Tag Archives: silly poem

Advice to Reticent Romeos

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Advice to Reticent Romeos

If you are greeted with, perchance,
 a flirtatious lady’s glance
in a cabaret in France,
Hedge your bet, bolster your chance,
square your shoulders, hitch your pants
and ask her if she’d like to dance!

If in a tropical lanai
a  cute wahine meets your eye,
do not simply pass her by.
Adjust your smile, straighten your tie,
and claim your portion of the pie.
Use up your life before you die!

Around the globe, it’s my conclusion
that this advice is no delusion.
Confidence with no confusion
that it  may be a mere illusion,
bolsters chances of a fusion!

 

Prompt words today are conclusion,   bolster,  lanai, hedge and cabaret.
Image by Jiang Xule on Unsplash.

Poetic License in a Temperate Climate

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Poetic License in a Temperate Climate

December’s moved south of the border where it isn’t so icy and cold,
but still of all of the months of the year, it’s the one where the weather’s most bold.

It’s that time of the year where I profit from staying in bed until nine,
my bed being where I feel warmest—snuggled in blankets, supine.

At seven and eight it is silent, each dog still curled in his bed,
as I burrow into my poem of the day, rousting it out of my head.

It finds a new home on my hard drive, thus quelling my need to relate
as all of my creative juices suddenly seem to abate.

As my poetry swells to fruition, I finally stir from my nest
to dress in my toe socks and leggings, my sweater and wooly warm vest.

A poem survives any weather, surrounded by peers on the screen,
but even in temperate countries, December remains the most mean.

By April, I’ll feel warm and toasty and I’ll need a different reason
for staying in bed until nine when it is such a perfectly temperate season.

 

Yes, it’s true. I even wear them in bed!  Prompt words today are December, profit, silent,
quell and home.

Family Feud

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Family Feud

The quarrels in my family are numerous at best.
If I say they are ubiquitous, believe me, I don’t jest.
Daddy’s always angry. Mama’s always in a tiff.
If discord had an odor, you’d always get a whiff
as you wandered past our windows or entered our front door,
and if you thought to mention them, we’d only produce more.

Bring up race relations and there’ll be no interstice
between Daddy’s rants and ravings that display his prejudice
and Mama’s stepping in with her opposing point of view.
Then before you know it, they’ll unite to lambast you!
We seldom have a visitor and have no friends at all.
No salesmen knock upon our door and no neighbors call.

If I threw a slumber party and had friends to spend the night,
the angst here’s so infectious that we’d have a pillow fight.
No cousins ever join us at Thanksgiving to give thanks
because our extended family has fired us from its ranks.
We are the loneliest clan in town, and that for sure’s no fiction.
But— if we have nothing else, at least we have conviction!

 

Before you ask, this is fiction! Prompt words today are ubiquitous, tiff, prejudice, interstice and mention. Image by Afif Kusuma on Unsplash.

School Discipline in Transylvania: The Sunday Whirl, Nov 30, 2021

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School Discipline in Transylvania

The screen door bangs. I’m off to school
where the teachers think they rule,
but I think I see signs of worry
on my teacher as I hurry
into class and take my seat.
Already, he displays defeat

before the spit wads take their toll,
betraying who is in control.
A first and then a second wad
sails through the air and towards his bod.
He lifts his face to the attack,
then calmly turns to show his back.

He writes his name and then the date,
then waits for missiles to abate.
Sucks in his breath and turns around
to silence. There is not a sound
as shooters wilt and drop their ammo,
reacting to our teacher’s whammo.

It’s like a screen lifts from his face,
his old self gone without a trace,
a second visage in its place.
His eyes are bulging out in space,
his forehead furled beneath his bangs,
his teeth protruding out like fangs,

like a vampire’s wont to do,
his face a sickly pallid hue.
His fingers curl into long claws,
occasioning a longer pause.
Hushed silence reigns. Lectures begin.
This teacher has great discipline!!!!

For The Sunday Whirl Wordle, the words are : control, worry, school, see, face, date, screen, shooter, attack, sucks and second. Image by Tra Nguyen on Unsplash.

