Tag Archives: silly poem

Sanctuary

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Sanctuary

What happened to dragons? What happened to fairies?
Banished by scientists and actuaries,
their truth of existence just can’t be computed.
The fact they exist is too soundly refuted.
Yet every child, awake in his bed,
knows they exist right there in his head!

 

The dVerse Poets prompt today was to write a quadrille (44 words) on the subject of dragons.

The Wager

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The Wager

When I was a mere teenager,
my dad made a little wager.
Could I manage to exist
by guile and craft and will and fist

without allowance or assistance?
It was not at his insistence,
and in no way was I miffed
at his challenge aimed at thrift.

I packed a bag and caught a lift.
For one year I would simply drift.
Quietly would I abscond 
and win my keep as vagabond.

I’d leave a life humdrum and canned
to live a life less gray and bland.
And thus I started my vacation
around our great and varied nation.

In California, I mowed lawns,
in Texas, worked at shucking prawns.
Combined wheat in South Dakota.
Then made off for Minnesota.

Washing pots and dishing curry,
worked my way down to Missouri.
In Tennessee I met with luck
and crossed the whole state in a truck,

but by D.C. and Baltimore,
grunt labor had become a bore,
so when I finally reached the ocean,
suddenly I had the notion

to make a call to dad from son
telling him his son had won.
The call I made was not in vain,
for next day I was on a plane.

Tattered, back-sore, sunburned, chapped,
I showed my dad the miles I’d mapped.
He slapped my back and said, “Well, son,
you’ve done what I wished I had done

before I did each of those things
that doing what one ‘should’ do brings.”
He slapped a check into my hand
and promised college, job or land.

I would be sent to school or hired—
whatever now I most desired.
I told my dad I’d let him know
but for just now I had to go.

I hit the bank and cashed his check,
bought new clothes and washed my neck.
Grabbed my passport, kissed my mom,
let her feed me, dropped the bomb.

Hugged my dad, then counted coup
and hopped a plane for Katmandu.
I hadn’t traveled my last mile,
but from now on, I’d go in style!

 

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The prompt words today are drift, humdrum, abscond and wager.

Tongue in Cheek

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Tongue in Cheek 

If you cannot still your tongue and it tends to flutter,
my remedy’s a sandwich of bread and peanut butter.
It is the perfect cure-all. If your problem is your stuttering,
it quickly turns your dialogue into a slower muttering.
And if your daily habit is reorganizing clutter,
a palate full of pb gives a different way to putter. 

Although you may be jealous that I have a sure solution
for stuttering and puttering, please grant me absolution.
Don’t hold my thoughts against me as I offer resolution
to problems such as famine, global warming and pollution,
then give my sure-fire remedy for war and revolution.
I simply cannot help that I’m ahead in evolution!

I tend to wax nostalgic when I think of all the times
I’ve solved our planet’s problems within my daily rhymes,
for as I view predicaments in all the different climes—
political maneuverings and other selfish crimes—
all the foolish misdeeds best abandoned in our primes—
I feel I owe it to the world to dish out paradigms!!!

If my constant words of wisdom set your stomachs churning,
cause regret to fill your minds and set your eyes to burning,
if you reject solutions, thereby all my wisdom spurning,
considering “unfollowing” and never once returning,
please reconsider doing so. Try being more discerning.
And let me be your guru—your font of further learning!!!

 

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The prompts today are putter, jealous, nostalgic and return. Here are links:
https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/05/26/rdp-sunday-putter/
https://fivedotoh.com/2019/05/26/fowc-with-fandango-jealous/
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/05/26/your-daily-word-prompt-nostalgic-may-26-2019/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/05/26/return/

Curious

Curious

While wandering through the wilderness, I saw a flash of pink
not typical of nature—more like a bathroom sink.
I couldn’t quite imagine what it could have been.
It wasn’t very natural. It surely wasn’t zen.
If I went in search of it, I don’t know what I’d do
with any possible creature of that uncharming hue.
If I factored in the color, it wouldn’t be selectable,
for what kind of person would consider it collectible?
I guess it’s just as lucky that I didn’t ever find it.
That’s why when it eluded me, I didn’t really mind it.

Yes, I know that this is a very weird little poem. So, what else was I to do with prompt words such as pink, factor, charming and wilderness? Here are the links:
https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/05/25/rdp-saturday-pink/
https://fivedotoh.com/2019/05/25/fowc-with-fandango-factor/
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/05/25/your-daily-word-prompt-wilderness-may-25-2019/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/05/25/charming/

The Gawkey and Flaybottomist, NaPoWriMo 2019, Apr 24

“The Gawkey and Flaybottomist—Who Should Have Stopped When First They Kissed”

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I guess when I chose to use the 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue  from my own bookshelf, I should have realized that at least 1/2 of the terms would involve sexual innuendo. Nonetheless, I decided to proceed. I must warn you that the following poem is a bit risqué, so please avoid reading it if rude language offends thee!

