Category: Humour

Freak Show’s in Town

Come one! Come all!
Step right up folks!
See the amazing,
one-of-a-kind,
baby-juggling
woman!

Come see this matron
turned tigress!
Witness how the weaker sex
transforms into a powerhouse
of resourcefulness –
a magnificent multi-tasker!
You will not believe your eyes!

These are no ordinary
babies, Ladies and Gentleman!
See the menacing three-year-old
who looks like an angel but
has the mind of a devil!
Look upon the smallest child –
only months old, but with lungs
that will shatter glass.
Be awed by the gigantic
boy baby, youngest of them all,
whose appetite is insatiable.

Step right up folks!
Watch as this extra-
ordinary woman
breast-feeds two babies
and prepares supplemental formula
all whilst reading to the third!

Behold how she balances
two baby carriers
while strapping
a toddler into
her car seat!

Marvel over how
she shops for groceries –
a impossible feat!
Ladies and Gentlemen!
Tremble as she manoeuvres
her two-carted entourage
through people-ridden aisles,
list firmly gripped between
her teeth, while emitting
a constant stream of baby talk,
keeping the trying toddler
on a verbal leash.

Sigh with relief
as silence settles
over the household
and our heroine falls
into a deep, exhausted sleep.
Be terrified as she awakens
with a start, suddenly realizing
she has abandoned her boy-child,
in her vehicle, overnight!

You will be amazed!
You will be inspired!
You will be horrified!

Step right up,
Ladies and Gentleman!
This is a one-of-a-kind,
never-seen-anything-like-it
attraction, guaranteed
to entertain!

Catch it here, live!
Twenty-four/ seven,
Ladies and Gentlemen!
No two shows are alike!
Step right up folks!
Admission is free!

(Sarah S. is hosting dVerse Poetics with the theme “Come to the Circus”.  I wrote this poem in April of 2016 when dreams of parenting three small children – and an oversized boy-child – kept haunting me.)

Cracked Eggs

I have eggs,
she cooed,
here in my basket –
care to have a peek?

Considered his response
carefully, not wanting to
count this chicken, even as
the plot was hatching.

Hesitation,
she scolded,
only ever loses.

Yes, he concurred,
but if I act too early
all you’ll get is a worm.

(Twisted Adages is the theme for Tuesday night poetics at dVerse.  Thanks to our host Jilly for the inspiration.)

Conspiracy Theory

The floorboards,
imagining themselves waves,
undulate,
throw my balance
off kilter…

The lemonade,
ignoring my thirst,
refuses to open –
holds fast to top
rendering me weak

Even the frying pan
fights my efforts,
twisting my wrist as if
arm wrestling,
rather than cooking,
is the game called for here.

Surrendering, I sit,
and with propped up legs
pull out the laptop,
certain that perusing
blog posts will meet
with less upheaval,

but the keyboard
is a trickster,
misreads my commands
and windows open and close
without reason, and
frustrated I push it aside.

This house is conspiring
turning a perfectly capable
human being, into a fumbling,
doddery old fool.

(Written for V.J.’s Weekly Challenge: personification)

Image from personal collection.

Love Talk

It’s like cycling uphill
in three lanes of traffic
in a snowstorm

trying to communicate with you

I keep peddling –
sending signals –

but you’re like the SUV
spraying slush in your wake

hindering  progress,
ignoring my needs…

Aren’t we soulmates –
in tune, hearts beating as one –
words superfluous between us?

Then why am I about to expire
and you’re just revving up?

No telepathy at work here.

Empathy lacking, too.

(Sammi Cox’s weekend challenge is telepathy in 72 words)

Laundry Day

Not much of a gardener,
but seems I’m adept
at growing dirty clothes –
the shirt I planted
Monday, having now
sprouted many offshoots,
the fruit heavy and pungent
overflowing the hamper,
begging to be picked.

Nothing golden
about this skill however,
more melancholy than
rewarding, the hours
dedicated to folding
and putting away
akin to self-castigation –
only temporarily satisfying.

Suppose I can’t complain;
a day’s toil has merit
and even if the harvest
reaps no foodstuffs
nor the fragrance
of fresh cut flowers,
I am at very least
assured to be presentable
should going out be an option.
(Inspired by this day’s chore and the daily prompts of Fandango:  melancholy, Ragtag Community: gold, and Daily Addictions: dedicate.  Thanks for dropping by.)

Speak No Evil

Suspect
these sentiments,
gnarled and ungrateful,
only serve to tip the scale
in favour of cynicism

have, therefore,
decided on self-
imposed quarantine;
will be keeping thoughts
to myself, thank you.

Suffice to say
that having confronted
multiple betrayals,
and insurmountable
heartache, all pointing

vile accusations
at a lack of discernment,
and questionable self-worth,
I am currently not imbibing
romantic dribble –

Oh, dear! I’ve said too much.

(Inspired by the daily promptings of: Fandango (suspect), Ragtag Community (scale), Daily Addictions (intimidate), and Sammi Cox’ Weekend Writing Prompt (quarantine).

Image produced by yours truly.)

Ice Cream Challenge

Ice
cream,
an indulgence
inspired by summer’s
heat – cool mouthfuls
creamy sweetness melting
ecstasy – torture for those
whose systems cannot cope
lactose intolerance condemning
sideline drooling – until
manufacturers develop
alternatives –
coconut bliss
and soya
so good –
kudos
to
non-dairy treats.

(Thank you to Fandango for kudos, Daily Addictions for cope, and Ragtag Daily prompt for indulgence.)