The Prequel

In a land where chocolate grows
Right off of the trees
There is a girl with honey hair
That grows down to her knees

And though I haven’t met her yet
They talk about her oft
The azure eyed girl wonder known as
The Great Warm and Soft

Who nought complains or misbehaves
Or has farts that are smelly
It’s said great things will happen if
You touch her silky belly

An evil witch looked down on her
And from her lair she cried
For she was wicked so to her
Sweet belly was denied

And so she schemed and plotted how
She’d leave her evil loft
And get her hands on the princess
Called The Great Warm and Soft

She hired flying monkeys blasted
Heavy metal music
And went down to the fairy lands
A-flying on her broomstick

And when the guards did spy her there
They went in to attack
But Princess came to rescue her
And ordered them ‘Stand back’

It may have been the Princess blessed
With her pure heart of gold
Or she felt bad because the witch
Was really really old

But either way forward she stepped
Divinity inspired
And offered to the cruel witch that
Of which she most desired

And you ask what did happen then?
The Princess’s people say
That the witch’s small cold heart
Grew 3 sizes that day

And people celebrated this
And stocks and bonds did swell
And global warming was no more
And unemployment fell

And if the two were BFFs
We never did find out
As villagers too late did warn
“Watch out for that house!!”

Happy Birthday to My Little Anjelicat!

The Princess and The Witch in happier times...just seconds before the house

The Princess and The Witch in happier times…just seconds before the house

What Really Happened That Day

To those who read this morning’s blog
Sorry I did not say
All the sordid details of
What did happen that day

As not all was revealed for sure
I think you’ll see the cause
The hidden details when I met
Li’l Miss Menopause

Just sitting in a Starbucks chatting
With the coffee’s steam
My decaf turned a cappu-frappe
Latte with whipped cream

And though she drove a blue Mazda
It was incontrovertible
Her vehicle morphed into a
Thunderbird Convertible

And pretty soon we drove on by
The wrong side of the law
In fact it’s possible we robbed
A small convenience store

The pigs were soon hot on our tail
But we were mean and reckless
Driving through the 50 states
But avoiding Texas

Murder, intrigue all to which
We may or not admit
A dubious encounter with
A very young Brad Pitt

But after driving miles it
Looked like we’d have to stop
The law was heavy on our trail
We faced a huge road block

But I tell you we bloggers are
Much smarter than you think
She fixed me with a knowing nod
And then a small sly wink

A jump on the gas pedal then
And holding hands we kissed
And before you know it we
Had drove right off a cliff

As for those fans of cliffhangers
They’ll believe what they will
But trust me when I tell you this
We are driving still.


The Conveniences of Modern Technology

I once knew a blogger
Who lived so far away
When we finally met
We had nothing to say
She set up her computer
And so I set up mine
And then the conversation
Went along just fine

This poem was inspired by an online conversation I had with Stephanie Mark Lewis AKA Little Miss Menopause, just before I finally had the chance to meet her this past weekend. Fortunately, when we met, no computers were needed. Stephanie is just as fun as her blog is.


Hair, There and Everywhere

Cut it, crimp it, dye it, tie it
Try a brand new doo
Mullet, spike it, how you like it
Dye it green or blue

Shave it, wave it, rat and spray it
Get a modern coiffe
Mousse it, spruce it, if you lose it
You can shave it off

Dread it, thread it, even shed it
Anyway you please
Bow it, show it, you can grow it
Right down to your knees

Pile it, style it, or beehive it
Put it in cornrows
Flip it, clip it, ‘stache your lip it
Or perhaps afroed

Free it, be it, or goatee it
Make it nice and chic
Bare it wear it care to Nair, don’t
wash it for a week

Braid it, plait it, or donate it
What best suits your mood
I don’t care, long as your hair
Don’t end up in my food.


Domestically Challenged

Tears of frustration filled my eyes
So home I went in tatters
And up to her soft bosom curled
Tell mama what’ the matter

I told her of food particles
That would not go away
White blankets that went in the wash
Emerge a dusky grey

Grilled cheese now forever stuck
Inside a frying pan
Wrinkled clothing that come out
Worse off than they began

Iron imprints, buttons melt
Mops dragged forth and back
My once was white linoleum
A deeper shade of black

And despite my best efforts still
The mold and mildew grows
You probably don’t even want
To ask me if I sew

Oh mother am I cursed? diseased?
Or am I just plain odd?
And so my mother fixed me with
A deep and knowing nod

Though I was 30 if a day
She sat me on her knee
And told me of the curse that runs
Deep in our ancestry

A handicap a deficit
A quite sad situation
A seeming lack of household skills
Passed on through generations

From dust on the log cabin walls
To sticky no wax floors
Unfortunate condition that
Appears to have no cure

It seems a lousy hand was dealt
I ask you where’s the fairness
Of this genetic defect which
I write to raise awareness

So as you come into my house
I ask you not to judge
The dirt that lingers on my fridge
The mirror that is smudged

Though no donations will be asked
Don’t say I did not warn ya
But if you truly want to help
The broom is in the corner


I’m So Cool

When my temps at 89 it’s like I got a fever
I’m so cool Andre 3000 keeps me in his freezer
I’m so cool in 1968 you’d call me groovy
I’m so cool that I wear my sunglasses at the movies

I’m so cool that I think that everything is lame
I’m so cool that Irony is my middle name
Deleted me on Facebook now that it’s run by The Man
I had to put it back up due to popular demand

I’m so cool that even Kanye has to say I’m great
I’m so cool I’m banned in 29 of 50 states
I’m so cool that recently I’ve had to lay to rest
Rumors of my pregnancy, my marriage and my death

I’m so cool I never break a sweat during the summer
I’m so cool Verizon doesn’t even have my number
I’m so cool I have a section reserved at the Met
But it’s always unoccupied since I ain’t been there yet

I’m so cool that Arthur Fonzarelli thinks I’m gifted
And I give to charities you never knew existed
And I’m so cool I have been known to call my mother ‘Man’.
I’m so cool that I don’t even know how cool I am


The Table

My mother loved that table which
She cleaned religiously
I do believe my mother loved
That table more than me

She kept it out of sunlight and
She kept it free from stains
And she would crank that heater up
Every time it rained

So that it’s wood face would not warp
And so we were not able
To take our dinners anywhere
But at the coffee table

And when we had some company
My mother she would hover
Putting coasters under drinks
A too attentive lover

And when they begged of her to sit
She would simply scoff
And stood above them as they ate
Holding dear her cloth

Although the table double wrapped
As if it was embalmed
And highly likely to survive
The next nuclear bomb

And days and years they did pass by
And I would soon discover
That table with care did hold up
Much better than my mother

One day we all did come around
By her bedside we’d stand
She summoned me up to her and
Pressed something in my hand

I looked down at the object there
I was somewhat astonished
To see she had bequeathed me with
Holy furniture polish

She said “Care for my baby please
The rags are in the drawer.”
And so she exhaled her last breath
And then she was no more

And so with intent to preserve
My mother’s memory
I thought I’d celebrate her with
An act of charity

I took a stroll on down the block
Into the unkempt digs
Of the woman living there
With 5 grubby faced kids

I saw one child’s dirty hands
Another eating glue
And told them all I have a gift
Especially for you.