humor

The Septuagenarian

lillian6 Comments

Society’s expectations?
She doesn’t give two hoots
about being who she’s not.

It’s taken her a while to get there,
seven decades to be exact.
Wrinkle creams and hair dye be damned.

She wears flat shoes on every occasion,
air-dries her hair in all its grey glory
and orders dessert, which is mandatory.

Happily sleeveless when it’s hot,
just stare if you dare at her crepe-like skin
and notice her knees with those very high hems.

Stereotypical sayings are bantered about,
she’s older and wiser and been round the block
but look at her now as she picks her own route.

Written for NAPOWRIMO, Day 15.
Today we’re asked to “write a poem about something you have absolutely no interest in.”
We’re invited “to investigate some of the ‘why’ behind resolutely not giving two hoots about something.”
Although my poem is written in third person, this is how I feel at seventy-five.

Ah. . . Perchance to Sleep

lillian19 Comments

This star lit night my lovely dear,
we lie entwined, our lips so near.
Our spirits joined in dreams to soar
until you break the spell to snore.

You grunt and groan and sputter snort.
I toss, I turn, till last resort
my patience worn from all that sound,
my need for sleep is so profound,

I trippingly flee our marriage bed
collapse undone, on couch instead.
And when the sky is lit with dawn
to your side, again I’m drawn.

Alarm rings loud, you wake refreshed
our bodies once again enmeshed.
While you leap up to greet the day,
I’m just ready to hit the hay.

Originally written in early 2019, tweaked for Open Link Night LIVE at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.

Click here at 3 PM Boston time today, to join us LIVE at dVerse! Come to read your own poem and hear others; or just to listen. The more the merrier!

A little humor is good for the soul! Also shared on NAPOWRIMO Day 14, off prompt today.

A stitch in time saves nine . . .

lillian3 Comments

. . . but there’s no Singers in this house!
No sopranos, altos, or tenors either.
Only two spools of thread available here.
One cat-masticated white, the other
a forty-six year old neon orange –
from a pumpkin project
for a Montessori kid.

You wore spectacles, Ben,
so you must know.
Your sage advice here
requires at least one eye.
Needless to say, that needle’s slit
and my cataracted two?
Not exactly a winning bet.

So what nine and what time?
Nearing the end of mine,
I’ve resolutely decided
to wear my holey socks.
Instead, I offer you this adage:
A glass of wine at any time
may alleviate your need to whine.

Written for NAPOWRIMO Day 7 where today the prompt is to “write a poem that argues against, or somehow questions, a proverb or saying. They say that ‘all cats are black at midnight,’ but really? Surely some of them remain striped. And maybe there is an ill wind that blows some good. Perhaps that wind just has some mild dyspepsia.  Whatever phrase you pick, I hope you have fun complicating its simplicity.”

*** By way of explanation: Singers is in reference to the popular brand of sewing machines and Ben Franklin popularized this phrase in his Poor Richard’s Almanac.

Image from Pixabay.com

Relating to Aesop

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Things sometimes manifest themselves in clouds
Are they real shapes, real creatures others see as well?
Not only my machinations, but some unexplainable cumulus creation?
Always I wonder, is my mind crazed or simply too artistic for the mundane?
What occurs to me as perfectly easy to discern, may or may not be for others.
They perhaps simply see white fluffs surrounded by blue and I
seem rather odd to them, as I ogle over a fire-breathing dragon in the sky.

Written for NAPOWRIMO, Day 6. The prompt for today is “write a variation of an acrostic poem. But rather than spelling out a word with the first letters of each line, I’d like you to write a poem that reproduces a phrase with the first words of each line.”

I’ve chosen a line from Aesop’s Fable, the Bee-Keeper and the Bees: Things are not always what they seem.

Image from Pixabay.com

Sudoku Days

lillianLeave a comment

Mind wanders unable to cogitate.
Winds play havoc with light weight detritus.
Headlines condense happenings,
news by topic only. Sometimes old.
Eyes skim paper while draining coffee cup.
Aprosexia. Sound enticing?
Not.
Day dawns choppy and jumbled.
My sorting hat’s lost.


NAPOWRIMO (National Poetry Writing Month) Day 2. The challenge is to write a poem every day in the month of April.

Today’s optional prompt: write a poem based on a word featured in a tweet from Haggard Hawks, an account devoted to obscure and interesting English words. I chose the word “aprosexia” which means an inability to concentrate.

Paper Me This . . .

lillian23 Comments

Sears Catalogue dreams,
turn to shit
placed in the outhouse.

