Before the talk taboo
1 plus 1 is 2.
After “the Birds and Bees”
1 plus 1 makes 3.
Before the talk taboo
Before the talk taboo
1 plus 1 is 2.
After “the Birds and Bees”
1 plus 1 makes 3.
Have you ever thought
the crack of thunder
the babbling streams
the bobbling glaciers
The Starling’s dance
Have you ever thought
…it’s all for you?
There ain’t no Book of Life
at the Pearly Gates.
Instead, God sniffs your life potpourri
and (Bam!) He knows your fate.
You see, all your thoughts and actions
from the kind to oh-so-evil
dry into life potpourri
ready for Divine retrieval.
Angels flank him at His sides
(with espresso beans in hand),
cleansing his nasal palate
prevents a misreading of “bland!”
If God wrinkles his nose at your bowl
(or worse!) recoils in disgust:
your plans for everlasting bliss
perchance are a bit robust.
And if God should have a cold that day
and his olfactory sense is missing.
You’ll join the queue in Purgatory
till His nose has had some fixing.
His Saints potpourri is in His sock drawer.
His Angels in sachets.
His do-gooders are on His mantel.
His devotees by His ashtray.
If you wanna-wanna be it
take-a take-a look inside.
The courage and go-go-ness
already in you reside.
Instead of: “I can’t-ta, can’t-ta.”
Try: “I can-a, I will try!”
The pruning shears are in your hands,
life is your very own bonsai.
I’m the flagship store.
I’m the grand debut.
I’m the gasps, the clicks,
the points, the stares.
Did you know that I’m HQ?
I’m the reason for confetti.
The cheers, the “hip hip hoorays!”
I am the Honoree,
the encore at the ballet.
I’m the ceremony.
I take the cake.
In this little thing called life
did you know I raise the stakes?
Sucess-ini’s are small sucesses:
successes of the smallest.
Success-axi’s are on the bigger side:
successes of the tallest.
When your plug is pulled
and your life whirlpool starts a twirling,
just remember things can get much worse:
think of broccoli covered vermin!
My “to-do” list is overflowing
(some over-clocking is my hunch).
My but “to-done” list is empty as can be
so I’m off for lunch.
Your life’s not a chore.
Stop tallying score.
We all have a bull
who is chasing our cape.
We’ve all missed the mark
when flipping our crepe.
Just hold your head high
and walk with some swagger.
Tickle your pain
and you’ll surely get laughter.
I’d like to lean you on my mantel.
Pop you in a vase.
Frame and hang you in my living room.
For my latest and most popular posts, please like my Facebook page!
Now live here!
Beat in hearts.
Hatch a chick.
Bloom a daisy.
Whisper through fear:
I’m always here.”
Let it happen
(free will + tequila).
Intuit life mission.
There was once a little girl
No one could pronounce her name
so they’d spell it out instead.
Poor little a-b-c-d-e-f-g-h-i-j-k-l-m-n-o-p-q-r-s-t-u-v-w-x-y-zed
(let’s call her Alphabeta).
Her twenty six lettered name
proved to be an alpha-dilemma!
At school her teacher would call on her
(a task rife with verbal indigestion).
By the time she’d finished she would think:
“now just what was my original question!?”
As she grew (just like her name)
Alphabeta would still point & answer with description.
Insightful commentary it was indeed
for anyone who’d listen.
Pointing to her Aunt Maybelline:
“heart, lungs, liver & spleen”
Pointing to a cake at the baker’s counter:
“egg, vanilla, sugar, & a bit of flour.
Poor little Alphabeta
became quite the subject of town gossip.
“Did you hear what she said to Father Jon?
“Toupee & init for a profit!”
There’s a machine in my stomach
with buttons “burp” and “giggle.”
One is activated by a fizzy drink,
the other by a tickle.
Granny smirking in her chair,
a suspicious Granny sitting.
Oh my dentures!
Have you seen
just what Granny’s knitting!?
Head lice chauffeur.
The early bird may get the worm
but the late bird gets them thrice.
(Worms wearing pajamas
taste very, very nice).
My enemies are gloating.
My expression reads revolting.
My cerebellum’s overdosing
on synapses guilty yet consoling.
My concentration is chaperoning
a tendency for disrobing.
My intuition is foreboding
of an expletive offloading.
My brain is emphatically bemoaning
the state of affairs under my clothing.
My conversation is engrossing
to the dead and always moaning.
I will be taking a small break from blogging as I just had my second daughter.
Rhyme again soon!
Lindy Loo? Oh how she’s dim!
Just yesterday said she on a whim:
“goodness gracious me you’re slim!
My oh my, how you look trim!
Have you frequented the gym?”
Aghast was I at this creature prim
with skin of marble porcelain.
