Printable View
Here's a thread for Litnetters to post Light and humorous verse.
Please allow me to kick it off with this:
Scary Mary Contrary
In this strange realm where I've been sent
the sky and roofs live on the ground.
No creature’s wing nor hoof is bent,
but every flower walks around.
Folks here eat liquids out of hand
while drinking solids from a cup.
That’s why I sit when I should stand,
never quite knowing which end is up.
Poultry in Motion
Why DID the chicken cross the road, you ask?
No-no! 'Twas not to reach the other side.
The cluckster had good reason to decide
the dang'rous trip was her appointed task.
She did not flap to keep a lover's tryst.
No-no! 'Twas not to meet the rooster there,
At break of dawn, to seek his plumage fair,
(though possibly those drumsticks will be missed).
She did not brooding cross to save her eggs.
No-no! 'Twas not to keep them warm and whole,
preserve them from the whisk and mixing bowl.
An om'let fate did not propel her legs.
You'll cackle loud at cluckish reasoning.
She ran to dodge the poultry seasoning.
Good idea, Aunt Shecky. Your post made me think of the following I wrote for a nephew in 1998. I think I posted this a year or so ago.
The Poem of the Town That Was Upside-down
Stop swatting that bird,
I said from the ground,
you’re the man from the place
where the sky’s green and brown,
and the rain never falls,
so the grass is all blue.
You’d better come down,
I’ve heard about you.
You must be crazy,
came the instant reply,
I’m already down,
you’re up in the sky.
And this bird’s gonna croak,
if I don’t net it soon,
blown around with the wind
in the Grey-blue Lagoon.
Your Grey-blue Lagoon
is where birds like to fly.
They’re not thrashing around,
they’re not going to die.
You can’t really be real,
this is some kind of joke,
an upside-down town,
filled with upside-down folk.
Look at that green thing
in front of your nose –
what do you call it,
and the branch where it grows?
Let me guess; they are clouds;
they could never be leaves,
and you all live in houses
that sit on their eaves.
So you’ve seen my home?
And he started to climb
down, or up if you choose,
the trunk in no time,
until I was looking
directly at him
with a mouth in his head
and an eye on his chin,
and hair all around
from his head to his jaw,
and ten toes for fingers,
you won’t believe what I saw.
I started to run,
I was scared as could be,
but he started back down-up
and said follow me.
He gave me a foot,
that was really a hand.
It was way beyond strange,
I’m sure you understand.
Away we both went
through the tops of the trees,
this poet and a man
who had elbows for knees.
We arrived at a place,
at the edge of the wood;
I’d fail at descriptives,
if describe it I could:
A banner with “Get-Out-Of
Our Home in the Sky”
and instead of hello
they all said good-bye.
But I took off my shoes
and shook feet, nonetheless,
commenced my farewells,
in a daze, I’ll confess,
for it was true of the houses
I needed no further proof –
every one, every building
rose up from its roof.
I met all the children,
smart as they were tall,
but the parents and grown-ups
were fussy and small.
This reversal was cleared
in a song that they sung
about how each was born old
and died when they’re young.
Once I accustomed
myself to the town,
I had fun falling up,
but got sick rising down.
It was quite an adjustment
to make in my head –
that night I slept on the floor
and fell into the bed.
I dreamed I awoke
and this was all in my dreams.
I assure you my dithers
were more than it seems,
for when I really woke down
by the light of the moon
the children all laughed
‘cause I’d slept out ‘til noon.
Breakfast was good,
we had eggs that were red,
they’re favorite for sure,
by the smiles on their heads,
but the frowns on their lips
told me late I must go
from this land of green sky
with the blue grass below.
You’ll become one of us
if you don’t say hello;
they were right, my left thumb
had become a big toe,
and both of my lips
were growing eyelashes,
the grass had turned gray
and was throwing out flashes.
I ran through the green clouds,
the branches were wet,
there the birds had found shelter;
it was all they could get.
I was ever so grateful
for the home of my heart,
where poems end when they stop
and begin where they start.
Hahahahaha! That made me laugh right out loud, firefangled. Delightful. It has a wonderfully whimsical feel to it.
Juris Imprudence
A lawyer was often tossed out of courts
for exposing his own jokey shorts --
which took a toll on his beliefs
that wittiness is the soul of briefs.
