Limerick II

Limerick II for dVerse MTB

There once was a damsel from Kerry
who dated a bloke oh-so-hairy
when they kissed she would flinch
leaving him was a cinch
since the hair on his back was quite scary.

I once knew a lad from Killarney
Who had a good buddy named Arnie
In spite of his name
His golf game was a shame
But the scores that he posted: pure blarney.

Couldn’t resist a 2nd one for dVerse MTB. The rhythm gets stuck in your head.

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Limericks–dVerse Meeting the Bar

Now for a bit of whimsy as Frank treats us to a limerick prompt at dVerse MTB. I could go on and on.

Limericks

There once was a dragon named Tony
he fell like a rock for a pony
she got such jolt
she took off like a bolt
now poor Tony thinks romance baloney.

There once was a guy who loved money
But could never impress his true honey
‘Cause he spent it on wine
and she saw not a dime
so she left him alone—what a dummy.

Here’s one I posted for one of Madeleine’s prompt:

A woman who always felt free
Burned her bra when she turned twenty-three
Now at age sixty-eight
She is rueing her fate
As her boobies keep knocking her knees.

Of the Onset of Cold Weather–dVerse Poetics: Homophones

Credit: ProWritingAid.com

Credit: ProWritingAid.com

Of the Onset of Cold Weather
A Snowbird’s Lament in Homophones

If I’m allowed, I’ll rant aloud
of autumn’s need to dye, to die
or so it seems, to knit
the season’s seams together
through leaves it threw to ground.

The endless summer’s sear
has left the land so sere.
The trees, in springtime fair
did not, this year, fare well,
the ash has not survived.

As winter’s morn draws near
I’ll mourn the loss of warmth.
We’ll travel south to find
the sun and pause to play
some golf and walk the dogs
where paws don’t freeze.

And, as for golf, I drive my
ball, yell “fore” and hope that
(unlike last year’s very first drive)
I will not break a window.
(Said story’s sad, but true.)

For dVerse Poetics, Lillian invites us to write some poetry using homophones, that is, words that sound alike. There are tons of them, just Google “homophone lists” and have fun with them.

If it’s Haibun Monday you want, that poem is here.

the saxophone and itzhak perlman–dVerse Poetics II

Artist: Cindy McTee

Artist: Cindy McTee

the saxophone and itzhak perlman

counterpoint!

 

that blues brother’s guy plays an alto sax while
itzhak slides his bow across medusa’s snakes
playing “(black) swan lake.

 

pas de deux

 

hansel, wearing tights too tight
(he really shouldn’t)
dances the nutcracker—sweet
gingerbread, tries to lure that
dragon-lady, ice-queen, witch away
from the oven before gretel becomes toast!

2/2/cut time

poe’s raven caws “nevermore, nevermore”
to the half-time beat of the metronome
while that crazy old dude in the third
row back, center seat can’t stop clapping.

game point

then my wife, the old bat, comes in
waving last night’s empty bottle of vodka
screeching
“i told you so, bacchus, you ass.”

checkpoint!

Photo: Jim Varney

Photo: Jim Varney

My second response to the dVerse Poetics prompt for story-telling. There are a few of the cues in this one: a dragon, a bat, a greek god, a black swan, a nutcracker, a man who can’t stop clapping, a bluesmen playing a saxophone, Hansel and Gretel, the Icequeen, an old liquor bottle, a raven and a metronome.

I hope you will visit us at dVerse Poetics and also check out my other poem, posted earlier.

Life Plus Five

Reno Gazette Journal June 24, 2006 “79-year old found guilty of killing former boyfriend.”

ATLANTA-A 79-year-old woman accused of shooting her ex-boyfriend because their romance had ended was convicted of murder Friday. Lena Driskell was sentenced to life in prison plus five years. She was immediately taken into custody, and defense attorneys said she would not be eligible for parole for 30 years. Driskell shot 85-year-old Herman Winslow in June 2005 at the assisted living home where they both resided. After she was arrested, police said she was angry that their romance had ended and he was seeing another woman.

