Tag Archives: humorous poetry

Zits (A Cure for Acne): WordPress Daily Post: Urgent

daily-life-color226-2I don’t know why we all look so pleased about that really big one on my chin.
Teenagers are a strange species. This photo circa 1961, summer camp.

Zits
(A Cure for Acne)

Hormones need an exit too,
and I fear, dear teen, it’s you
they choose to make their mark upon;
but rest assured, they’ll soon be gone.

The need for Retin-A is urgent
when a new batch becomes emergent,
and though you quell the vile insurgent,
all too soon it is resurgent.

The solution for you is not simple.
You might consider veil and wimple
that hide both blemish and that dimple,
or simply choose to pop the pimple.

And though your folks will foot your bill
to pop, instead, the pimple pill
or swathe your face with Clearasil,
another can show up, and will.

Most folks my age have reached concurrence,
so please accept our reassurance.
Against each crop there’s no insurance.
it simply takes faith and endurance.

You might obsess and cry and pout
and wonder what it’s all about;
but it will pass, without a doubt
when age replaces it— with gout.

The prompt word today was “Urgent.”

Change of Plans

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Change of Plans

On the day you finally realize
that you have gone up a size,
you vow that this time when you try it,
you’re going to stay upon your diet.

The problem is your kitchen’s fraught
with all the food that you just bought.
A trip to Costco sealed your doom,
for though you went to buy a broom

and paper towels and toilet paper,
once you began your shopping caper,
you had no choice except to go
past the chips and candy row.

And then the bakery, with those pies
and cakes right there before your eyes!
So now it seems you must defray
your diet for another day.

There is some force inside that store
so even purists shop for more.
One goes in steadfast, stoic, haughty,
and comes out gluttonous and naughty.

Forgive yourself. No mortal can go
into that store and simply stow
one item in their cart or two.
(Or even wind up with a few.)

The problem is the route you took
and the fact you chose to look.
You should have bought, it is the truth,
more lettuce and less Baby Ruth.

The prompt today was “Realize.”

Dispelling Dilemma

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Dispelling Dilemma

No matter how sad or distressing or gory,
for a writer, dilemmas become a new story.
You should forgive us, for the truth of it is
that the pathos of life provides part of the fizz.
We simply don’t know why there’s all of this fuss,
until the dilemmas happen to us.

 

The prompt word today was “Dilemma.”

 

Inelegant Obsession

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/elegant/

Inelegant Obsession

I’d love to be elegant while I’m obsessing,
but if I told you how, I’d only be guessing.
The man at the counter said yoga’s the answer
to two hour waits, and smart cars and cancer.

I told him that yoga’s more easily done
in my pool or on mats spread out in the sun––
Not two hours before midnight when you’re feeling sad
’cause the car you pre-rented is not to be had

and instead you’re confronted with a Jeep Cherokee
with all bells and whistles included for free!
Yet each feature they’ve added is cryptic and puzzling.
Screen like a space ship and gasoline-guzzling.

I can’t find the lighter to plug in my Nuvi.
The radio screen is showing a movie,
but I can’t find a plug to plug in my phone
and I’m out in this parking lot, stressed and alone.

After one hour of standing and waiting to rent it
and one more in the parking lot, how I repent it!
I go on the road in the inky black dark
with no place to stop and no place to park.

My GPS empty of power and knowledge,
to find the right route would take training in college.
No route numbers have I, I can’t see the map.
My phone out of power sits limp on my lap.

The screen gives me options for stations galore,
but no arrow to choose them, just one button more
for feature after feature that I cannot use.
I wish I had knowledge.  I wish I had booze!!!

When I try to turn on the overhead light,
the moonroof zips open and try as I might,
I can’t get it closed but just open it more,
so the wind whips my hair with a terrible roar.

I’ve always loved traveling wild and free,
but it now seems travel’s evolved beyond me.
Where is my confidence and my elan?
That air of achievement, that air of “I can?”

When I get to the motel two hours in arrears,
when the clerk asks how are you, I explode in tears.
I tell him my story, like a silly old fool––
but he doesn’t snicker and he isn’t cruel.

“See that?” he said, waving a hand at my phone.
He shook his gray head and gave a small moan.
“Don’t know how to use one–not me nor my wife.
It seems like technology’s plaguing our life.”

He dished out a Kleenex and almost at once,
I found I was feeling much less of a dunce.
I may be a fool and an old one at that,
but it’s so reassuring to share that coned hat!

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This control board of the plane I flew from Prince Edward Island to Nova Scotia on is slightly less daunting than the dashboard of the Jeep Cherokee they pawned off on me as a replacement for the simple economy car I requested. The flight took one half hour. Renting the car (even though I’d filled out all the paperwork on the internet) and figuring out how to operate the monstrosity they gave me took two hours!!!

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The beast!!! I still haven’t figured out how to turn on the radio and tremble at the thought of mistakenly turning on the four wheel drive.

I later snapped a photo that better illustrates the size of this car.  See that photo HERE.

The prompt word today was “Elegant.” This was stretching the prompt, but I had my own agenda.

Midnight Minuet

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Midnight Minuet

Sneaking down the unlit hall,
we take turns answering nature’s call,
awaiting our own turn to sneak
to the john to have a leak.

