Tag Archives: humorous rhyme

Unsolitary Confinement

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Unsolitary Confinement

When I’m walking down the street, my bracelets jingle jangle,
executing dialogues—bangle against bangle.
Calling up to earrings that answer as they dangle,
warning errant necklaces not to twist and strangle.
Every little moving piece—every single spangle
creates a  cacophony that’s more than I can wrangle.
Just a little peace and quiet’s all I hope to wangle
as, thrown into my jewelry box, they’re silenced by the tangle.
They’re driven by their fear that their proximity will mangle
if they even try to move to aim for a new angle.

 

 

The prompt today is jangle.

Cringeworthy

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Cringeworthy

A dripping tap, a creaking hinge,
the very sight of a syringe,
running short while on a binge,
well-meaning friends whose words infringe
upon my punch line, or just a tinge
of sarcasm in a response can make me cringe.
But none of these can quite unhinge
me half as much as when I singe
or cut too short my forehead fringe!

 

 If I ever ignite my hair on fire over a birthday cake or let them
cut my fringe this short again, just shoot me!

The prompt today was cringe.

Travel Illusions

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An Andalusian Businessman Visits Mexico

When business problems brought disillusion,
I hoped to prompt their fast diffusion,
jumping to the fast conclusion
that a coronary occlusion
could be allayed best by the fusion
of tequila and a lime
and so I thought that it was time
to move from Spain to Mexico
to see how well my life would go
in climes more southern, still, than mine.
I’d heard it said on the grape vine
my college sweetheart still lived there.
I thought I’d see how she might fare.
But when this friend sought dissolution
of her marriage, my inclusion
as a witness brought confusion.
It seems the judge had the delusion
that she and I were in collusion—
that it was I who broke their fusion.
He gave me three days of seclusion,
thinking that my simple exclusion
might furnish them a love transfusion.
The Spanish/Mexicano fusion
I now know is mere illusion.
That we’re joined by language is a delusion.
What exacerbated the confusion
was that I spoke in Andalusian!

 

The prompt today was illusion. (Image downloaded from the Internet.)

Spiked Interest: A Modern Day Fairytale

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Spiked Interest: A Modern Day Fairytale

There’s spiked interest in forgiving. It’s become the newest fad.
Sis forgave her boyfriend and my mom’s forgiven Dad.
Isis forgave the infidels and Christians forgave arabs.
Egypt forgave England for absconding with their scarabs.
Now the Nepalese love China, they called them on the phone
and China made a promise to leave Everest alone.
Ukraine made up with Russia. Mongols gave up declining
to give any permits for the Chinese to keep mining. 
The world would be so perfect, given all of these befriendings;
but sadly, only fairytales have these happy endings.

Marilyn, thanks for suggesting a tie-in to this Tom Lehrer song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aIlJ8ZCs4jY

The WordPress prompt today is “spike.”

Parental Restraints

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(Decision by the parents of Geoffrey Winthrop Young (25 October 1876 – 8 September 1958), a British climber, poet and educator, and author of several notable books on mountaineering, who asked to go climbing, promising he’d write the poem assigned by his teacher the minute he got home.)

Parental Restraints

He won’t be doing any climbing
until he finishes his rhyming!

 

The WordPress prompt today was “climbing.”

Generational Drift

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Generational Drift

It’s a symptom of their stage of life,
a product of their age.
Adolescents have to disagree
and posture, pout and rage.

That teenage chemical is now
rampaging through each vein,
bringing self-doubt, embarrassment,
confusion and disdain.

Nothing so discomforting
as advice of a parent.
Teens crave emancipation,
but go through with it? They daren’t.

They may neglect their family time
in favor of their friends.
The list of what is wrong with you?
Somehow it never ends.

If you could just dress better,
they might find it easier to
admit you were their parents
when they run into you.

But as it is they meet your eye,
their own eyes simply narrowing.
They walk by like a stranger.
To address you would be harrowing.

You rip your jeans and cut your hair
so it looks freshly tumbled,
but you cannot please them.
If you try, you will be humbled.

“Gross,” they’ll say, “You’re not a kid,
so why attempt to be one?”
But if you keep your present look,
they’ll say that you are no fun.

How can one be as old as you
and not know anything?
For their advice, they’ll go online
to consult the I Ching.

Ouiji boards and seances
bring advice from the past.
It seems words really ancient
contain more of a blast.

So parents, do not anguish
if you can’t reach your at-hand kids,
Just wait ’til you have passed away
and talk to your great-grandkids!

The prompt today is symptom.