Has Lindy Loo been on the Gin?
Before my mood (now grave and grim)
was shattered by a further synonym,
with face chagrin to Lindy dim:
“Ms. Loo…. I’ve lost a limb!!”
When you sneeze, oh the rapture!
To be showered post ah-choo.
A night heeding your nasal snores?
Spilleth over my love stew.
With each of your lurching hiccups
Oh how I do love you more.
To count your moles till the end of time?
Bliss, mon amour.
Your backsplash post garggle.
Your molars mid yawn.
With every scratch you satisfy
My world turns right from wrong.
The sound of Monty
on his trombone
is akin to a toenail
Listed as her top credential:
“proficient in all three utensils.”
heir to Baroness State Holdings
has been siting for a portraiture
(her smile slowly decomposing).
I do she hope adores the green I’ve chosen
for the spinach in her teeth
and how I’ve captured her dandruff.
Oops, a little smudge joining her eyebrows
(I’m sure she’ll hardly notice).
Oh how I wish my brush stroke could capture
her never-ending halitosis.
now a mest.
Baby grabbed spoon!
Maybe not so soon…
(spoon on ground).
Peek a boo round four
cute beyond belief.
Peek a boo round thirty-five,
mama wants aperitif.
Birth plan devised
(no nurse shall it hinder!)
plan out the vinder!
sounds great deal like
He’s the ether’s most wanted
(all too known is his repertoire).
He streams across the midnight sky
looting colored caviar.
His hydrogen’s laced with evil
(a robber of the cosmic sort).
He’s the peacock of the heavenly realms
with rainbow tail escort.
I have a clingy martian boyfriend.
Gone is the mystery.
He always knows what I am thinking
due to telepathy.
If I think of him in orbit
in a beam of light he does appear.
Darn that teleportation!
He’s always lurking near.
He will skip a probing
if he knows I’m in the galaxy.
Sometimes: “Please lose him in the cosmos!”
is my plea to gravity!
His pick up line was classic
“I come in love” (to humans, we say “peace”)
But how can I really date a Martian
who wears a cologne called “Autops-me.”
He writes poetry by the book full
on how I turn his cold blood colder still.
The crop circles of my face however
are a bit of overkill.
I showed up late for youth.
(I didn’t know their gestures).
So I showed up early for old age.
(I wasn’t wearing dentures).
On day 7 God has his feet up
but his species maker 9000 continued to work.
That is until the lever got jammed
and the 9000 went berserk.
The Octopus was supposed to have just two tentacles
instead it floats around with eight.
A far too long neck for the giraffe
did it generate.
Readers: let’s take a moment of poetic silence
for those who were 9000-ed from above
(especially for the blobfish who’s face
only a mother could love).
You’re the apple of my eye
and the potato of my knee.
If you were a global conglomerate
I’d be your franchisee.
The “what do you do?” inquiry
is exactly two words short to me.
Stop not there, add in “and why?”
and learn from who to briskly flee.
I am not.
(just sans the mop).
Gulp gulp gulp
slurp dee slurp
great big burp
Hi friends! I’m back from a long but wonderful pregnancy and maternity leave. Will be posting more poems…both regularly and soon! 🙂
I thunked a thought, I thunked it once,
then the thunk I thought vanished with a clunk!
I searched the thoughts my brain had thunk
but all I found was much thunk gunk!
I found a picture of skunk
a memory of gramps and of a chipmunk!
(But no trace of the thought that I did just thunk!)
I checked down low (it might have shrunk)
it wasn’t up on brain’s top bunk.
There I thunked with shoulders hunched:
“your vanishing I must debunk!”
My thoughts went quiet, I heard again a “clunk”
and back to my brain came the thought I thunked!
My brain did add (softly like a monk):
“please take this back, it’s utter junk.
And one more thing: it’s “thought” not “thunked!”
Mrs. Clause put Santa on a diet
but now he’s sitting in a cell.
His christmas eve mission this year…well,
did not really go so well.
Section 2 (breaking & entering)
was his Christmas morning crime.
With no rosey cheeks or stomach round
he wasn’t recognized!
Thud! Santa flew down the chimney
(his belly used to provide some friction)
This year presents weren’t on his mind
… cupboard raiding was his mission!
Spotting the milk and cookies
he raced to them in a flash.
Soon only crumbs and drops were left
……but Santa wanted the stash!
He would have gotten away with it
if after the cookies he did scury.
It was the sound of pots and pans that night
that awoke the Jones in a fury.
“At 3am he stood in my kitchen,
a skinny Santa eatting my squid!
He even brought his own apron that said:
“Being naughty saves me a trip!””
So Santa has a mugshot now
But his regrets are zero, null!
