Tag Archives: humor

A Taxing Price

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8

She rides bareback upon the mare,
The sun makes nimbus of her hair,
The glow adds to her beauty fair.
All loudly gasp as they take air,
There’s naught that they can do but stare.

Her men walk with her as she rides
They move as one, in perfect stride
Surrounding her from every side.
She ignores the pleas and chides
Beauty like hers, this she must hide.

As word spreads, more do convene
To spy a sight for from routine
This woman valued as a queen
Has not the vanity to preen,
Just holds her head, high to be seen.

With shock and awe her lord reacts
To her fair skin and hair of flax
And all the garments that she lacks!
But he cannot ignore the facts
He could have stopped this in its tracks
Had he just lowered the damned tax!

Artwork of Lady Godiva

Lady Godiva

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In a silly mood

dVerse Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week 48

Final Moments…

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10

Tick…………………………

Part dreading, part anticipating.

I sit here in the final moments waiting.

Tick………………

So much time has passed, and yet not enough.
Did I do all I could? Am I now up to snuff?

Part dreading, part anticipating.

Tick……………

Jam packed to the gills, hardly slacking.
For all I’ve done in this time, I still feel a lacking.

I sit here in the final moments waiting.

Tick………

The time before this moment once seemed so vast.
Felt I had forever before this would come to past.

Part dreading, part anticipating.

Tick…

What pays the bills is not how I stay alive.
This globe-trotting heart of mine and this job don’t jibe.
First day back to work after a nice vacation.
I sigh and face the day with trepidation.

I sit here in the final moments waiting.

Tock!

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Because I go back to work in the morning…

dVerse Poets Pub | POETICS: Workin’ For It

In The Hands

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6

Cloth girds his eyes in loose blindfold
He lays there and conforms as told
To move now would court disaster
He’s in the hand of the master

A maze is stroked across his skin
He holds the urge to gasp within
Warm oils offer scents of aster
He’s in the hand of the master

He seams the pleasure with the pain
The odd brew comfort it contains
One moment slow, the next faster
He’s in the hand of the master

Bordered on pleasure’s dive he moans
And lets escape a fizzled groan
Flesh yields like sinner to pastor
He’s in the hand of the master

A subtle tap sends the message
His hour’s up for this massage
His twinkled grin is now plastered
He’s in the hand of the master

Sore muscles tamed by fingers meek
Sets his appointment for next week
A magic touch like spell casters
He’s in the hand of the master


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And today’s form? Kyrielle

The French kyrielle is composed entirely of quatrains (a quatrain is any stanza with four lines). There is no set number of stanzas, although generally a kyrielle contains three or more. The rhyme scheme is up to the poet (aabb ccbb ddbb etc. is frequently used), but it must be the same for all stanzas. Also, the last line of all stanzas is the same. Kyrielles generally have eight syllables per line, although this is not a requirement.

Other rhyme schemes for the quatrain could be abaB, cbcB, dbdB, etc… or abbA, accA, addA, etc.. As long as the each quatrain uses the same rhyme scheme, the choice is yours.

dVerse Poets | OpenLinkNight – Week 44

Come and Play

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5

Pachynsis
my sacofricosis,
eurotophobia

and absolute medomalacuphobia
so ruins my chances at venus observa
that my gynephobia has its way

the words I do not say
‘come and play’

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Yes, I have issues – but none of them are listed in this write!  (Big grin)

Pachynsis–  An unusual thickening of the skin of muscle; in this case referring to male erection.
Sacofricosis–  The practice of cutting a hole in the bottom of a front pants pocket in order to masturbate in public with less risk of detection.
Eurotophobia–  The fear of  female genitalia.
Medomalacuphobia– The fear of losing an erection.
Venus Observa–  The clinical term for missionary position of copulation.
Gynephobia–   The fear of women.

When The Music Moves

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8

When the music moves the chef and the menu
I can not help but rock to the venue,

I grate and wind and fold and dip, all while cooking and that’s just my hips

Serving Foie gras to a Beyoncé bass beat?
I’ve played Metallica while serving Crème brûlée sweet.

I sway to a strawberry’s single sweet soliloquy
As I would to any doo-wop’s three-part harmony

My sifter sounds like maracas, the water running is backup hum,
And I’ll drop them all in heartbeat to do a Phil Collin’s air drum

Notes ringing crystal clear as an opera singer
Are like the perfect bite whose flavors linger

The perfect flavors require as much of a chef’s orchestration
As any conductor pulling together a musical temptation

And I dance as I chop and I chop as I sing and I sing as I fry, it’s a symbiotic thing

I can not help but rock to the venue,
When the music moves the chef and the menu

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Written for

Poetry Picnic Week 32: Topics on Twitter.com

Source Tweet: When Music Moves The Chef And The Menu

To those not familiar with Phil Collins I included a link to the reference within the poem. While the specific drum solo starts after the 5:00 mark, you really should listen to the entire song to get the full feel on why any of us familiar with the song will drop almost everything when that part comes to do the air drum.

