She lifted her can-can skirt
for all the world to see,
well beyond a peek-a-boo look!
Layers of crimson and gold
bedazzle with voluptuous shimmers
as high kicks accompany a stiff breeze!
How I love the fall season in Boston! Another razzle-dazzle poem for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets! Come see what other folks have written to bedazzle you!
** A clerihew is a comical biographic verse. See full explanation below photos.
i.
All the ladies admired the young Houdini,
but wished he performed in a thong bikini.
Their screams take it off created a racket
as he hung upside down in a confining strait jacket.
ii.
Rip Van Winkle slept away the years,
escaped his wife’s nagging and too-often tears.
Thought he’d be a ladie’s man, a new phenomenon,
instead he limped beside the dames, testosterone gone.
Written for dVerse, a poet’s pub, where today Gayle asks us to write a Clerihew: a comic verse on biographical topics consisting of 2 couplets and an aabb rhyme scheme. The first line is to name the individual. Form invented by Edmund Clerihew Bentley (1875-1956) at age sixteen. Very challenging to write humorous poetry!!! Pub officially opens at 3 PM Boston time…drop by and read some more of these — or try your hand at comical verse and share yours with other dVerse readers!
Eyes droop in early morn,
pen moves slowly as words dribble.
Muse remains softly ensconced,
asleep in warm bed across the hall.
I warned you!
and the spiders have taken heed . . .
You cared not to sit with ordinary blokes,
dangled your feet and watched all their woes.
You squirreled me away with Peter’s wife,
stuck in a pumpkin shell for life.
I am not addled nor scrambled in wits.
And so in the evenings of hey diddle diddle
your eyes on the cow and the cat and the fiddle,
I found my way out, maneuvering the vine.
I added more bricks by the light of the moon,
layer by layer, higher it grew.
Til I smiled in the window that final day,
snacking on pumpkin and watching you swoon.
You sat on your wall, looking down upon me
sneering and laughing and kicking in glee.
And then with bravado, a tip of your hat,
you leaned forward and laughed
until . . .
Splat!
All the King’s horses and all the King’s men
couldn’t rewrite you together again.
The wall is demolished, Jill’s bucket is full.
I am quite proud and raucously so,
to sit on my tuffet, secure in my ways,
eating, nay feasting, on curds and whey.
Kim is hosting Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, a virtual pub for poets. Bar opens at 3 PM. We’re asked to take a character, fictional or non-fictional, and re-write their story from the point of view of their husband or wife. I’ve taken the liberty of assuming Little Miss Muffet was married to Humpty Dumpty 🙂 Photos from Childcraft, Volume One Poems of Early Childhood, copyright 1947. I may be a tad older than my readers so these photos provide the Mother Goose rhymes alluded to in my poem.
blinking window lights
‘gainst darkening city scape
nondiscriminating fire flies
summer, spring and winter skies
View from our Boston deck at night.
Carnival merry-go-rounds go
round and round and up and down.
My knot-so-merry-tummy goes
round and round and up
and down and urp [sic] it goes,
paint me calliope green.
Written for dVerse Tuesday Poetics where CC is tending bar. The topic of conversation is “even monkeys fall from trees.” CC asks us to write about mistakes we’ve made – can be humorous or serious. Well, I learned the hard way — I never ride on merry-go-rounds! Photo credit: Richard Styles
Some days
are like spinning tires on gravel.
The doing is there,
but the moving is not.
Photo credit: Nick Cowie.
Age defines shelf space.
Bran cereal and oatmeal
prominently front
hot sauce gathers dust in back
during salt and pepper years.
Written in the tanka form — tongue in cheek, food for thought so to speak! Happy weekend all.
Long before Orwell’s 1984
big brother watching you
drones and satellite stations,
there were pigeons in the sky.
Cameras upon their chests,
they reported fowl news
to those who knew.
Jobs stolen,
usurped by technocrats,
they simply gather now
where cracked corn is tossed.
And when they do take flight,
their only sign of rebellion
is the occasional shit upon your head.
Written in response to Miz Quickly‘s posting of the following article from The Public Domain Review: Dr Julius Neubronner’s Miniature Pigeon Camera
In 1908 Dr Julius Neubronner patented a miniature pigeon camera activated by a timing mechanism. The invention brought him international notability after he presented it at international expositions in Dresden, Frankfurt and Paris in 1909–1911. Spectators in Dresden could watch the arrival of the camera-equipped carrier pigeons, and the photos were immediately developed and turned into postcards which could be purchased. Photos from same article. Hope I gave you a smile with this! 🙂
Junie Z and I,
we had a lot of fun
watchin’ Winky Dink and Me
eatin’ PB and J sandwiches
in front of her black and white tv.
But she liked Gene Autry
that singin’ cowboy,
and Roy Rogers and Dale
croonin’ Happy Trails to You,
like it was just for her.
Me? I was the silent type.
Who would guess it now.
The Lone Ranger was my guy.
No sissy singin’ – just that masked man
ridin’ into those far off hills.
So imagine my surprise
hearin’ good ole Gene
on the radio today
preachin’ at me in song,
There’s no back door to heaven.
And I guess he’d know,
at least in the eyes of Junie Z
after all these years,
but not for tone-deaf me.
Couldn’t resist putting up a more light hearted one for the prompt. Take a listen — ah the childhood memories of me and Junie Z! Posted for Dverse Tuesday Poetics, a poem somehow related to “doors.”
lillian the home poet 