Turkey Talk for Tuesday Writing Prompt

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Turkey Talk

When we walk, our wattles wobble
causing us to “Gobble gobble,”
but seeing axes near our neck,
we hit the road and run like heck!
We await November with much gloom,
for your Thanksgiving seals our doom.
It is a truth that we all rue
that then our gobbling ‘s done by you.

 

 

For the Tuesday Writing Prompt,Nov 23, 2021: Write a poem from the point of view of a turkey.

Weirdest Poem Ever

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Suttee Reevaluated

Baked potato, sweet potato, makes me sigh.
Put butter in the schism and my oh my.
Sure to go right to your thigh,
but I don’t care. Do you know why?

Baked potatoes taste so good,
they soothe the pains of widowhood.
Place other pleasures on your lips.
Forget about your waist and hips.

Suttee is way overrated.
That fact cannot be debated.
So instead of jumping in,
go and raid the potato bin.

Toss taters on the red hot coals
and reassess your former goals.
Get a life. Take off the ring.
immolation’s not the thing.

 

Prompt words are sweet potato, schism, sure, immolate and good.

Missed Americas

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Missed Americas

Now that they are runway-bound,
those extravagantly gowned
are oft-driven to expound
with words not overly profound
about beliefs they’ve newly found
(overheard and swiftly downed)
just because they love the sound,
hoping in the final round,
their golden tongues will get them crowned.

 

For the dVerse Poets Quadrille Challenge: Crown.
Image from  BBC.

Bake-Off

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Bake-Off

“Spot on!” she said and doffed her hat and focused on her goal.
The loss of her attention was sure to take its toll
at this phase of her endeavor, so, intent upon her role,
she broke another egg into the center of the bowl
where the flour and the sugar had formed a sort of hole,
whipped it until frothy and then began to roll
wet and dry together to form a small atoll,
then folded it all over to form a solid whole.
She took so naturally to baking that the process soothed her soul,
and the brilliance of her artistry, the whole world did extoll.
If her genius were a recipe, yeast would have been its soul.

 

Prompt words today are loss, spot, naturally, phase and focus.

The Rear Admiral Earns His Title

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The Rear Admiral Earns His Title

The ensign and Rear Admiral, together in a boat,
after their ship’s sinking, the only ones afloat,
were trying to determine what caused their craft to sink,
dumping them at midnight from their sleep into the drink.
“Who’s at fault?” they speculated.
What misdeed had instigated
this horrific interlude
that left them soaked and nearly nude?

What meeting could be worse?
Could any tryst be more adverse?
And thus they squandered precious time
in expostulations and in mime
when they could have better plotted
in the time they were allotted
how to get out of this mess,
for it’s true, I must confess

that the boat they were in now
had a knothole in the bow
and as they fussed and fretted,
their feet and  then their legs were wetted
by seawater seeping in
that was soon up to their chin,
and  of the highest and the lowest
the one who turned out to be slowest

was cast out upon the sea,
claiming his priority,
while the one who was most rapid,
keen of eye and much less vapid,
grabbed the only life vest there
where there should have been a pair,
and shifted into his high gear
leaving the admiral in the rear.

 

Prompts for today are: meeting, squander, instigate, ensign and fault.

Prediction

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Prediction

In the family photo, Auntie stands with arms akimbo,
glancing over sideways at my cousin’s latest bimbo.
One cultured eyebrow raised and her disgust so thinly veiled,
there’d probably be a small explosion if only she exhaled.

Uncle’s blind to everything and stands with grin on face,
unmindful of his youngest son’s ultimate disgrace.
He has had a little turkey and a great amount of wine
and thinks his son’s new girlfriend is exceptionally fine.

My cousin looks besotted and the girl looks fine to me,
though she wears a lot of makeup and shows a lot of knee.
But if my cousin marries her, I’m sure it will be fine.
With Auntie as her drill sergeant, she’ll soon fall into line.

She’ll polish and distill her ’til the flavor is all gone,
bleed out all her color ’til she’s fashionably wan.
Then, just like Uncle Marty, Cousin Jeb will start to stray,
looking for fresh pastures when the old one turns to hay.

Prompts today are akimbo, everything, culture, veiled and uncle. Disclaimer: the  real lady attached to these legs and shoes is anything but a bimbo–a smart, cool lady. Photo is for illustration purposes only.