How strong is too strong
When one crafts a hot toddy?
I remain on my feet,
Yet my writing’s rather shoddy.
I’m light in the head
And wobbly in my body
I feel perfectly sane,
But I’m acting rather dotty.
Oh, dear, I think it’s fairly clear
I’ve too much whiskey in my toddy.
The stockings aren’t hung
Because a new cat lives here
The tree goes untrimmed
Because a new cat lives here
Baby Jesus isn’t in the manger
Because a new cat lives here
Do you think Santa will find us?
No. Because a new cat lives here.
Door knobs and counter tops,
Paper money and coins,
Credit card scanners and screens,
Gas pump handles, a lover’s face,
Our phones, our eyes, our hair,
Children’s little noses, dogs’ ears,
Cats, when they’ll let us,
Faucets and tables,
Light switches and silverware,
Steering wheels and guitar strings,
The panic button, if we aren’t careful.
Peace, people.
How Do I Love Him? In 25 Words or Less
On February 2nd
The search began
For a card proclaiming
Undying love for my man
I looked at flirty cards
And sexy ones
Religious and
Romantic ones
Those that didn’t
Catch my eye
Were too verbose
With too many verses for my guy.
The number one thing
He likes in a card
Is conciseness in verbiage,
Just a few words from a bard.
So I strive to appease
The less words the better
This year I found one
With only one letter:
👁 💖 U
I think he’ll like that message, don’t you? I’m not sure I can find one with a briefer one.
I tried to write a poem, but the words fell off the page
They puddled on the floor in coils of rhymes gone wrong
And no matter how hard I tried to gather them together
They slipped through my fingers too agitated to coalesce
No scheme, no order, no reason or reflection, no arbitrary alliteration
Hell, I’m no poet. I don’t even play one on tv.
Ten days into the minimalist challenge and I haven’t even come close to running out of things to discard. Today’s destash is a mashup of items found in various closets at Doright Manor. There is no theme for today, just a big “buhbye!”
(See the poem below the photo for a list of the items.)
I can write a poem about today’s purge, but it won’t be pretty!
Three frames I see, yet they sit empty, and a vaseless bouquet that’ll never decay.
Essential oils in a tiny vial, and an eye liner tube I tried on trial
A spent toothbrush not fit to be used, and a broken cow ornament without any moos.
Finally two empty bags, old and sad, who knows why I kept them? Perhaps I’m mad.
Peace, people.
Odds and Evens
I’m on a roll with the odd word, feeling lucky in this odd world, moreover,
Never tell me the odds, even if I plead, even if they favor me. Odd one out,
Even Steven, even playing field, even I can read the writing on the wall. After
All, I’m an odd duck, even on my best days, even when I try to fit in. By
The way, this isn’t even one of those days. Odd, don’t you think? Then we’re even.
This piece of nonsense came about when I realized my previous two posts had the word “Odd” in the titles. Since two is an even number I had to go for a third post using the word “odd”; because I believe in evening things out. Or something.
Additionally, I spent the day frittering away my time, getting my hair cut and colored. Holy cow, is my hair dark! I’m even odder looking now. See what I did there?
Peace, people!
The Ballad of the Washing Machine
(with apologies to all poets)
By Leslie Noyes
A dark and stormy night, it was
(With a nod to good old Snoopy),
Thunder boomed and lightning struck,
All our appliances then went loopy.
The tv died, our elliptical fried,
Repairmen were soon called,
And all was made as good as new,
Except for the washer, there we stalled.
I made plans with GE service,
A technician soon would arrive,
But he fell ill, and couldn’t come,
For another week we’d strive.
Off I went to the laundromat,
Two baskets full of clothes,
There I was accosted in broad daylight,
By a man who didn’t know “no!”
The GE man was finally well,
When he arrived with a smiling face,
“All you need is this new part;
I’ll order with due haste.”
A week went by and he returned,
The part was here and ready.
“Oh dear,” he said, “This part’s not right!”
I felt less than steady.
So I returned to the laundromat,
With detergent and some mace,
But no one messed with me this time,
I had on my mean game face.
Seven more days I waited for news,
We finally got a part,
Back came the man from old GE,
“Oops, I hate to break your heart.
“Your machine is unrepairable,
It suffered a fatal blow,
So I can’t help you; sorry folks,
This washer has to go.”
I muttered a phrase beneath my breath
It rhymed with “duck, duck, duck,”
Then traipsed off to the laundromat
Hoping for better luck.
Now I must buy a new machine,
And it won’t match my dryer,
This model is no longer made
And the cost will be much higher.
This ends my tale, at least for now,
I’ve run out of patience and bucks
There’s nothing to say, but that old phrase,
That rhymes with “duck, duck, duck.”
For this day I’ve decided to be a secret agent. I will be unobtrusive, nondescript, a silhouette of my usual self.
My cavalier demeanor will bely my purpose: to spy, observe, and report on my fellow citizens.
So far, I have noted one woman pushing a baby stroller. What nefarious plan might she be hatching?
I will hide in plain sight in hopes that her motives are revealed. Oh! Look! Starbucks on the right. Maybe another day.
My thighs are plump,
As is my rump
My tummy, too
Has a fluffy bump
And if all that
Weren’t bad enough
My face is fat,
My cheeks look stuft.
The only parts
That still look thin
Are my narrow lips
And pointy chin.
Don’t look for me
In this year’s issue
Of Sports Illustrated
Swimsuit Edition.
Praying for Eyebrowz 