Tag Archives: silly poem

Ode to Sugar, for the Ragtag Daily Prompt

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Ode to Sugar

Hey, Sugar Sugar, you’re the one for me.
I enjoy each calorie.
Smooth or frozen with chocolate on top,
washed down with a glass of pop.
Pile on the sprinkles and roll in nuts.
You’re the best, no ands or buts.
My little Sugar is smooth and dreamy.
My little Sugar chewy, creamy.

Shortbread, brownies, chocolate chip––
in my coffee, I like to dip.
But cheesecake, pie––other forms of sin––
I put on the table and dive right in.
Swim to the middle with my teeth,
see what there can be beneath
the icing or cream or chocolate sauce.
When dessert arrives, Sugar’s the boss.

Hey Sugar, Sugar, you’re the one
in snow or rain or blistering sun.
I don’t care if you’re hot or cold.
Baked Alaska is great, I’m told,
but I also like a big old cone
just piled with ice cream, all alone.
Don’t touch my Sugar, don’t you dare!!!
When it comes to Sugar, I don’t share!!!

The prompt for Ragtag Daily Prompt is “Calorie.”

“Damsels in Distress” for Word of the Day Challenge

Damsels in Distress

Each myth, legend or fairytale
from “once upon” to “fare thee well”
shares some elements of story
be they sad, uplifting, gory.

Always a damsel in distress—
Rumplestiltskin’s name to guess,
straw to spin out into gold,
or another story to be told.

Too much sleep may be her curse,
ugly stepsisters, or worse:
murder, treason, sloth and pox
emptied from Pandora’s box.

These troubles spread from near to far––
one solved by wishing on a star,
then Zeus forgave Pandora’s shame
and the imp revealed his own strange name.

But the other women described above
were saved by cleverness or love.
Scheherazade escaped the hearse
with stories, legends, tales and verse.

Cinderella rose from hearth and ashes
and Sleeping Beauty opened lashes­­––
both maids saved by daring-do:
one by a kiss, one by a shoe.

So whatever might have been their fate:
loss of child or murderous mate,
wipe tears and fears away with laughter.
They all lived happily ever after.

 

The Word of the Day Challenge prompt word is Stress. Image generated with the use of AI.

Last-Minute Menu Changes

Last-Minute Menu Changes

My ravenous cats lurk up on the roof
while my dogs all remind me in language of woof
that they’re hollow with hunger and rattled by need
of kibble and catfood to fulfill their greed
for something to fill up space found in their tummies:
chicken or beef or those jerky stick yummies.
Now the dogs rush the door in their need to be seen,
push open the glass door  and rattle the screen.
With a flicker of tail, they crash once and again
into the door screen ’til they have slipped in,
and both dogs and cats leap onto my bed,
shaming their mom, whose face has turned red
with embarrassment over the fact she forgot
to go shopping for food for the whole furry lot!
So I leap from my bed and run down the hall,
pursued by my dogs and my cats, one and all.
Run into the kitchen and throw open the door
of the fridge, then I spread out all over the floor
the food I’d intended to feed to a guest
whom I had invited with all of the rest
of his family to dine–the roast and the cheese
I had purchased because I knew it would please
all my guests–the potatoes and veggies and flan
and I watched all my animals lick every pan
until it was empty of every food scrap,
then they lay on the floor for an after-meal nap
while I wandered in and climbed into my bed
to try to decide what I’d feed instead
to those guests who’d arrive in just 4 hours more.
Then I dressed and departed to drive to the store
to buy frozen pizzas and ice cream and cake
out of which a quick meal I’d return home and make,
shooing out of the kitchen those pets now sedated
once their fierce hunger was finally  abated.
The floor now licked clean, it was one task the less
I’d have to complete. They’d cleaned up their own mess!
So I mixed up a salad and set a fine table
and completed the meal as best I was able.
Poured tequila, cooked pizza and uncorked the wine.
The guests were well-pleased and my pets lay supine
both on terrace and roof or snug in their beds
while visions of roast beef careened through their heads.
And lest you wonder, I’ll say one thing more.
I bought kibble and cat food while there at the store!

 

For the Sunday Whirl Wordle 751, the prompt words are: ravenous lurked shame space found glass hollow flicker rattled slip red crash

Killer Clowns and Other Threats

 

Killer Clowns and Other Threats

Robot ghosts from outer space
are in the sky, then in your face.
They sat behind you once in school,
thinking all the world they’d fool,
but recently they have been outed,
so although formerly I doubted
action adventure’s crazy plots
of giant creatures and evil bots,
recent events most grieveable
have made such things believable.

This orange devil we’ve elected
and all the buffoons he’s collected
make killer clowns from outer space
less scary than villains we face
day by day in our own world.
So let those forces be unfurled
to fight with him both tooth and bone
so he’ll leave our innocents alone!

Hope “springs” eternal, so I’m using this farcical response to the dVerse prompt this week, no matter how farfetched!!! The hats on the guys  in the UFO are supposed to read “Make Space Great Again,” but couldn’t get AI to cooperate. They came close, so have some of the ICE agents displaying their motto instead. Perhaps they have been in cahoots all along.

“Breaking Her Diet” for Esther’s Writing Prompt

Breaking Her Diet

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Breaking Her Diet

I measure her cat food with care from the vat,
but she has such an aptitude, my little cat,
for flushing out lizards and others like that.
With delicate paw thrusts, she gives them a bat
’til they barely know where it is that they’re at,
then unleashes her claws for a more severe pat.

