Package somewhat frayed
wrapping creased, well worn,
shelf-life unknown.
Sensibility
seems supercilious.
Color me fuchsia, chartreuse
and buttercup yellow bright.
Spot light my abilities
and watch me, join me.
Tap dance into footlights.
Ignore splayed feet,
creped skin.
Laugh yesterdays past.
Smile me todays
and watch me grin.
Video from April – a tap dancing lesson with my granddaughter!
Pastry chef by trade,
she specialized in delicate souffles
risen to perfection.
Until he stormed out that night,
slammed the door hard –
and everything collapsed.
I rarely write the prompt first…but this time I must. Bjorn is hosting dVerse and we’re to use onomatopoeia in our poem – words that imitate sounds. Think “pluck” or “splatter.” He really wants us to concentrate on the SOUND of our poem. SO – in that spirit, don’t read my poem below. Sing it to the tune of The Farmer in the Dell – if you remember that from your childhood. Apologies in advance to those who don’t appreciate political satire/humor.
With Apologies to the Farmer in the Dell
The donald in the dell
The donald in the dell
hi-ho, the derry-o
the donald isn’t well.
Splitter, splatter, splat
Pluck it, plaudit, pratt
hi-ho, the derry-o
his lies are tit for tat.
Duplicitous as hell
His double-dealings smell
hi-ho, the derry-o
the donald isn’t well.
The donald gathers rats
The rats eat the cheese
hi-ho, the derry-o
the donald is a sleaze.
This world puzzles me.
DonalddlanoD?
Oh god! That dog?
Loves his mirror.
Stands with star rats
who emit time warts,
straw guns snug in raw war.
Pals slap pals, live evil lives.
It’s like quaking jello out there,
and we’re getting our stressed desserts.
It’s a puzzler poem. There are words written as a mirror image and words, almost next to each other, that are a different word when spelled exactly backwards. Can you find them? Hints/key given below.
Today’s Quadrille, written for dVerse , must include the word “puzzle” or a form of the word. Mish is hosting and has us in a quandry!
HINTS / KEY: Mirror image of Donald is? Spell these words backwards: god, star, emit, warts, guns, raw, pals, live, and stressed.
Tiny Tina Twinkle
flit about the pumpkin patch.
Her little voice like merry bells
she readied for the snatch.
Magic dust in her wee hand
she sought out Peter’s wife.
Took her from that horrid shell
to share her fairy’s life.
In response to Misky’s Twiglet # 85, “voice like merry bells.” A Twiglet is a short phrase or a word. Its aim is to “prompt” a flow. In a whimsical mood today 🙂 And posted, although rather late, to dVerse OLN with Kim hosting.
Quit yer bitchin’
and scratch where yer itchin’.
However-many years you’ve got,
light more damn candles
and quit yer complainin’.
Quit yer terminable thinkin’
‘bout pushin’ up daisies.
You best be lookin’
to pick ‘em instead.
Water ‘em good and
scratch where yer itchin’.
Happy 7th year anniversary dVerse! Back from our summer respite, Grace hosts Quadrille Monday, asking us to include the word “itch” or a form of the word in our exactly 44 word poem, sans title. dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join our anniversary celebration by posting your own quadrille, or just reading the creativity of others. Photo from pixabay.com
Little Orangey Raiding Hood
cocky and bullish too
spit on our lady’s torch,
shorting out her light.
Bellicose as Old King Cole
merry in his big white house
decorated by special order,
he stuccoed it with lye.
Kitchen menu his design,
donkey stew cooked on high,
boiling for a long reduction
still kickin’ in the pot.
Uneasy with house chairs,
too soft, none just right.
No match to for his needs,
only gilded throne will do.
Upstairs to try the beds
too short, too long.
Ah just right, finally to sleep.
Bird twitter starts at dawn.
Fitful dreams of Miss Tuffet
savoring curds and whey.
Spiders crawl out from covers,
itsy bitsy never more.
Awakened by Fox and hounds
he calls for cavorters three.
Get my breakfast pie
and put that crown upon my head!
Then, oh so gleefully,
in goes his royal thumb
ready for a veritable plum.
YEEEEOW!
Inside that massive flakey crust
five and twenty blackbirds
baked in a bordered row.
Oh no! He’ll have to eat crow!
And now this silly poem must stop
although the tale itself does not.
Guess its ending from sounds you hear
louder, louder, more and more
that huffing puffing at his door.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets where I’m hosting Tuesday Poetics, asking folks to write a poem, serious or humorous, that somehow deals with opposites or antithesis. Folks can include simple opposite words such as light/dark, good/bad in the poem; look at one event from two opposite view points; or take a nursery rhyme and write it in an opposite way — instead of There was an old woman who lived in a shoe – make it a man! In this post, I’ve satirically dealt with a number of different nursery rhymes, changing their meaning completely. For a more serious take on the prompt, go to my poem Hovering In Absentia.
Two men, not brothers
married two women, not sisters.
One man brother to one not-sister.
If you’re counting, that’s four in all.
Christmas means a family gathering
cousins and those two not-brothers,
Bob the wee man, wicked funny
Bud a big man, comic not,
Laughter, carols, dinner done,
friends and family sit to leave.
Expectantly they wait,
tittering they anticipate.
Bob and Bud step forth all clad
coats, galoshes, mufflers too.
But to hats the family looks
as Bob and Bud, snicker not.
Bob stands small, beside big Bud.
Simultaneously they seriously say,
We’re ready to go dears
as all guffaw at what they see.
Bud looks sheepishly at Bob.
Bob’s small hat sits daintily,
perched
on top of Bud’s big head.
Bob cannot see Bud,
his eyes covered by Bud’s big hat
sitting precariously balanced
atop two pencils
protruding from Bob’s ears!
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where Mark Walters guest hosts Tuesday’s Poetics. He asks us to write humorously about something humorous from our lives. The Tale of the Hats is absolutely true! My Uncle Bob (very small head and a very fun-loving guy) and my dad, known as Bud, (a much more serious guy) exchanged hats every year at the end of our big Christmas gathering. Uncle Bob made sure he had two pencils in his coat and they’d come out looking absolutely ridiculous! No matter how many times they did this, we always laughed and laughed. Family lore now….I miss them both.
narcissus sissies
yellow ruffles hide in leaves
waiting warmth of spring
Haiku written for Napowrimo Day 21: prompt is to write a poem related to narcissus: the myth, the flower, or anything related to the word. Photo taken yesterday of a daffodil/narcissus bed….too chilly to bloom!
“Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.”
Mark Twain, aka Samuel Clemens
Welcome to the Ball and Socket,
newest hip joint in town.
Formerly Mark Twain’s Pub,
still catering to the hale and hearty.
Specialty drinks have disappeared,
Huck Finns and Tom Sawyers gone.
But never you worry and never you mind,
what matters most, is easy to find.
Old Sam leans on the bar,
pours drinks and sloshes the foam.
Jaws and listens and nips a few too,
just like the place, he’s as good as new.
Written for Napowrimo, day 13, where the prompt is to turn a famous saying upside down and have fun with it. I’ve had a bit of fun with Mark Twain’s quotation, cited at the beginning of the post.