Reams stacked high
like people’s dreams,
waiting to tip.

Cat clawed rolls
scarred,
piled in heaps.

Bits and pieces
thrown in anger,
confetti tossed in joy.

Like so much,
paper’s all in the using.

De is hosting Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe! Today, we’re to use the word “paper” or a form of the word (not a synonym) within our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. I had a bit of fun with this one.

Birds of a Feather . . .

lillian15 Comments

She adored attending church,
not to finger her rosary beads
or murmur prayers upon her knees,
but to wear her finest hats for all to see.
Purposely arriving late
she strutted down the aisle
showing off her plumage,
much like the Tall Crowned Crane
and the Secretary Bird
she visited often at the Diego Zoo.

We’re trying on hats today at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.
First two photos are from the San Diego Zoo: first is the Tall Crowned Crane and second is a Secretary Bird. That old bird in the third photograph is me some years back. I always say, if you’re going to wear a hat, wear a HAT!
Poem is fictional….I’m not Catholic, don’t use a rosary, and certainly don’t strut in church.

For the Love of Sound

lillian19 Comments

The only job she could land
landed her in an out-of-the-way town.
She’d cajoled and connived her way
to a choir of four.
Refusing to admit defeat,
she would not
call them a quartet.

David, eyes cast down interminably,
droned a background hum
for whatever tune was sung.
Delilah, the defiant one.
Deliberately off-pitch to shine,
spotlight stolen by default.
Dissonant in life as well.

Miriam, the honey-blonde.
Sensuous red lips
licked and dewed before each word,
mouthed dulcet tones too late.
Behind in every measure,
she flashed her thigh for all to see
beneath unbuttoned robe.

And Carl, the rapper.
Lordy, what a snazzy guy.
Snapped his fingers
while chanting words.
Smelled of weed with eyes glazed,
unwilling to shed
his percussive beat.

She smiled and waved her baton,
directing the motley crew.
Sweat dribbled down her chest
to that delicate spot
between her ample breasts.
Music is as music does,
always music to her ear.

She’d defied the warnings,
music her one true love.
So here she stood,
tone deaf and proud.
Her quartet, after all,
was magnificently loud.

Written for Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets across the globe.

Today, Laura asks us to write a “sound poem” choosing one word from five lists she provides. She also points us toward Hart’s Thesaurus of the Senses, a valuable resource for poets. Laura, I ordered a copy yesterday. The words I used (or forms of the word) were drone, dissonant, dulcet, dribble, and chant. I also added a fifth word from the list, honey. Truly had fun with this prompt. Thank you, Laura! Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!

PS: dedicated with humor to my daughter and son, both of whom direct a chorus and/or choir; and son-in-law, who composes choral music.

Image from A Scrub’s Life, February 1, 2017: “Sometimes We Can Be A Little Tone Deaf”

Are you with me?

lillian18 Comments

Dump the pointy-eared pixie!
I may be tinsel-tipsy,
but what’s with that guy?
Elf on a Shelf, the supreme tattler.
Old St. Nick sure didn’t hire him.
Why cultivate fear in a kid’s heart
when Rudolph’s coming to town?
Unconditional love,
so much better!

A quadrille written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today Mish asks us to use the word tinsel, or a form of the word (not a synonym) in a poem of exactly 44 words. Photo by Hello I’m Nik on Unsplash
Elf on a Shelf is a product predominately sold in the U.S. Parents can set the elf out and move it about the house every night when the children go to bed so it seems like the elf is alive. The children then hunt for the elf the next morning. The real purpose of the elf is to spy on the children and make sure they’re being good so Santa will come on Christmas morning! Parents actually tell the children they must be good or the elf will let Santa know they’re on the naughty list! I’ve never liked this idea – no offense to anyone reading this who uses it during the Christmas season. Just my opinion.

What’s In A Name?

lillian22 Comments

Her mother was a stoner,
flowerchild of the sixties.
Braless, barefoot, oblivious.
She copulated in a purple haze.

Love child born in a stream,
drifted from womb to surface
floated in sun’s glistened path.
Named according to her origins.

Forever asked,
why Mica Shist?

Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today, De would like us to use the word “stone” or a form of the word, in our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title.
When I saw the word stone, immediately thought of rocks, then different types of rocks as in metamorphic, granite, and mica schist. Mica schist is a metamorphic rock that includes the mineral schist. When on the surface, schist gives a sparkle to the rock. Some say mica is nature’s glitter. So I decided to have a little fun with the prompt! Image from Pixabay.com