The 16 terms I used and their definitions are given after the poem. If you wish, you might want to read them before the poem, or you can try to follow context clues to discover their meaning on your own:

 

“The Gawkey and Flaybottomist—Who Should Have Stopped When First They Kissed”

I predict the cross patch and the flaybottomist
are the sort of women least likely to be kissed.
The first’s so busy grumbling that the kiss never connected,
while the second merely thinks of how the kiss may be corrected.

Now, there was an awkward village boy excessively unworldly,
that on one occasion had acted most absurdly
by planting a fast buss upon his teacher’s nearby cheek
then since he was both young and shy, he beat a fast retreat.

The following week when mellow, he thought he’d try again—
His amorous nature brought out by much congress with his gin.
He desired a bit of relish, and the gin made him a fool
So he took his gaying instrument up to the village school.

I fear he was a gawkey–the worst that you might meet,
and he tripped over his crab shells as he stumbled up the street.
The roaring boys pursued him, thinking they would later cackle
leaking all the secrets of where gawkey stowed his tackle.

Upon his knock, the school teacher opened up the door,
attired in her negligee–and I fear nothing more.
She greeted him with Friday-face, but he took little note,
for he was practicing the lines that he had learned by rote.

The teacher was a dumplin and her suitor tall and thin,
yet when she heard his practiced plea, I fear she let him in.
But what he didn’t know then, as he quenched his carnal thirst
was that on that night of visitors, he was not the first.

The reason our flaybottomist had greeted him ungowned,
clad only in her negligee and with her hair unwound,
was because the French instructor had been there to give instruction—
a fact that I fear later led to misery and destruction.

For her tutor left her Frenchified, which she passed to the gawkey,
who took his French leave quickly, feeling a good deal less cocky.
The moral of this little tale—at least the one you’ll get?
Things are apt to get sticky when you’re the teacher’s pet!

 

Words from the 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue used in this poem:

*crab shells:  Irish, shoes
*gawkey: a tall, thin, awkward man or woman
*gaying instrument: the penis
*cross patch: a peevish boy or girl, an unsocial or ill-tempered man or woman
*relish: carnal connection with a woman
*cackle or leaky: to blab or reveal secrets
*roaring boy: a noisy, riotous fellow
*flaybottomist: a schoolteacher
*mellow: almost drunk
*dumplin: a short thick man or woman
*tackle:  a man’s genitals
*Friday-face:  a dismal countenance (Friday being a day of abstinence.)
*French leave: to go off without taking leave of the company
*Frenchified: infected with venereal disease.
*Negligee: a woman’s undressed gown,
*buss: a kiss “kissing and bussing differ both in this, We busse our wantons,
but our wives we kisse! (Robert Herrick, “Hesperides,” 1648) from buss, 1570.

The NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a poem influenced by a reference book. This poem was actually written for a similar NaPoWriMo prompt three years ago and I know the point is to write a poem a day, but since I always write another poem a day anyway making use of four prompts, and will do so today, I reckon this isn’t cheating.

Word Soup, Apr 22, 2019

 

My “Not Yet Dead Poets” group met at 2 p.m. yesterday and when I got home at 5, I was pooped, since I hadn’t gone to bed until nearly 5 a.m. the night (morning) before so had only had four hours sleep. I fed the cats and dogs (I hope), put the soup in the slow cooker on high, and lay down for a little nap. I was awakened at 3 a.m. by Annie my cat, demanding to be fed, so I got up,  put the bean soup in the fridge, read email messages and a Skype message from Forgottenman expressing worry, first of all, that I was okay, and secondly, amazement that I hadn’t posted yesterday for the first time in 5 years. It’s true, although I did post yesterday’s topic in NaPoWriMo, the  night before, so I’m still claiming to have maintained my habit.  So, here’s my poem owed from yesterday. Don’t expect too much, ’cause I am, as stated below in the title––

Just Scraping By

My foray into poesy I fear will be most terse.
At 4 a.m. I fear that you’d probably do worse.
I’m fortified with coffee and determined to come through.
I’ve done yesterday’s dishes and journeyed to the loo,
but still associations don’t pop into my mind,
and so for clever rhymes I fear I’m in a bind.
And though I’d like to come up with a better poem for you,
I got all four damn words in and I guess that it must do.

Prompt words today are foray, terse, fort and association. Here are the links:
https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/04/22/rdp-monday-foray/
https://fivedotoh.com/2019/04/22/fowc-with-fandango-terse/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/04/22/fort/
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/04/22/your-daily-word-prompt-association-april-22-2019/

Baker’s Dozen

 

A dozen fatal flaws forgiven seems to be a fair number to allot to anyone. It’s that thirteenth misdeed that is unforgivable!

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 all of the dogs you brought home
that you’ve never 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!

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For dVerse Poets, Forgiveness.