possessions jumbled in your cases,
move at unfamiliar paces.

You live a life that’s not your own–
daily walking, driven, flown
while trying to remember faces,
confused by all these different places.

In the past I adored going–
miles passing, airwaves flowing.
I loved to move like a rolling log,
but that was when I didn’t blog!!!

Now I find I’m scurrying.
Wake up already hurrying.
I’m confused and frankly dumb,
forgetting where I’m coming from

as well as where I’m going to.
I’ve lost a sock and lost one shoe.
Still, I find time to write each day,
here in some room, hidden away.

This daily writing’s an addiction
that makes real life a dereliction!
I short my hosts to do my writing.
I’ve given up my life for citing!


The Prompt: State of Your Year–How is this year shaping up so far? Write a post about your biggest challenges and achievements thus far.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/

To Do

Dust the knickknacks, mop the floor?
Both can be a dreadful chore.
Dishwashers call for loading dishes–
another task beyond my wishes.

Window-washing tires me out–
strains my back and makes me pout.
Washing clothes and ironing?
Cleaning ovens? Not my thing.

I could rave on,  task after task,
but a better question you might ask
as we survey chore after chore:
What is the job I don’t abhor?

Cleaning isn’t any fun.
That’s why I hire my housework done

 

The Prompt: Those Dishes Won’t Do Themselves–What’s the household task you most dislike doing? Why do you think that is — is it the task itself, or something more?

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/those-dishes-wont-do-themselves-unfortunately/

Baker’s Dozen (Only So Much Forgiveness to Go Around)

Baker’s Dozen
(Only So Much Forgiveness to Go Around)

I forgive you for hogging the covers
and eating the last cookie, too.
I forgive you for doing the crossword
that I was intending to do.

I forgive you for bringing the dog home
that you never have walked even once
and for donating genes to our children
that turned them each into a dunce.

I don’t mind your poker night forays
or the damage you do to my car,
or the fact that your minimal salary
really can’t stretch very far.

Your spare tires and the fact that you’re balding
really don’t bother me much.
I’ve grown used to your slobbery kisses,
and the foreplay no more than a clutch.

But there’s one thing that you always do, dear,
that rouses my most  primal scream,
for I had made plans for a tryst with
that last pint of chocolate ice cream!

The Prompt: Forgive and forget
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/forgive-and-forget/

May Day!!!

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May Day

When I was seven and when I was ten,
the meaning of May Day was different back then.
It conjured up candy or flowers and fun
not fear of a shipwreck or missile or gun.

We’d construct baskets of paper and glue,
put in some candy and a flower or two–
marshmallow peanuts so rubbery and chewy,
jelly beans, candy corn, gumdrops so gooey.

From a big ribbon, they’d hang like a fob
so the basket could hang from a door handle knob.
We’d sneak to a friend’s house and ring the doorbell,
leave the basket and take off, running like Hell.

If anyone caught us, a prize they would seek–
a slap on the arm or a kiss on the cheek.
The boys gave the slaps and the girls gave the kisses–
(the reverse of our wishes for all of us “Misses.”)

For friends who lived farther than six blocks away,
our parents would drive us some time in the day
before school or after to deliver our gifts.
We escaped easier when we had lifts.

We once strung a Maypole  from tether ball staff
that was rather disastrous—more of a laugh
than a sweet springtime rite filled with dancing and grace.
When our ribbons got tangled, they laughed in our face.

When our class bully fell down, exposing her panties,
we all joined in with our uncles and aunties,
our moms and our dads and even the teachers,
the school board, the doctor, the priest and the preachers.

Everyone roared at this May Day disaster,
then we picked up our ribbons and ran even faster,
some unfortunate dancers wrapped tight to the pole
until finally the school bell began its slow toll,

telling us all to disband and depart,
weak from the laughter and lighter of heart.
A day in my memory much better than payday–
the one time when May Day was also a mayday!

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/your-life-the-book/

Poetry Pays!!!

Poetry Pays!

Quatrains for carrots, couplets for peas,
I’m writing out haiku whenever I please
for rib eyes and cheesecake and chili and cheese,
to visit the doctor whenever I sneeze,
to buy a new sweater to ward off the breeze,
to buy a new car and a ring for its keys,
to barter for kneecaps when I’m out at the knees,
and cartons of cigarettes until I wheeze.
I’m lucky to have a profession well-paying.
Poetry’s lucrative. Ignore what they’re saying.
If you are planning on going to college
for profit as well as for wisdom and knowledge,
if you want to live well in this difficult time,
be sure that you learn how to scan and to rhyme!!!

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/barter-system/

NaPoWriMo 2015, Day 1: Following Your No’s

Following Your No’s

It is not fuzzy and is not hot.
(It’s hard describing what it’s not.)
It has no eyeballs but has a mouth.
Cannot go up but prefers south.
When it takes a trip, you go along.
It’s lauded in many a poem and song.
It likes to run but has no feet,
asks no permission to leave its seat.
It has no cheek but is a Tongue.
When it’s a man, it is not young.
It is no planet but is a Moon,
I fear this poem can’t end too soon.
I’m tired of saying what it ain’t.
This negativity makes me faint.
If you don’t know what I’m describing,
it’s a lie that you are not imbibing.
It’s clear that you ‘re not listening–
not noticing that I’m glistening.
How many clues do you need to get?
It’s not just me who is all wet!!

