Tag Archives: silly poem

Christmas Mayhem

Christmas Mayhem

No holly’s hung, no lights are lit.
The whole kingdom’s in a fit.
The castle’s dark without a tree.
No decorations there to see.
Warn the palace. Call a jury.
We’re indicting them of worry.
What’s the source of their reserve?
What has quenched their Christmas verve?

What has caused the royal court’s
spirit to be out of sorts?
Is it the Prince or Queen or King
that’s robbed them of their royal zing?
One parlor maid revealed the cause
of their neglect of Santa Claus.
Their tree’s not up or decorated
because they’re all addlepated.

Reticent of jingle-jangle,
for their lights are in a tangle.
The queen’s all thumbs, the king has gout
and cannot sort his tree lights out.
The Prince is spoiled so won’t help.
They should dethrone that royal whelp.
But it’s the truth, there is no doubt
that someone has to sort them out.

Send in a tailor, schooled in string,
to come untangle everything.
Get a lumberjack to see
if he can cut them down a tree.
Hang on candy canes and balls.
Toss on their tinsel, deck their halls,
for royalty undecorated
will for sure be under-rated.

Prompts today are worry, palace, jingle, reticent and reserve. All photos courtesy of Unsplash.

Air Despair

Air Despair

I get goosebumps every time I travel via jet,
but I haven’t  crashed and burned or perished as of yet.
Pedants say my chances of crashing are remote,
but nonetheless, if I could choose, I’d rather take a boat.

The revelry is greater and the distance to the ground
is cushioned way much better with water all around.
It’s easier to stretch one’s legs, there’s shuffleboard, a pool,
and every cabin has a bed with private sink and stool!

Although planes are faster, what’s the hurry? What’s the rush?
Consider airplane food, the tiny restrooms and the crush.
First class in planes has nothing on last class in luxury cruisers.
In short, I think planes were invented for impatient losers!!

Prompts today are revelry, jet, pedant and goosebumps.

Forest Myth

Forest Myth

Will-o-the-Wisp and Turtledove for a lady vied.
Will-o-the-Wisp declared a troth the turtledove decried.

“He will be here, then he’ll be there. He’ll never constant be.
I am the only one who’ll be eternally with thee.”

And thus he was the one to win the love of that fair lass.
He wed her in cathedral grand and at their wedding mass,

“I will not change” to his new bride, the turtledove had sighed.
For thirty years he kept this vow, but when at last he died,

he left her mourning down below as he soared up above.
Thus death makes sinners of us all who vow eternal love.

 

Prompt words today are turtledove, plunge, sleep, change and not,

Advice to Reticent Romeos

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


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

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

 

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

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


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

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.