Archive for November, 2016
ICE CREAM FLAVOURS
Brownies on the Moon
so much to love
and so little room.
do not stop.
I cannot be.
my brain’s already
d’you bake your own
before you go?
kids may find
those flavours dandy.
I prefer Pralines and Cream
and Chocolate Revel’s
in my dreams.
all laced with antifreeze
or so I’ve read in
‘bout the perils
And so today as I choose a killer
I think I’ll have just plain vanilla.
‘TWAS A WEEK BEFORE CHRISTMAS
‘Twas a week before Christmas, not a present was boughten,
Not a goody was baked, the house looked forgotten.
And me in my housecoat, and Dad in his shoes,
Had just settled down to watch the Late News.
When from out of the night came a horrible sound,
We sprang from our chairs with a leap and a bound.
We flew to the window, tore open the drapes
The window was frosted, it needed a scrape.
With faces pressed up to our hastily scraped hole,
We peered through the glass to the objects below.
Then what did our wondering eyes then reveal,
But a miniature man on a large snowmobile.
With a roar and a rumble and an ear-splitting crash,
He came to a halt – he had run out of gas.
“Oh, Dasher, oh Dancer, oh Prancer and Vixen,
Where are you now? Where’s Donner and Blitzen?”
The little guy hollered and whistled and screamed,
His voice was much bigger than he was it seemed.
“Oh, please won’t you hear me! Where’s Comet and Cupid?
Old Santa needs help, he knows he is stupid!”
The poor little man looked so sad and forlorn,
As he kicked at his motor and blew on his horn.
When all of a sudden way up in the sky,
Came a jingle of sleigh-bells from way up on high.
Then as they came closer, with our eyes we did find,
Eight tiny reindeer with a bob-sleigh behind.
It landed and Santa climbed quickly aboard,
The reindeer were smiling, he spoke not a word.
But as they arose he made his apology,
We heard him yell, “Phooey on modern technology!!”
THE INCHWORM (1970s)
An inchworm looking very wise
Proudly inched before my eyes
His measured movements were athletic
But I thought him quite pathetic
Although his progress was so slick
Our country now has gone “metric”
I studied my face in the mirror
And nary a wrinkle appeared
My complexion was blurry
Until it occurred t’me
No eyeglasses ‘tween my two ears!
Prompt: on being a grape slowly turning into a raisin
So warm and cosy
so sweet and rosy
nestling next to
my brothers and
on the family vine
of our divine
me from my
I fall, tumbling and
The sun beating
my shape is less
I know not what’s
my body is
my skin is
I am cold
“Today’s prompt is to write a poem in which you very specifically describe something in terms of at least three of the five senses.”
and dark brown
of mature skin
masks the mushy
A logger with his wife and brood
Drove out from camp to buy some food
They parked out by the general store,
Then they all filed in through the door.
The family split in all directions
The children for the candy section,
His wife said as she checked the mail,
“The hunting licences are on sale.”
“That’s right, I’ll buy one right away,”
Our hero then was heard to say,
He went upstairs to where they sold them,
“I’ll want a tag or two,” he told them.
The clerk then asked his questions plain,
His birth-date, address and his name,
His wife’s name and his children’s all,
The logger answered with a drawl.
Then came the question that was next,
The one that queried as to sex,
He blushed, then cleared his throat and coughed and,
Answered, “Not so very often…”