Tag Archives: Poetry

Can You Come Outside and Play With Me?

Image by Lars Plöger from Pixabay

Do Not Pass Go!

 

Invisible enemy? Nah. Think of me as a worthy opponent in a daring game.
But remember that if (when?) you lose, you’ll only have yourself to blame.

Play me in ‘Chess’ — I’m always just a few moves ahead.
“Checkmate!” Look again. Perhaps your Queen is dead?

Or accept my challenge for the WhoDunnit board game called ‘Clue.’
I Killed Miss Scarlet, the Ventilator’s the weapon, the location? ICU.

Or let’s pretend stating fun facts in ‘Trivial Pursuit’ is more your style?
Silly questions about TP and pursuing it in the empty paper products aisle.

Wait! ‘Monopoly’ you say? Now there’s a game where you’re sure to excel.
Yet I own Boardwalk and Park Place, and landing on New York will be hell.

But no worries, I always distribute plenty of ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ cards,
After all, we can’t have all those pedophiles infecting your prison guards.

Switching to ‘Sorry’ or ‘Trouble?’ I land on you, sending you to home base.
New rule! Lose your turn indefinitely—we’ll just call it ‘Sheltering in Place.’

We can even combine two kiddie games, ‘Guess Who?’ and ‘Connect Four.’
But you can bet the mystery person is asymptomatic and someone you adore.

Brave enough for the classic war game ‘Battleship’ after the hand you’re dealt?
First you might wanna assist your navy’s own aircraft carrier, The Roosevelt.

Give ‘Pictionary’ a try, you can sketch a pretty model or draw a clever chart.
I’m the shrewd virus your educated scientists will ultimately need to outsmart.

Assuming their data can break my code and ‘Mastermind’ new vaccines?
Or just prescribe Clorox … Cuz that’s what being a true Quack means.

Make no mistake, I can ‘Scrabble’ your body and ‘Boggle’ your brain,
So feel free to exclaim, “Yahtzee!” in-between all your grief and pain.

But my absolute favorite is a good old fashioned round of ‘Hide n’ Seek.’
Stay safely inside your house to protect the elderly, sick, and weak.

Until I strategically shout “Olly Olly Oxen Free! C’mon out wherever you are!”
And your politicians encourage you to comply, which honestly is so bizarre.

Then just like Child’s Play, our game will be over before it’s ever really begun,
Clearly the winner is me…COVID-19! I’m the last one standing and having fun!

© April 2020 by Coronavirus

An Ode To Tupperware

Leftovers, Leftovers, wherefore art thou?

I guess Saran Wrap is no longer highbrow.

Whoever invented this silly plastic container,

Certainly amassed a fortune with his no-brainer.

But then he created a lid that would burp,

Poor Reynolds Wrap, it would easily usurp.

Tupperware, how do I hate thee? Let me count the ways…

Distracting my sex life at night and darkening my days.

You discolor, you warp, you melt, and you crack

Then you lose yourself in the pantry, hiding in the back!

Or you tease me by playing shuffleboard inside my fridge,

Holding hostage a yummy pound cake baked by Pepperidge.

Your tops and bottoms never properly latch or attach,

Must I use a dating site to find your perfect match?

You always have the same size square body, with two different lips

What? You don’t think I can pack crackers in baggies with chip clips??

Or take Zip-Locks — they do their job silently. I guess that shouldn’t matter?

Try telling me that when I open my cupboard and to the floor you all scatter.

Once I was taunted into buying glass canisters with covers that hinged,

“We won’t get separated,” they promised, so I bought dozens. Oy, I binged!

All it took was one traditional Passover dinner when guests begged to take home

My brisket and matzo ball soup  (Cuz Jews won’t settle for ‘to-go’ styrofoam!)

Alas my new storage efforts had all been in vain — and I was feeling bereft,

What to do? File a lawsuit? Report to the cops this weird kinda theft?

And that’s when I heard your loud mocking — it was a clatter quite hearty,

And lo and behold, my friend decided to throw herself a Tupperware Party.

Ugh, are those still around? So I went and ate and laughed and invested,

And just like being overrun with ants, my kitchen was once again infested.