For Christine: Nugatory

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After my poem that made use of the word “negatory,” which Christine Goodnough questioned; she challenged me to write a poem about the word “nugatory,” which I admit, I had to look up.  This is the result:

Not Quite Heaven

All the streets of purgatory
are lined with words like “nugatory”­­­­
that somehow just aren’t used quite right
so share the sinner’s sorry plight
by going to an “almost place”
before they reach their state of grace.
They’re obscure words you nearly know.
You aren’t quite sure, but even so,
you use them in a sentence that
does not work right off the bat.
You see that folks are looking wary,
then consult the dictionary
to find that you meant “Negatory,”
which completes your little story
better than its near-homonym
that’s left you looking rather dim.
The lesson, wordsmith? It’s absurd
to go ahead and use a word
you don’t quite know the meaning of.
You cannot merely push and shove
any word into a place
and think that you can show your face
in realms wherein the erudite
correctly scribe and speak and cite
words in their proper domain.
So please, don’t misuse words again.
Take it easy, just go slow
until you find a word you know.
“Almost there” just doesn’t do.
Be a gourmand. Avoid word stew.

Negatory: having the nature of negation, negative.(Much beloved by truckers.)

Nugatory: of no value or importance. Useless, futile. (I admit, I had to look it up!!)

 

 

 

 

Mame

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Mame

Compose a ballad for Auntie Mame,
famous of body and of name,
and make the music slow and sad
as we revere the moves she had;
for all those parts she chose to wiggle
eventually began to jiggle.

Those shocking movements that won her fame
were finally ones she had to tame,
and all the fellows who once came
to see her at her sexy game
seem to have vanished, to have flown
once her parts moved on their own.

No matter that she lived by art—
how wide her fame, how big her heart—
once revered parts began to swing,
I fear her peeping Toms took wing.
What wives saw as depravity,
I fear she lost to gravity.

Yet years that held her in their sway
could not take her spirit away.
In some assisted living facility,
she still displays agility.
Her movements, true, may be much slower
and certain displayed parts much lower.

Her scarves are larger and tightly wrapped
where once they fluttered and they flapped,
but still admirers hoot and holler
and grace her g string with a dollar.
So sing her praises far and wide.
She’s still the tart she was inside.

The prompt was jiggle.

“Girls” Night Out

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Click on any photo to enlarge and view all as gallery.

“Girls” Night Out

Mary Tyler Moore, Working Girl and I Love Lucy—
 film nights with the ladies are usually juicy.
Although we’re staying in, all that’s tucked in must be outed.
All those mumbled gripes now brought to light and shouted.
Pulling out the bobby pins to let the chignons flow.
Kicking off the heels to wiggle arch and toe.
Slipping off the panty hose, loosening top buttons.
Gorging on potato chips and dip like teenage gluttons.
Drinking margaritas, martinis and mojitos.
Pepperidge Farm and popcorn, ice cream and Doritos.
When old dames get together, pull out all the stops.
Banish all the dust cloths. Lock up all the mops.
Rip up all the lists and turn them to confetti.
Break out the lasagne. Break out the spaghetti.
Fill the crystal bowls with M&Ms and truffles.
Ban antimacassars, doilies, tucks and ruffles.
Bring out your old 8-tracks and your 45’s.
Forget that you are mothers, grandmothers and wives.
Better shake your booties while they still can shake.
Better come alive while still able to wake.
Time enough for normalcy when you’re ninety-six.
When you’re only seventy, you’ve still got some kicks.
Leave your spouses home staring at their football games—
vicariously living while you’re out being dames.
It’s your secret life, for no one needs to know
everything you do and everywhere you go.
Let the whole world think you’re in there playing bridge
while you are jitterbugging and emptying out the fridge.
It’s more fun when it’s secret, so promise not to tell
when old girls get together and raise a little Hell!!!!

The prompt today was juicy.

Unfairly Defined

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Unfairly Defined

Not really cold and not too hot—
“lukewarm” describes what it is not.
It isn’t fair it’s named for Luke.
In fact, it’s really just a fluke.
It’s really not Luke’s fault at all.
I’ll give the facts. You make the call.

Though he tried to love that girl right well,
 the truth is, that he never fell
as hard as she did. She was nice,
and yet they only dated twice.
She was in love, but he was not.
It wasn’t that they fussed or fought.

It’s just that he preferred another,
not this girl liked by his mother.
So, though the match had been decided
by their folks, it was one-sided.
He, alas, just could not fashion
anything approaching passion.

She pined as he moved on to marry
a girl who came from Tucumcari
while she remained a single maid,
much-admired, but never laid.
And Luke, who did not choose to tarry,
wound up in the dictionary.

He still defines that boring norm
not cold, not hot, but only warm.
The bit of bad luck that he had?
Though he was neither rogue nor cad,
he chose a woman who was “not” her,
and she was Noah Webster’s daughter!

The prompt was lukewarm.