The NaPoWriMo Prompt: A Poem of Negation–Write a poem that involves describing something in terms of what it is not.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/tagline/
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/fool-me-once/

Tagline Deprived

Tagline Deprived

Rockefeller, Stanislavsky, Jones or White or Brown–
some names smack of commonness, others of renown.
We are born with surnames, then get given names and pet names.
Whether born or given, it is sure that we will get names.

Folks who do not like their names choose names that are more regal,
then change themselves to suit the names once they have become legal.
Mark Twain is a pen name, and Saki, too, was one.
And Chloe Wofford took the name of Toni Morrison!

Writers need names for their pens and actors for the screen.
Afterwards, the names their parents gave are rarely seen.
Allen Konigsberg  shifted his first name to his last,
assumed the name of Woody, and the man became a blast!

Jennifer Anastassakis is difficult  to say,
but Aniston is simple to recall from day-to-day.
Some call others names  that are pejorative or racial,
or names based on peculiarities of form or facial.

Whether we are large or small, hirsute or merely bald–
all these factors might affect what nickname we’ll be called.
“Gordo, Freckles, Skinny, Baldy, Curly, “Hey there, Chubs!”
The ones called by these names find little humor in these dubs.

Crooks and other felons assume pseudonyms because
It hides their identity while hiding from the fuzz.
But in this modern age, the name game is more specialized.
Great-grandmothers and grandfathers would be so surprised

at all the different names we need for social media.
It’s gotten so we need a name encyclopedia
to help us figure out the names for new identities
what’s more, to help us out with all the lingo, if you please.

I do not know.  What is this hashtag? What’s a tagline, too?
When I read this prompt, I swear I knew not what to do.
And so I wrote this lengthy poem of pseudonym and name,
only to look up “tagline” and find, much to my shame,

it has nil to do with hashtags or name tags or of title,
screen names, pen names, pet names or of this whole name recital!
It’s just a simple phrase of who I am and how I cope.
If I had done a little research, I would not be such a dope.
I could have looked it up in Google or in other online books.
Instead, I fear I’ve earned this tag:  “She writes before she looks!”

The Prompt: Tagline–Often our blogs have taglines.  But what if humans did, too?  What would your tagline be? (Would that I had researched this topic before writing.)

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/tagline/

Hue-bris

Hue-bris

I painted every living room wall,
but did not like the hue at all.
It did not match the sofa right.
It was too orangey and bright.

And so I sought to alter it
with another color over it.
A watery glaze applied with care
cancelled out that awful glare.

I did not like the yellow alone,
but thinly o’er the other tone
it did the trick and looked superb.
One color did the other curb.

Carefully on a section ample
I painted out a color sample
to show the painter what to do–
watered yellow over orangeish hue.

He was an artist and had an eye
for form and structure, grass and sky
but his talent was not English or
my talent was not Spanish, for

when I came home at end of day,
my cry was one of real dismay.
What had he done, this artist fellow,
but take the undiluted yellow

and cover all the orange up?
The room looked like a buttercup!
I shook my head in real distress.
It clashed with sofa, hair and dress.

Next day, the paint store saw me coming.
The owner smiled and started humming.
Money in hand, I came each day
to pay and pay and pay and pay.

Alas, selections were not ample.
I knew they did not have a sample
right for me and so I got
ten liters of yellow and also bought

orange and white and brown and green,
blue and every hue between.
I took them home and mixed them up–
tint after tint in a gallon cup.

And pretty soon I had a stew
of every little shade and hue
and when I put it on the wall,
I found it was the best of all!

It matched my sofa and my eyes.
It clashed not with the lawn nor skies.
It went with pictures, sculpture, table.
I mixed as much as I was able,

then called the painter and asked him when
he could paint my room again.
This time I watched as he covered up
wall after wall from my mixing cup.

Now four layers grace my sala wall
each over each, one under all.
White, then orange, yellow and
that lovely concoction mixed by my hand.

In other rooms, each wall I made
a different hue of blue or jade
or red or mustard, orange or gold.
My house is varied and very bold.

Guests say they like the colors I chose
but when they see the gold or rose,
they cannot possibly suppose
how many colors are under those!


The Prompt: orange. and also, Hello, Goldilocks–Write about a time you had a Goldilocks experience, exploring different choices and finally arriving at “just right.”  https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/daily-prompt-4/

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UFOs At Roswell

UFOs at Roswell

Roswell has been debunked, I hear. There’s nothing there at all.
And yet, I’d like to be a fly clinging to its wall.
I think there really might have been a craft and little men,
or something left of evidence that once they might have been.

A piece of foil or metals rare–some say they found them there.
Others just say weather balloons–nothing very rare.
Some say they saw a little man taken from the craft,
while government officials say they’re merely daft.

I do not know the truth of it but keep an open mind,
for minds that are not open qualify as blind.
And if Wikipedia is right in ruining all our fun,
then maybe I’ll just fly over to Area Fifty-One.


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roswell_UFO_incident

The Prompt: Fly on the Wall–If you could be a “fly on the wall” anywhere and at any time in history, where and when would you choose? https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/fly-on-the-wall/