The Muses Are At It Again

All my nine muses sat so sweet
A pretty row there at my feet
And to those dear girls I did say
“What should we write about today?”

Calliope said “To please aesthetics
Let’s make this no less than epic”
To which Clio said “Oh please
Those no one has the time to read
Though you would find me most euphoric
If we chose a theme historic”

Erato yawned said “Boring, boring
Who’s up for a little whoring
We know sex sells, so why bicker
I’ve a wetness in my knickers”

“All you think about is sex!
Let’s consult a religious text
I feel a need for veneration
Do your best to leave out Satan
For your mortal soul I’ll pray”
So Polyhymnia had her say

Then Melpomene said “Enough girls
With all the sadness in the world
Let’s write one so they’ll end up crying
I’m thinking say, some puppies dying”

“How could we write ’bout such things
I’d so much rather dance and sing”
“Oh Terpischore let’s make it plain
You dance just like Seinfeld’s Elaine

Oh doesn’t everybody see
We’ll likely go with comedy”
Said Thalia sporting a smug grin
Urania whined “You always win”

Thalia said “Your whining pains us
How ’bout some jokes about Uranus!”
“And some music?” Euterpe crooned
And Clio said “You’re out of tune!”

Then such a sight, I live and breath
As Euterpe pulled at Clio’s weave
The claws were out most horrifying
Fake nails, underwear went flying

Thalia made a ninja move
Then punched Erato in the boob
So from the room I made a sprint
As someone screamed “Oh no you didn’t!”

But don’t you know this awful fighting
Happens often when I’m writing
Every time there is a doubt
Of what I want to write about

So your reading experience might make more sense, here is a brief summary of The Muses:

Calliope – epic poetry

Clio- history
Erato – eroticism
Euterpe – music
Polyhymnia – religion, hymns
Melpomene – tragedy
Terpischore- dancing and singing
Thalia -comedy
Urania – astrology and astronomy
Thanks to Aquileana at La Audacia de Aqulies for the information and inspiration.

Chopstick Killer

Some people use a gun, an axe
A rope or an ice pick
I swear this mutha does it with
A super sharp chopstick
So you best just watch your back
When you’re in place remote
Because it’s sharpened like a pencil
And it’s coming for your throat
And he’ll jab you and he’ll stab you
Like you’re moo goo gai pan
Cause he’s the chopstick killer
And he’s on the lam

We’re not sure of his sex and
We don’t know his persuasion
We’re not even real sure
If the Mutha f**kers Asian
He don’t need no stiletto and
He ain’t totin’ no uzi
But he marks his territory with
A tell tale piece of sushi
And he’ll jab you and he’ll stab you
Like you’re moo goo gai pan
Cause he’s the chopstick killer
And he’s on the lam

And he’ll put it in your eyeball
And he’ll put it in your brain
And he’ll fry you in a wok
Like some beef chow mein
And he’s illin’ and he’s killin and he’s
Meetin’ his quota
And he makes his getaway
In a souped up Toyota
And he’ll jab you and he’ll stab you
Like you’re moo goo gai pan
Cause he’s the chopstick killer
And he’s on the lam

A bit of ridiculousness for your Monday brought on by a conversation with my son about what kind of serial killers we would be.


Lost! Sense of Humor: Reward, No Questions Asked

I lost my sense of humor I
Don’t know where she could be
Some say they saw her ride uptown
On the Bronx bound D

She looks a little bit like an
Annoying Jewish mom
She wears a floral house dress with
Some Groucho glasses on

Making jokes about the sweat
That’s coming from her bosom
And serving peanut brittle snakes
Or using whoopee cushions

If that’s stuff’s even funny cause
You see it is unclear
I’ve lost my sense of humor so
I just have no idea

She may be at the Improv where
She’ll probably endeavor
To perform what may just be
The worst comedy ever

The crowd may throw some rotten fruit
And heckle for a while
They’ll drag her off stage with a cane
Old school Gong Show style

But that’s for those who don’t realize
That she is only joking
For many think it just may be
My sense of humor’s broken

And yes, she may be off sometimes
And her joke’s not so hot
I guess that’s my tough luck since she’s
The only one I got

But ever since she’s gone away
I feel depressed and blue
And in this sorry state there is
No telling what I’ll do

I might decide to preach that not
Recycling’s a sin
I might write a deep love song
I might vote Republican

Or dump this stupid blog and write
About all things political
Or try to process humor by
Getting all analytical

And if you bring her back to me
They’ll be no questions asked
And I’ll write verses with the wit
That this one clearly lacks

This was part of some sort of challenge to use a quote as a prompt for a poem. Thank you to Jason Preu at Devious Bloggery for nominating me. My quote is:

I think we’re losing our sense of humor instead of being able to relax and laugh at ourselves. I don’t care whether it’s ethnicity, age, sexual orientation, or whose ox is being gored.

-Betty White

sense of humor