Tag Archives: silly poem

Tactical Failure

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Tactical Failure

Cream whipped up frothy as air smothering chocolate cake—
how much more temptation is my rival going to make?
She knows that my true love is fond of skinny hips,
and yet she makes confections she knows will tempt my lips.

Tiny marzipan cherries adorn the cookies that
she knows that I will not resist and that they’ll make me fat.
She wants to exacerbate a rift she knows is there
ever since as a surprise I cut my knee-length hair.

His complaints resounded over the neighborhood.
Everyone heard his distress, so I’m sure she could
as she passed by on the sidewalk, walking very slow
on her way to the juke joint where they both liked to go.

I know she had designs on him for the very next day
she brought three dozen cookies lined up neatly on a tray.
They were for consolation for she knew we were in trouble,
and so she baked me cookies and made the frosting double.

Thus did this vixen hasten my love affair’s demise
by appealing to my weakness and doubling my size.
And thus because her tactics seemed so perfectly to work,
I wound up with a sweet life while she would up with a jerk! 

Prompts today are frothy as air, exacerbate, marzipan, resound and joint.

A Mismatched Love Story

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A Mismatched Love Story

He approached their assignation
with a bit of trepidation,
for she was gregarious
while he found talk nefarious.

With an air of resignation,
he forgave her education,
but though she loved a well-penned book,
he found, alas, she couldn’t cook.

She loved dogs, he had a cat,
but he could  get over that
if not the comments that she made
while strolling down the esplanade.

What he found impetuous
was her transforming “Me” to “Us.”
So, alas, they never wed.
He learned to cook himself instead!!

 

Prompts for today are resignation, lean, gregarious, impetuous and comment.

New Dress, Two Sizes Too Small

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New Dress, Two Sizes Too Small

Once I hone my figure, this will fit me like a glove.
Not one curve will be awry. I’ll be in shape for love.
I’ll put myself in training and walk a mile a day.
I’ll pack up all my cake pans and stow them all away.

I’ll give up chips and chocolate and concentrate on kale,
and after just a month or two, be skinny as a rail.
I have such fine convictions. I know I’ll reach my goal,
and to celebrate, I think I’ll have another roll!

 

 

Prompt words are awry, hone, train, figure and  glove. Dress image by Sharon McCutcheon. Cinnamon roll image by Dilyara Garifullina, both on Unsplash.

New Baby Blues

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New Baby Blues

I rue the day my mom acquired my new baby brother.
I wish that she’d return him and come back with another.
When I first saw him, he was cute and I was rather proud,
but that’s before I knew the fact that he would be so loud.

When he cries, he makes a sort of ear-splitting sharp bleating
all the time Mom’s in the kitchen seeing to the heating
of the bottle used to apportion out his dinner.
You’d think for all the fuss he makes that he was growing thinner,

Yet I swear that day-by-day, to my great disgust
that he’s growing bigger—fatter and more robust!
And when he isn’t sleeping or drinking or deranged,
he is damp or poopie and insisting to be changed.

I think this baby’s broken and I think we need a new one.
I asked if I could go along when they go to view one,
but Mommy says there’s no return because this one is used,
while Daddy uttered not a word—just stood looking amused.

It really isn’t funny, though. In fact, I’m most annoyed
that they have less time for me now that they’re employed
taking care of baby—making sure he’s fed and well
while all this time I’ve been here too, living in baby Hell!

He’s diapered, held and cuddled, sung to and adored
while his older sister sits here feeling bored.
They say that I’ll feel different once he’s more grown up,
but if it were up to me, I’d trade him for a pup!

 

Prompt words today are proud, heating, apportion, damp and rue.

Polite Conversation

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Polite Conversation

If you’re looking for activities that are sure to excite us,
best not to show the cat scans of your diverticulitis.
Discussion of this topic is sure to bring unease,
for most folks are oblivious to other folks’ disease.

Illness carries no cachet and should not be repeated.
When bringing up such maladies, you’re sure to feel defeated.
So keep incisions covered and try not to share your woe,
for if you’re hypochondria’s showing, you’ll be labelled as a schmo.

 

Prompt words today are diverticulitis, oblivious, schmo, cachet and defeated.

Weight Watcher Coup

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Weight Watcher Coup

Why would my Weight Watchers meet in a restaurant
that’s a buffet where diners can eat all they want?
I guess it’s to practice resisting temptation,
but instead I am feeling severe perturbation.