Taking Stock
Fat cats are left holding empty bags,
their silken lifestyles lost and ripped to rags,
as trophy wives revert to frumpy hags.
From market to market once again they trot,
trying to sell off the remaining swag they've got
and crying, “Buddy, can you use a yacht?”
I love it! You are very good at these, Auntie.
'Believe in Angles and Ghosts? '
[ Actual headline on the AOL welcome screen.]
I've never met a ghost,
but even if I did,
I'd wonder he fibs or boasts,
or if he likes to kid.
In reality there is no dearth
of lines, parallel or perpendicular.
I've believed in them since my birth
and through my life's long circular.
I can't touch an ectoplasmic particle,
but angles? Those I'd buy.
I take 'em as the genuine article
be they rect or quad or tri.
They lay the truth right out
making their points A, B, and Cs.
So, yes I believe in angles
and not just by degrees.
“Bless You, You Angel!” said Satan
I wonder if the Devil swears,
When he smashes his left hoof?
In climatically rearranged phrases,
That would frost Hell’s Roof?
Does he say “What the heaven?”
Or perhaps “By the blessed pearly gate”?
Maybe “Oh, be forgiven if I will!”
Mocking everything he hates?
“When heaven boils over!” might be his cry
Or “Beelzebub on a window pane!”
But he can’t say “What the Devil!?”
Or he’ll take his own name in vain!
Pendragon
© 11/11/08
This is devilishly good.Quote:
Originally Posted by Pendragon
Excuses, Excuses
Uh-- on a sleep-over I overslept.
The alarm forgot to bzzt
because the power went out
partying last night
and this a.m. it’s choking
on the short hairs
of the dog who bit it.
After eating the kids’
homework, the pup regurgitated
facts: 1066, the sum
of the hypotenuse, meiosis.
I missed my ride,
and it doesn’t miss me.
The bus broke down
in tears because it came
down with a case of dys-Lexus-ia.
Me, I’ve got Venus
envy at the wrong time
of month, cramping
my style. My water broke
all over my dry Tortugas.
I had to stop to smell
the peonies. I left
my wallet in my other plants.
I cut you
a check that bounced
while it jogged to the mailbox.
It sprung a hammy
while tying the string
on its sweatpants.
At the orifice I already gave
a fig that flouted Newton’s Laws.
My pockets are philosophical
but not deep --
they’re empty now
of their last seven-fifty,
donated to an orphan in need
of pouring a latte
into his Florida panhandle.
These quicksilver dollars
sprout wings, right?--
just like the ones suddenly
protruding from my back -–
I’d really, really,
really love to help you out,
Pal, but right now
I gotta fly.
You're a hoot, buddy! And that "dys-Lexus-ia" is a real groaner!
Mort the Mattress-Tester
Let me tell you a bedtime tale
of a certain lad named Mort.
All through his heart hopes would sail
(though he wasn't your ambitious sort.)
He had a way of sloughing off
his homework, chores, and such.
“You lazy bum!” the parents scoffed,
“You're never gonna amount to much.”
Far worse things his folks would say,
and deadly insults they would lob,
until the sky opened up one day
and dumped on him a real live job.
Skipping the step of having him die,
the clouds of heaven deigned to billow.
In earnest thanks came a joyous cry:
“Praise the Lord and pass the pillow.”
For a man of Mort’s disposition
the job seemed personally-designed.
He took his newly-found position,
sometimes prone and oft supine.
Mort said he was determined to keep
this job which others might find a bore.
For the only thing he had to do was sleep
Each Monday through Friday from eight to four.
No longer would Mort be a shiftless jerk
nor made to feel like a worthless louse.
The firm offered just a single perk:
all his dreams were on the house --
‘til insomnia stopped his sawing wood,
as restless clouds began to mob.
Poor Mort found himself laid off for good–
for the sin of NOT sleeping on the job.
This was fun all the way through & I was confident it would be fun at the end but it turned out to be twice as funny as I expected!
Why, thank you, Prince. I was hoping somebody would get a laugh from it. I wish such a job existed in real life, but "in this economy?" Forget it. In any event, the mattress makers probably employ something that doesn't require a salary and benefits -- bowling balls and the like.
But maybe they have security workers assuring that no one tears off those tags which can't be removed under penalty of law.