Tag Archives: silly poem

My Body, for the Writer’s Workshop, Dec 19, 2024

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!!!Fragile!!!

Just as I’m becoming less agile,
all of me is turning fragile.

Flesh on flesh and bone on bone,
Nature won’t leave me alone.

Bruise more easily, skin tears easier.
Looking up now makes me queasier.

Can’t be trusted on a ladder.
Larger hips but smaller bladder.

Lips are thinner, bones are brittler.
And suddenly, I’m two inches littler.

If Nature’s bound to fold and shrink me,
Really, now, wouldn’t you think she

could leave me with my height and lips
and do her shrinking around my hips?

 

The prompt for the Writer’s Workshop was to write about my body as it grows old.

“Take 2 Aspirin,” for the Writers Workshop

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Take 2 Aspirin––

For all the world’s diseases and all life’s little ills
they’ve been inventing medicines, elixirs, syrups, pills.
But those crafty bacteria, viruses and germs
keep running on ahead of us as we come to terms
with ways to counteract them. They’re crafty little mites
who somehow slip inside of us through food or air or bites.
So in spite of all our science—our test tubes and our beakers,
all that malevolent mini-world just don their little sneakers
and keep on evolving a little bit ahead.
Enough to keep us sneezing or roiling in our bed.

 

The Writers Workshop prompt is “Medications.”

“Within” for Quadrille Challenge on diVerse Poets, Nov 26, 2024

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Within

Although they stand stiffly at attention,
these walls reach out
and hold me safe within their middle.
They stand guardian,
cushioning sound,
deflecting sharp edges.
Lucky me to have their protection.
Foolish me to leave their arms.
Yet the butterfly
soars over and away.

for dVerse Poets, the Quadrille Challenge prompt is “With.”

‘CHANGE OF MIND” for MVB, Nov 26, 2024

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                                           DSC00177_2

Relax, it’s only henna! I get a tattoo on my lower leg every time I go to the beach. It fulfills all my contradictory impulses.

                                    Change of Mind

Tattooed pierced and branded, or to be marked for life
with patterns carved into the skin with a sterile knife?
I cannot help but tell you that I find it very strange–
this trend to decorate ourselves by means that we can’t change.

When I was in my twenties, I bought a gorgeous hat
of pink and blue with colored plumes that swayed this way and that.
But what if I had had it sewn forever to my head,
so when I desired a wedding veil, I had feathers instead?

What if those chandelier earrings I found so cool in my teens
were implanted so I couldn’t take them off by any means?
So when I trekked across the jungles, weaving through the trees,
those earrings caught upon the vines and brought me to my knees?

My hair would be a helmet, and my eyes would look so queer
if worn like I did at twenty with eyeliner ear to ear.
So I cannot help but think this child with corks stretching her lobes
might regret them in her forties as she dons her judge’s robes.

Or the youngsters with the tongue studs, one day when they are men
might regret it as the shots they drink leak out onto their chin.
I’m so glad those mini skirts I wore—a poor choice even then––
are not still sewn upon my hips now that I am more Zen.

Thank God those darker outlined colors that made our lips less thin
and those psychedelic tie-dyes are not printed in our skin.
For although our taste was laughable, at least we can repent–
for the choices that we made in youth were not permanent.

                                                      IMG_3244

And, that hat mentioned in the poem? It really existed and still does, although no, I have not worn it in over 40 years. Here it is, a side view!

The prompt for My Vivid Blog today is “Mind.” (Hope is is ok that I am rerunning a poem I wrote in 2015. Just seemed appropriate!

Dressing for Attention, for Poetic Bloomings, Nov 24, 2024

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Dressing For Attention

Purple pedal pushers and a yellow skirt.
For a hat, a fascinator, and a tartan shirt.
A fur stole that’s a relic of another age—
when they didn’t raise them in a tiny cage.

Platform shoes to raise me up in elevation
so the band will see me during their ovation.
Great big shades to block the sunlight from my eyes
and so my date can’t see me flirting with the guys.

Bright pink polish on my nails and rhinestones on my lashes.
A girl has got to dress up right for these special bashes.
I will match the music—loud and brash and brassy.
Bands don’t notice groupies whose style is too classy!

