Tag Archives: Silly Rhymes

Garden Scandals

photo by Derrick Knight.


Garden Scandals

“Campanula and cryptomeria together in one bed?

I find it very scandalous,” the one who found them said.

Such shocking behavior from ones of mixed genera!

Perhaps you could move one of them to a far-distant terra?

 

I found this in my notes.. I think it was a comment I once sent to Derrick or someone else who mentioned these two plants coexisting in their garden. Couldn’t find photos of them in my picture file but Derrick, perhaps you have a photo you’d like to contribute?

Ha! Derrick Knight came through. Click on the link to see his original photo and post. He publishes daily photos of his Wife Jackie’s garden and other rambles. Thanks, Derrick for the photo above. Have you removed the campanula or do scandals continue to go on in your garden?

Mystery Bride

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Mystery Bride

As ceremonies go, theirs was most whimsical in nature—
as original in rite as in its nomenclature,
for to the credit of the groom, who set custom aside,
it was he who chose to take the last name of the bride.

Right off, it captured interest the day the knot was tied
when his wife-to-be was clothed with little left to hide.
Swathed in camouflage from her head top to her toes,
you couldn’t see the bride at all. You only saw her clothes.

So since no one had met the bride, when  their “I do’s” were said
without the bridal burqa being lifted from her head,
nobody really knew at all what his Mrs. looked like.
The groom was heard to say it only mattered what she cooked like.

And so the mystery of the bride remains up to this day.
If his family’s seen her, not one of them will say.
And though his treatment of his bride is thought by some as vicious,
all agreed the wedding cake she baked was most delicious.

Prompts today are cinch, ceremony, whimsical, capture and interest.
Photo by Omar Belattar on Unsplash, used with permission.

When Seafolk Get Together

I know I’m not supposed to be posting anything, but my friend Leslie sent me this email and of course it inspired a poem. Here is the list of collective nouns for ocean animals that she sent me.

Did you know….

It’s a smack of jellyfish
A shiver of sharks
A battery of barracudas
A romp of otters
A consortium of crabs
An audience of squid and
A fever of stingrays

 (Thanks @oceana for the valuable ocean info.)

This is what resulted!

 

When Seafolk Get Together

I’d like to smack that jellyfish for oozing here and there,
sticking to my elbows and globbing up my hair.
If I had known its tendency to stick right to my belly,
I would have brought some peanut butter to go with my jelly.

Sharks always make me shiver. You can’t tell where they are.
They might be nearly anywhere—swimming near or far.
The Chinese love their shark fin soup. They love its taste and crunch,
and sharks return the favor by having us for lunch.

Who knew a barracuda could navigate on land
and survive on highways as well as sea and sand?
All they need is batteries (the Plymouth folks discovered)
to become amphibious—both land and water covered.

If we made boots in their sizes, I know otters would stomp,
but since they must go barefoot, instead they dive and romp.
They open up their oysters by lying on their backs,
putting rocks on tummies and giving them great smacks.

A consortium of crabs can be an itchy deal.
Not the sort of gathering that one wants to feel.
Perhaps out on the beach it’s easier to bear,
but crabs should never gather in anybody’s hair!

Squid make a perfect audience. They do not mock or sneer.
They have eight hands to clap with, although they cannot cheer.
If you sit behind them, how fortunate for you,
for they wear no hats or hairdos to obstruct your view.

That guy there in that Stingray is a speeder and a weaver.
I think that you could say that he must have racing fever.
If he were a fish, it would be fine to go ballistic.
On land, alas, he’s just a fatality statistic.

Overpacking

 

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Overpacking

Where is it that a cat belongs? She’ll be the judge of that.
Wherever I am going, I am sure to need a cat.
She’ll help me with my packing and be my memory
so I don’t forget to take her when I set out to sea.

She can’t see how her company could go against my wishes.
A cat goes well with boats and anywhere where there are fishes.
Each morning she repacks herself and each night in the dark
she asks herself once more just when we’ll finally embark.

After a week of packing, my case is finally full.
I shut the lid, secure the lock, pick up the strap and pull.
I’m off to catch the red eye that will fly me off to Rome
to catch the boat that for one week will make do as my home.

I have packed so carefully, checking off my list
that I’m sure there’s nothing that I could have missed.
But I know that Annie, sleeping curled up on her mat,
when she wakes up and finds me gone, will not agree with that.