Potatoes and gravy and chicken and peas
and desserts where a person can eat all they please
are simply not kosher when one should be dieting.
Instead of resisting, I find myself rioting.

I charged up to the counter and filled up my plate
with a pile of entrees I’m ashamed to relate.
Then muffins and crepes and strawberry pie
spilled over the sides and reached up to the sky.

Something about me was slightly off-kilter,
and I found I was eating without any filter.
If they’d pared down the menu, I’d have much less naughty,
and the folks at my table might have looked way less haughty.

My table mates clucked and looked sad and disgusted.
It was  clear at buffets I was not to be trusted.
Yet I noticed also some looks of regret
as they surveyed these goodies that they, too, could get

if only they had the nerve to break ranks:
scalloped potatoes and baked beans with franks,
chocolate eclairs and ice cream with hot fudge
all could be theirs with nobody to judge.

Yet what could it hurt, just one serving of gravy?
Just one piece of chicken, one biscuit and maybe
one serving of pudding without the whipped cream?
Would one scoop of vanilla really be extreme?

I saw resolve falter as one after one
they returned to the line for a muffin or bun,
chicken fried steak or some pork or some shrimp—
first with restraint, then ceasing to scrimp.

And that’s how I broke up our Weight Watcher’s bunch
after a single ill-fated lunch.
I’m not proud of my actions and the resolves I’ve killed,
but at least for the present I’m sufficiently filled!

 

 

Prompt words for the day are filter, naughty, meeting, pare and menu.

Short Career in a Chinese Restaurant

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Short Career in a Chinese Restaurant


Her first day on the job, how was she to guess
why so many customers left in distress,
complaining that they found the restrooms deficient—
the number of stalls being hardly sufficient?

How was she to know that epsom salt wasn’t
the same as real salt, for everyone doesn’t!
When he found that she’d filled all the shakers with it,
her boss came unglued and threw a small fit.

Her poignant excuses were given short shrift
and alas she was fired at the end of her shift.
At a meeting of friends, she took refuge in booze,
then opened her heart and relayed her sad news.

All of her friends found her firing dramatic
bemoaning a boss so rigid and dogmatic,
and along with their sympathy, gave the advice
that they should have used soy sauce to flavor their rice.

Prompt words for today are poignant,  dogmatic, meeting, advice and shift. Image by Lachlan on Unsplash.

Eaten Away

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Eaten Away

Now that my skin’s been exsiccated,
I think it could be debated
whether now I’m liable
to also be more friable.
Pounds drying out and crumbling?
If so, I won’t be grumbling.
I’ll be real glad to lose some mass
from upper arms, tummy and ass.
If so, aging could be a treat,
for no matter what I eat,
my fat would crumble and fall away.
Naughty eating with naught to pay.

Prompt for today are exsiccate, real, kin, friable and treat.

 

The Grump: A Pessimist’s Last Request

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The Grump: A Pessimist’s Last Request

I don’t pander to the drug merchants. My pleasures are not herbal.
I don’t believe in drinking and I don’t get off on verbal.
Gossip is innocuous and I have no affection
for reading mystery novels. I am bored by their detection.
I do not seek adventure in movies or in travel.
I don’t see what folks see in Judge Judy’s pounding gavel. 
I don’t have any hobbies, for I find all pastimes boring.
I got rid of my wife for I can’t abide her snoring.
I don’t see what folks see in life so when time comes to end it,
please do not resuscitate. I don’t wish to extend it!

 

A disclaimer: this poem is preceded by a favorite photo I once took but in no way illustrates the person depicted. He’s a good sport and has let me use this photo three different times to illustrate humorous poems. 

Prompt words are adventure, innocuous, herbal, pander and affection.  And. . .this poem is purely fiction. Go ahead and resuscitate me!!!! 

Up in Smoke

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Up in Smoke

I’d bet a batch of raviolis
that you’ve blown your bronchioles
since you’ve gone completely wacko
over hand-rolled fine tobacco.

Your affection for your smoking
that at first was grounds for joking
raises qualms about the rumor
that  you’ve found you have a tumor.

I must admit that I find strange.
your haughty refusal  to change
that causes worry among your friends
that you’ll come to tragic ends.

To me is seems you must be showing
that your puffing and your blowing
is more important in your life
than your children or your wife.

I wonder if you’ll feel elation
on the day of your cremation
as all of you goes up in smoke.
And that will be your final joke!

Prompt words today are bronchiole, qualms, nourish, haughty and affection.