For Poetic Bloomings, we were to write a non-culinary poem making use of the name of one item from our thanksgiving meal. The word I chose was, of course, “dressing.” It’s my favorite part of the meal!

Your Dishwasher’s Advocate

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For the PAD challenge, we are to write a poem about a machine.

Your Dishwasher’s Advocate

Cycle after cycle, they clean our dirty dishes
yet do we ever think about acceding to their wishes?
Maybe they, too, have appetites, and I sometimes think perhaps,
they were patiently waiting for their favorite scraps.

A bit of rich spaghetti sauce, a dollop of our mousse,
a little bit of buttered bread or rib eye’s savory juice
might have fulfilled their evening’s dreams or might have made their day,
But instead we diligently swab it all away!

No rich reward for faithful servants waiting for our scraps.
No satifsfactory searches for tidbits left in gaps.
And so they go another day, our faithful old machines,
without a taste of hamburgers or beets or nectarines.

They cannot live on water alone. Those soapsuds have no savor.
And so the next time when you scrape, please do your pal a favor.
Leave a few scraps on the plate. Don’t clean too well those tines.
Think about your faithful friend who oh too rarely dines.

Leave your dishwasher a tip—something on which to sup.
Leave wine dregs in your goblets and leave them facing up!
Leave rice grains in your rice bowl. Do not clear that sauce away.
Being less efficient, will make your Maytag’s day.

If your wife makes a kerfuffle over the job you do,
remind her it is you that’s here scraping off the goo.
Take her by the shoulders and deflect her view.
Your dishwasher is grateful for it every time you do!

 

Skipped Out, for MVB

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Skipped Out

It was a wretched theory. They postulated that
if we’d all collaborate, we’d lose all of our fat.
They weren’t very subtle. They gave us tubes of stuff
to squeeze over the food we ate, but never quite enough.
We had to buy the second batch, and prices just kept rising,
but we never lost a pound—a result not surprising.
Later, they skipped out of town—an act our friends found funny.
They told us from the first the only thing we’d lose is money!!!

For MVB: Skipped

Happy Medium

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                                          Happy Medium

I’m no rocket scientist,
but neither do I drool.
I once was an icon––
valedictorian in my school.
Living on a pension,
spending most days on my couch,
I’ve kept my sense of humor
and not become a grouch!!!

For Esther’s “Can you tell a story in. 39 words”   the words are:

  • ICON
  • DROOL
  • PENSION
  • ROCKET
  • COUCH

 

30 Decibels for The Three Things Challenge, M877

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30 Decibels

An upbeat singer has this choice
to bellow or to curb his voice.
Lower decibels are favored
so the music may be savored

The words for the Three Things Challenge are: UPBEAT LOWER BELLOW

Seasonal No-Nos for RDP, Nov 12, 2024

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Seasonal No-Nos

Coal in your stocking? There’s a reason.
(You’ve commited Yuletide treason
if you’ve been Christmas present squeezin’.)
These forms of unkind family-teasin’
aren’t allowed during this season:
You aren’t allowed to rag on sister
just because her boyfriend kissed ‘er.
Cannot short-sheet brothers’ beds
or put such mischief in the heads
of younger siblings so they do
naughty mischief, taught by you!
Can’t tease the dog or put the cat,
curled up, in your grandpa’s hat.
Cannot set the hamster free
to frolic in the Christmas tree.
Cannot conspire to spike the punch
when preacher’s asked for Sunday brunch.
All sorts of rules I could tell
to relieve the seasonal Hell
of switches in your Xmas stocking,
but I will do no further talking
of naughty things that you could do
to direct Kris Kringle’s wrath towards you.
For you require no more instruction
concerning means of the destruction
of the plans of all the others:
grandparents, sisters and brothers,
parents, uncles, aunts and those
who’ve wrapped up books and toys and clothes
to make your Xmas bright and fun
(so long as you have wrapped up none
of the gag gifts formerly plotted:
broken, ugly, fetid, rotted.)
Please wipe such plans out of your head,
or you’ll be sent,hungry, to bed
presentless, alone, unfed!!!!!

For RDP: Seasonal  Image by Shutterstock