His grin has a message clear
“at least my tummy’s nice and full.”
Oh the virus has infected you!
It’s rampant and you’re teeming!
To cure yourself? Only one way!
Look at life as though your dreaming
I think I’ll write poetry for life
without care of what minds think.
Afterall should you not like it now
…. perhaps you will after a drink.
Be not the green beans, mash or niblet corn
grab the wheel of life and honk that horn!
There’s an elephant in the bathtub
(the drains clogged with peanut shells once more).
Theres a chinchilla in the bedroom
who only answers to “senor.”
There’s a hippo counting spin cycles
of a sparrow in the dryer
(he’s searching for his sparrow pants
that have a 2 for 1 worm buffet flyer).
There’s a penguin in the freezer
waiting for the ice box to set.
There’s pack of lions in the study
learning to play russian roulette.
There are 10 rats wearing spoons as helmuts
riding down the garbage chute.
There’s a german owl getting elocution lessons
“no no! It’s not “voot”…its “hoot!”
There’s a giraffe in the dining room
sneering: “uh, such taste nouveau!”
There’s a zoo keeper looking into empty cells
and thinking one thing: “uh oh.”
New dentist open for business
no appointment is required.
All you need to do is let him know
what time each day you’re tired.
He’ll pop by close to bedtime
as he does with all his patients
He’ll yawn 10 times right in your face
(since yawing is contagious!).
On cue as you yawn back to him
be sure to open wide,
he’ll clean your teeth at lightning speed
and take a look inside.
Should you fall alseep on him
and chomp down on his tools
I’m afraid his fees go up for his
(as does cleaning your drool).
An extra fee is charged as well
for cleaning as you sleep-walk.
And for an extra hundred flat
he’ll record what you sleep -talk!
He’s only had one complaint thus far
“In defense, she does look fetching”
Cindy Loo might disagree:
(he attached her braces to her bedding!)
No matter your opinion though
(and most do think his skills are splendid)
To your complaint he’ll always say:
“I’m tooth fairy recommended!”
If distance makes the heart grow fonder
do you look at yours & think “go wander”
I’m calling to discuss your duck
I’ve heard its the best in town.
But I’m not convinced.. not one bit
so take these instructions down.
Before I dine in 2 weeks time I like
to learn your pre cooking technique.
Not from your chef or maitre’d
but from your duck’s own beak!
Please start him on an English course
excelerated written and verbal.
I won’t tolerate “it can’t be done”
I just met turkish speaking gerbal!
If his answer is unsavory
I’m guessing my palette he won’t thrill.
So he can join me for lunch
(…he’ll be handling the bill).
Come one, come all
Don’t be timid!
Ride the tunnel of love
Buy here your ticket!
I took a seat
and to my delight
tall dark and handsome
was to my right!
But once in the tunnel
there was a gaze on my face.
Uh oh! Tall dark and handsome
had been swiftly replaced!
A pair of thick lenses
stared back at me.
Acne reading science journal
had moved up from row 3!
I considered jumping overboard
while in tunnel’s cave.
“I don’t like bunsen burners!!!”
in my mind I did engrave.
But cupid I knew had struck me
when I had the thought disgraceful
“I’d really like to learn more about …
the perodic table!”
The tunnel had me as a victim
as we moved out from its shelter.
I touched his arm, batted my eyes and asked:
“Is that real polyester?”
So consider this a warning
on this love inducing ride.
Its best to always have a say
on who you sit beside.
from bed to couch
can be prevented by
a censored mouth
***Hi everyone! I will be in Phuket for work so won’t be posting this week….rhyme to you soon!
Cupid Archery School
now open for admissions.
Bow and arrow are provided.
Clothes strictly are forbidden!
Sharp eyesight is required
as is good hand eye coordination!
(While the school wishes the couple well
we don’t want a repeat of last year’s goat / horse situation!).
Applicants must be girth generous
(slim cupids are unsightly!).
Please address your application
to Headmaster Aphrodite.
Should you be rejected
we offer remedial love 101 at night.
NB: Many of our rejected candidates
have launched successful dating sites.
is a movement chock full of slackers.
How can you truly worship the legume…
if you eat animal crackers!!?
Being a wife is easy.
The rules are stark and bare:
Repeat what you just have said
and be not attached to his hair.
I have a theory.
It’s no tall tale!
I’m sure the postbox
reads my mail!
I put in a letter
heard a pen uncap
then: “that’s better!”
I mailed a sweater
to Cousin Doug
heard paper rip
then “…a little snug!”
I’m sure I saw him
blush 1/2 shade redder!
I think he was
reading my love letter!
And for some reason
I now have a subscription
to “Postbox Digest:
I’m not quite sure
on what to do next.
But one things for sure:
no mailing cheques!