Be it lizard or bird or scorpion or rat,
she defeats it as though it were merely a gnat
and lays it out nicely on my front door mat:
one scorpion sting less or a feather for my hat,
then returns to the stool where she formerly sat,
licking her chops, and that’s why she’s so fat!!!

Esther’s Writing Prompt this week is “Break.” Nope, I’m not condoning such behavior…especially in regards to birds. Breaks my heart. The scorpions I can put up with, so long as she’s careful and doesn’t get stung.

Many Me’s

 

Many Me’s

If I should have to paint a picture of my present mood,
I’d be walking down a staircase, unfortunately nude—
My many selves preceding me and coming fast behind—
for there would be not one of me, but many of my kind.
This scene is a mere copy of Duchamp’s solution to
a person who perhaps has found she has too much to do.

My list of tasks is growing, though I’ve dealt with one or two;
but how I’ll deal with everything, I fear I have no clue.
And so I guess my canvas style would simply have to be
like Marcel’s (though not cubist, still with more than one of me.)
That way I’d send off each of me to do what must be done.
They’d do all my labor while I went to have some fun.

While self 1 wrote my daily prompt and self 2 cleaned my shelves,
I’d go out to the water park with all my other selves.
We’d climb up all the ladders and slide down all the slides
and play a game of tug-rope where I would be both sides!
We’d go out to the ice cream place and have a cone or three
and they’d get all the calories with none assigned to me!

We’d take my bad dogs for a walk and I would be so free.
Two other me’s would hold the leashes, not the actual me.
I’d loll here in my hot tub, swing in my hammock, too,
while selves from 1 to 9 would do all that I have to do.
They’d figure out my airfryer instructions (all in Spanish.)
They’d sort out all my photographs and clean my loo with Vanish.

Agreeable to every task, they’d never mention “can’t.”
They’ll pick off all the yellow leaves from every drying plant.
They’ll organize my studio that is a horrid mess.
(It’s been that way for many months—a fact I must confess.)
They’d sort out all my closets and organize my drawers,
then go into my Filofax and sort out all the bores.

They’d shape my canned goods into rows—sorted from “A” to “Z.”
which makes it difficult for them, but easier for me.
And though my other selves keep warm from their activity,
my idleness seems not to create any warmth for me.
So although I like my colors and my brush strokes strong and bold,
I wish I’d put some clothes on us, ‘cause I am getting cold!!

Esther’s Writing Prompt this week is: Mood. (Obviously, mine is a silly one.)

Time of Death? For Limerick Challenge

Time of Death?

There was a young woman from Hall
who died jumping over a wall.
T’would have been a sad thing
if she’d died in the spring,
but she didn’t. She died in the fall.

See other limericks for Esther’s  March 9 “Laughing Along with a Limerick” challenge HERE. (Sorry, I didn’t realize there was a prompt word until after I’d written the limerick. Next time I’ll play by the rules, Esther!!!!

 

“Party Excesses” For dVerse Poets

For dVerse Poets, we were to write a poem using the first line of someone else’s poem as the last line in our own. My last line is from I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith.

Party Excesses

The day my husband went to the clink,
I dressed up in my fanciest pink
fancy dress and donned my mink,
but found the party rinky-dink.
My patience at its very brink,
went to the kitchen for a drink,
fell victim to a cute guy’s wink
and party to his certain kink.
Was it too much, do you think?
I write this sitting in the kitchen sink.

for dVerse Poets  Illustration created using AI.

Cinnamon Woes for The Daily Prompt

Cinnamon Woes

When for my yearly physical I went to see my doc,
two cinnamon pills daily were prescribed to me ad hoc.
I had a premonition this solution wouldn’t work,
for prescribing condiments seemed nothing but a quirk.

With no other suggestions, she had me in a bind.
High cholesterol’s no joke.  I knew I had to mind.
I put it off ’til evening for it seemed to me so odd
to buy the stuff in capsules to put into my bod.

I took one before bedtime and it caught up in my throat.
The gelatin slowly dissolved.  The spice began to bloat.
I had cinnamon reflux. Then I had cinnamon burps.
I swallowed and I swallowed and took water in four slurps.

I coughed three times and tasted cinnamon each time.
I savored not its flavor.  Its taste was not sublime.
That throat lump then descended.  The pain was near my heart.
Then suddenly that cinnamon was expelled in a fart.

The jar of cinnamon capsules is huge and fully filled.
Tomorrow morn at breakfast, again I should be pilled.
But though I’m not the type to go against the status quo,
from now on I’ll take cinnamon with sugar, rolled in dough.

 

The Daily Prompt is: Cinnamon.

Canine Church

Canine Church

Two dogs to my right and one dog o’er my head
As I lie on the edge of my doggie-filled bed.
Now one moves to my legs to anchor me down,
fearing my desertion for kitchen or town,
banishing canines to cushions or yard––
beds they find  chilly and lonely and hard.

Better this bed warmed by blanket and sheet
and a mattress pad heater to thaw out their feet.
A mom they can cuddle or lie on, or heck––
tunnel into her armpit or under her neck.
These Sunday mornings, they insist that Judy’s
meditations with dogs are her spiritual duties.