Photo: Turbosquid.com

Photo: Turbosquid.com

Life, Plus 5

Guess that showed the sonofabitch

85-year-old womanizer

you were pissed,

 

were serious about monogamy.

Showed the rest of us love

isn’t reserved for sleek bodies,

 

old age isn’t sexless or without passion

(and should be reinvented now that I’m old myself).

 

While you’re in prison,

(which isn’t that different from an Assisted Living Facility

or a 79-year-old body),

 

keep in mind you don’t need

to be defined by someone else.

You are enough for life plus five years.

 

In response to Bjorn’s fun prompt for dVerse Meeting the Bar. Please join us…invite a friend!

Sorry to resort to a previously posted poem but it seems to fit the prompt. If a quiet moment should emerge from this temporary chaos, I am playing with another headline and waiting to see where it will take me.

Oh Puleeze–Oppossum? Monday Meanderings

I spent the weekend with my mother and was unable to access my blog to post this on time.

Photo: smokinmeat.com

Photo: smokinmeat.com

This year, I’m trying to do more cooking…something that has always been done for me, both to take a bit off my husband’s shoulders and to be able to fen for myself when he will be away for a while later this year. While looking through a well-known cookbook, one that has a large variety of recipes, I stumbled on this recipe. Not so sure about the meat, but it sure served up a good laugh for my mom and me. And humor is so nourishing on a Monday, isn’t it?

If anyone tries this, please don’t tell me about it, okay?

Photo: redbubble.com

Photo: redbubble.com

Opossum Recipe

If possible, trap possum and feed it with milk and cereals for 10 days before killing. Clean, but do not skin. Immerse unskinned animal in water just below the boiling point. Test frequently by plucking at the hair. When it slips out readily, remove the possum from the water and scrape. ..remove red glands in small of back and under each foreleg between the shoulder and the rib. Parboil one hour then roast. Serve with turnip greens.

Have a happy week.

Smiles and Similes–Monday Meanderings

It’s been a challenging week here…with another one coming up. I don’t know about you, but I could use a good dose of humor. This came to me in an e-mail. Have fun. See if you can add one of your own in comments!

Photo: idschools.org

Photo: idschools.org

Why I could never teach High School English–Examples of creative high school writing:

Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two sides
gently compressed by a Thigh Master.

His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances
like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.

He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a
guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of
those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country
speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar
eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.

She grew on him like she was a colony of E.coli and he was
room-temperature Canadian beef.

She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes
just before it throws up.

Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.

He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.

The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated
because of his wife’s infidelity came as a rude shock, like a
surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free ATM.

The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a
bowling ball wouldn’t.

McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag
filled with vegetable soup.

From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an
eerie, surreal quality, like when you’re on vacation in another city
and Jeopardy comes on at 7:00 p.m . instead of 7:30 .

Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze.

The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when
you fry them in hot grease.

Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across
the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having
left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m . traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka
at 4:19 p.m . at a speed of 40 mph.

They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences
that resembled Nancy Kerrigan’s teeth.

John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who
had also never met.

He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant and she was the
East River.

Even in his last years, Grandpappy had a mind like a steel trap,
only one that had been left out so long, it had rusted shut.

Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.

The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil,
this plan just might work.

The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not
eating for a while.

He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either,
but a real duck that was actually lame, maybe from stepping on a land
mine or something.

The ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and extended one slender
leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.

It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around
with power tools.

He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells,as if she were a garbage truck backing up.

Her eyes were like limpid pools, only they had forgotten to put in
any pH cleanser.

She walked into my office like a centipede with 98 missing legs.

It hurt the way your tongue hurts after you accidentally staple it
to the wall.

Photo: rovalocity.com

Photo: rovalocity.com

Have a fun week…keep smiling.