In the darkness, we repeat
this rather tricky hourly feat.
Him, then her, then me at last.
So are our nightly ramblings cast.

It is not choice that brings us here
to void ourselves of pop or beer.
In fact, a full night’s sleep we seek—
our intentions strong, but bladders weak.

At eleven, twelve and one and two,
sleeping is what we’d rather do.
Instead, we do-si-do—just missing
the next sojourner bent on pissing!

 

This poem is dedicated to all of those over sixty who find themselves taking more nightly journeys down the hall than in the past. Perhaps, like me, you are a houseguest. If so, there is no avoiding the nocturnal shuffle if your hosts, like you, are of a certain age.

Witness

 

Version 2

Dining Out


When I’m in a public place

talking to friends, face-to-face,
and my secrets I choose to tell
to those I’ve known both long and well;

when I swear them to secrecy,
I need to also remind me
that of two actions I have the choice.
Watch what I say or lower my voice.

What nearby tables say and do,
I’m sometimes silent witness to.
The realization I may lack
is that perhaps they’re listening back!


The prompt word today was “Witness.”

Complicated by Nature

Complicated by Nature

I find my mind keeps spinning until my brain grows weary
ever since I foolishly googled “chaos theory.”

While fatalists declare the world caught up in its rut,
the chaos theorists have theories I cannot rebut

wherein each thing duplicated differs from the last
because of other factors than the mold from which they’re cast.

And suddenly I have excuses for each thing I do.
Why my cake has fallen, and why my bras turned blue

the last time that I washed them the detergent was the same,
and yet something perhaps had changed–chaos theory is to blame!!!

Each snowflake varies from last, each flower is unique.
It seems that our creator demands a bit of tweak

in everything created. Chaos affects  everything.
I guess that Mother Nature wants to keep it interesting!!!

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/complicated/

Not Perpetually in Awe

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I will admit that the howling dog in last night’s sunset was awesome, but the pizza wasn’t!!!

Remember back when “awesome” was a word applied to miles of glaciers breaking off in one fell swoop or solar flares or the birth of a child? A few years ago, I had something to say about my feelings over  its present usage, where it is more commonly applied to a good slice of pizza or a friend’s new dress. See my complaints here:

https://judydykstrabrown.com/2014/06/13/empty-prais/

 

If you want to see what others have to say or to tell us your own thoughts aboug “Awe,” go here: https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/awe/

A Certain (Lack of) Understanding

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Choose One

Sign Language

I know our birth tongues aren’t the same,
but still I think words aren’t to blame.
It is your means of understanding
that convinces me you’re underhanding.
For every time I give you kisses,
it seems you go to other misses
in search of the translation tips
they give by laying on of lips.
My dear, if we were dumb and blind
then translation service of this kind
might make some sense, but I must say
your excuses will not work  today.
Please have your translator of prose
stick this finger message up your nose!!!

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/understanding/

Craig’s List Confessional

Earlier today, I published a poem and at the end, left a pile of unused words that were free for the taking.  Christine Goodnough rifled through them and came up with this poem, then left a free-for-the-taking list of unused words of her own, leaving a link to my refuse pile as well.  I have dipped into each bunch of words again and used them all in the below poem, with the exception of the few left at the end that I pass on to any reader willing to make use of them in a poem.  You’ll find our combined leftovers at the end of my poem and a link to to Christine’s poem above

 Craig’s  List Confessional

I’d like a mirror so I can see
if I display felicity
when someone whispers in my ear
the name of one I once held dear.

I know not what my heart may feel,
what passions I might dare repeal
now that my head is ruling me
instead of love for somebody

so long departed––no longer here
for so many a long-lost year.
If I could paint a picture of
the countenance of long-lost love

in monotone or multi-tones,
in stereo or  monophones,
I hesitate to admit that
I fear the portrait might fall flat.

How often it has been  my ploy
to act withdrawn or bored or coy,
as though the long-lapsed love I bore
is what steers my grieving core.

But, in truth, duplicity
is what in all simplicity
guides my actions and my thought
and turns me into love’s robot.

With paint cans colored various hues,
why do I always choose the blues,
rebuffing each potential woo
and dropping out of courtship’s queue?

And so, if love is not a ruse––
a mere excuse for whom to choose,
I stand here gawking, open wide,
with no place left in which to hide.

Respectability’s passe,
and pride too dear a price to pay;
for staying safe in grief’s tight room
is burial before the tomb.

And so my dear, this poem you view?
Pretend that it’s addressed to you
and join me in complicity.
Perhaps shared words can set us free.

I’m not a girl.  You are no boy.
This poem is not a word-stuffed toy.
Should you respond with words that match,
it’s possible that we will catch

another chance to reach and choose
and maybe this time we won’t lose
the golden ring that does not bind.
This time we may find love is kind!


Okay, I dug deeply into Christine’s leftovers and rifled through mine as well.  This is what is left in the poetic grab bag.  Can anyone make use of the rest of our cast-offs?  Here is what is left to you: 

ooze booze cruise who’s whose choose lose  news pews poos cues sues twos  woos youse 
doozie floozie twozie boo  goo hue loo moo new poo   sue soo sioux too to you  What a spectacle! not respectable