In spite of her best efforts, alas, she’s left behind.
It seems that human planning isn’t always kind
to cats who have spun fantasies of travel and romance.
Did human plans concur with hers? Poor Annie. Not a chance.

It’s a wonderful coincidence that the dVerse Poets prompt today is “Felines,” since just this morning I found this photo taken three weeks ago as I packed for my Mediterranean cruise with my sister. I meant to publish it back then but forgot and was wondering when it would be appropriate to use it as an illustration. I didn’t have to wait long to find out.

 

A Stroll in the Park is not What it Used to Be

 

A Stroll in the Park is not What It Used to Be

This park is overrated. It is not my zone of choice.
One cannot be heard here unless you raise your voice.
The signs are not well-written. They’re curt and brash and rude.
One gets pebbles in one’s shoes when fashionably shoed.
Little dogs are walked here that irritate my nose,
and I don’t approve of the scanty jogging clothes.
If the Queen were walking here, I think she would be shocked,
for not one single passer-by is stockinged, gloved and frocked!
All-in-all, a walk here is not what it once was.
I only visit here because the ice cream vendor does!

Prompt words today are pebble, written, zone, overrated and choice.

Ode to the Shipboard Buffet

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Ode to the Shipboard Buffet

In the hierarchy of buffets, spaghetti is the king
no matter what competing dishes they may bring
to grace the laden, groaning boards: rich soups and shrimp and cheeses.
They advocate for salads, but somehow no Caesar pleases
half as much as pasta, well-laden with rich sauce:
ground beef, basil and parmesan, tinged with just a toss
of fennel and oregano. It simply has no peer.
We gobble it with cabernet, chianti or a beer.
We leave the smorgasbord serene, replete and full and sated.
Our emptiness has been fulfilled, our appetites abated.
No hunger pangs outlast thin noodles topped with smashed tomatoes.
Spaghetti beats out hamburgers and crisp French fried potatoes.
It beats out cured Virginia  ham. It beats filet mignon.
It beats twice-baked potatoes and things put thereupon.
I’m sorely tempted by ice cream and pastries, cookies, tarts,
but such things aren’t exclusive of main courses that are starts.
A plate piled with spaghetti deserves a proper ending.
Just plan when loading up your plate. Dessert is also pending!

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Words for the day are serene, advocate, hierarchy, outlast and spaghetti.

Stuffed

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Stuffed

I lose my glasses, cuss and mutter,
but my worst quality is clutter!
I have a drawer just filled with socks
I never wear.  And pans and woks,
old dishes, fondue pots  and skewers,
a fourteen-year-old bottle of Dewars
not one friend drinks, much less myself,
sitting there upon my shelf.
Everything I buy just clings.
I  can’t seem to part with things!
In boxes on my garage shelves
are all my former castoff selves.

The slides from art shows long ago?
I dreaded sorting them and so
they remain in plastic crates,
labeled with their types and dates.
Old letters, class notes, tax returns?
I’ve heard that paper easily burns
as well as shreds, yet still I wait.
Years pass as I equivocate.
They might be needed someday so,
get rid of them? I must say no!
With finite space in drawer and bin,
I buy new things and stuff them in.

I should destroy, but can’t commit,
those mismatched pan lids that don’t fit,
My studio is filled with things.
My jewelry drawers with bracelets, rings.
My closets stuffed with different sizes,
shelves stacked with future gifts and prizes.
Snow boots although it never snows
anywhere this woman goes.
A safari hat with veil
hangs upon a closet nail
along with wet suit, snorkel, fins,
and other useless hoarding sins.

My kitchen is a spice museum.
So many spices, I can’t see um.
Fenugreek and capsicum
that I was given by my mum
so long ago they have no taste,
green olives and tomato paste
well past the date they should be used.
Yes, my house should be perused
and sorted out, I must admit,
instead, I sit and write of it!
I know some folks clear out their closets,
but me? I only make deposits!

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Prompt words today were security, finite, someday and commit. I admit, I took a poem from four years ago and added lines to include some of the new prompt words.  Still can’t throw anything away but at least I’m repurposing!

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/02/22/rdp-friday-security/
https://fivedotoh.com/2019/02/22/fowc-with-fandango-finite/
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/02/22/your-daily-word-prompt-Someday-february-22-2019/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/02/22/commit/