Urban Haze

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17

If only I could drive my car to work
I wouldn’t be caught in this urban haze.
The streets spots filled, the garages are packed
Garage is too expensive anyways.
Going home from work in a funky sweat,
Back of my throat like bottom of ashtrays.
The hour’s lucubration gone downhill,
Under the glare of my boss’ sharp gaze.
My corporate suit felt so good at work,
Now I’m out in midst of this darn blaze.
The walk’s a distance by foot to the train
And my suit is torture under these rays.
If only I could drive my car to work
I wouldn’t be caught in this urban haze.
Want to take off my jacket but I can’t,
Caught some strange guy checking me out slant ways.
Can feel my silk blouse sticking to my skin,
Yet I’m so not about to make his days
And see just how fitting my form can be,
But it’s worse in the sauna of subways.
For once again the AC’s not running.
This train’s the epitome of clichés.
Practice mental transference while I’m here,
To somewhere with pools and drinks and valets.
If only I could drive my car to work
I wouldn’t be caught in this urban haze.
All packed up on each other like sardines,
Is it the train or heat that’s causing sways?
Grateful that I’m finally at my stop,
Caught again in of those train delays.
At last! I am the phoenix bird rising,
From the deep pyre walking up the stairways.
Got the number for dinner on speed dial
The thought of cooking has me in a daze.
Little trooper I am I brave the heat,
But sometimes I swear I hate the weekdays.
If only I could drive my car to work
I wouldn’t be caught in this urban haze.

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Today’s form is a Raccontino.

The raccontino is an unlimited number of couplets, rhyming xb xb xb xb xb, etc. The syllable count is set in the first line and followed throughout the poem.

Entered in dVerse Poets Pub – Poetics: Subway

Of Plans And Raivenne

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3

Plans change and now my day is free
To vegetate?
No not
I.

Shades await this
bluest
sky.

I must enjoy
This gift,
Bye!

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Yes, another Zeno poem (Ten lines with the syllable count: 8/4/2/1/4/2/1/4/2/1 and a rhyme scheme: a/b/c/d/e/f/d/g/h/d). Because the day is too beautiful to stay in for anything verbose.

Enjoy your weekend folks – I’m outta here!

Moshing

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33

Music blares through amplifiers
Heavy Metal
Bass line
Loud

My age shocks some
In this
Crowd

Me in the mosh
Thrashing
Proud

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Last week I went to an underground concert to support and critique a friend whose band was performing there. Let’s just say I could have given birth to most of the other attendees with whom I was front stage and center dancing up a storm. Conversations while different bands set up, comparing the ones performing that night to other older (sometimes much older), bands is when some realized I was not even within fifteen years of their age. As faces ebbed and flowed that night, it became something of a running gag for some whippersnapper in the know to grab a newcomer and have him or her guess my age. Yes, Advil was dear my friend the next morning, but this Mama held her own proudly that night.

Because when this mama rocks, it’s not in a chair.

A conversation I had yesterday regarding my love of head banging music reminded me of last week’s concert. I decided to immortalize it by trying another Zeno poem (Ten lines with the syllable count: 8/4/2/1/4/2/1/4/2/1 and a rhyme scheme: a/b/c/d/e/f/d/g/h/d).

That it also happens to fit this weeks dVerse challenge of “keeping it small” is an added bonus. 22 words total!

dVerse ~ Pets Pub | MeetingTheBar: It’s a small, small world — so let’s LIMBO like there is no tomorrow

And No Jim Carrey!

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3

I have this thing I occasionally post as a Facebook status called Verbal Diarrhea Diaries (aka. the crazy shit that comes out my mouth).  This wasn’t so much verbal as an email response, but it applied.

A few girlfriends and I were given a choice of venues to decide out next hanging out adventure. The following is how I phrased my vote because I cannot resist — bad puns or sexual innuendo, especially when combined and simply because I’m an idiot:

I vote for Medieval Times. I love watching when strong, virile men mount up, then getting a solid grip, pull it straight out  front for all to see and then thrust it at each other until one falls for them. And the jousting is fun too! 

Yeah, I know — I need help.

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Visit the rest of today’s Slices of Life over at Two Writing Teachers.

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012

Can You Say Clueless…?

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4

Taking a break to enjoy some of this lovely weather we’re having today and had a chance to enjoy the following:

Two women walking in opposite directions cross paths. One stops the other in her tracks.

Young Woman 1: Wow, that’s a great tan! Were you on vacation, or use a salon?
Young Woman 2: Um… I’m black.
Young Woman 1: You totally are! So, was it like, Jamaica or something?
Young Woman 2: (Looks at Young Woman 1 with an expression that clearly screams “ARE YOU EFFING STUPID!” before stepping around her and keeps walking.)
Young Woman 1 (sees me trying not to giggle): What?

I turned and walked, away shaking my head. I swear, sometimes I love my city, for no other reasons than random moments just like this.

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Visit the rest of today’s Slices of Life over at Two Writing Teachers.

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012