But never again will your evil dampen my well-intentioned food-saving morale,

Cuz you’re staying organized and sorted in this brand new Container Corral.

I like to think of it as my Personal Household Sanity Evolution

But don’t think I’m ever going to use any of you, that’s NOT my solution.

This is just the best way to torture you — make you squirm and wail

It’s my version of hell, your well-deserved punishment, your personal jail.

And when I sell my property and nosy neighbors come to open house to snoop

I’ll look like Martha Stewart, perfectly organized — hell yeah, that’s how low I’ll stoop!

 

What I Wouldn’t Give For a Rhyme

 

1055D64A-0B9A-4A4B-9AF9-BE96E67B6ED4

It’s more challenging than playing Gin and waiting for your right card,

Finding a rhyme for poems is frustrating and just so very  …. difficult.

 

Sometimes I come incredibly close, both in syllables and in the sound,

But the words seem awkward or gross, and rhymes are never….discovered.

 

Other bloggers have a gift, they just immediately know how to rhyme.

Quick, fast and swift — perfect couplets every single …. duration.

 

They don’t have to Google or force ’em — they never struggle or strain.

Cheater’s dictionaries,  I don’t endorse ’em, so I just rack my …. mind.

 

Maybe I should write free-verse for adults, more sophisticated, I know,

Who needs matchy kiddy jingles? Just be loose and let the words … stream.

 

Here’s to non-rhyming grown-up topics like death, taxes and lovers’ scorn,

Maybe even controversial issues like politics, war, and stuff you find in porn.

 

Hey!  Did you see that?  Once I stopped trying, it suddenly occurred on its own,

I don’t mean to boast or brag, but it’s obvious dear reader, I’m finally in the zone.

 

Look out Shel Silverstein and Dr. Seuss — your competition is gonna be rough,

You could just make an excuse, cuz next to me you’re both just a cream … pastry.

 

Oh no, now it’s gone! But you can bet I’m not goin’ down without the good fight.

You might say I’m tenacious, stubborn, relentless. And you’d be exactly ….correct!

Leave a link to your favorite blogging poet in today’s comment section!

 

This Thanksgiving I Really Resent . . . (and I won’t be content till I vent, lament, torment, and misrepresent!)

pumpy
An Anti-Thanksgiving Poem Which You Should Promptly Delete!
Today while everyone else is cultivating their sweet gratitude attitude,
I thought I’d allow myself a little latitude with a selfish magnitude.
Because I have oppositional syndrome, I’m celebrating in reversal.
So don’t take this as the final draft, when it might be just rehearsal.
It IS politically correct to complain on this day honoring poultry . . .
If you can disguise it in the rhymes of some pretty lame poetry.
So here goes — are you ready for all the things which I’m NOT thankful still exist?
This is the stuff I’ve dismissed, tried to resist, blacklist, or that just gets me pissed.
That last “P” word is one of them — someone just uttered it and my body cringed.
It’s worse than putting mushrooms in the stuffing — which also gets me unhinged.
That rubbery fungus is bad enough growing rampant on my front lawn,
But not as tragic as someone saying my blog always makes them yawn.
Are you getting the idea this verse is nothing more than all my pet peeves?
Housework, bills, lice, headaches, aging, screaming kids, rats, and thieves!
All plagues from which I wish I could get granted some lengthy reprieves.
But nothing holds a candle to what makes me feel the most defeated.
And that’s 85° weather in November and a house that’s overheated!
I live in a place where fall and winter have permanently retired,
And year-round scorching temps make air-conditioning required.
Sweating, dehydration, wrinkles, skin cancer — do we really need this much sun?
If you’re getting bored with my redundancy, relax cuz I think I’m almost done.
And so you must forgive my inconsiderate, ungrateful, lunatic rant and rave,
You’d feel justified too if burning weather melted your sanity into an early grave.
In fact today I needn’t even dirty a pot, turn on my stove, or open my oven door.
It’s so friggin’ hot, I can cook the whole Thanksgiving feast on my ever lovin’ floor!
READERS: Now that I’ve boiled over with my unpleasant, toxic post — I want to sincerely wish each one of you a very cool (physically and metaphorically) Thanksgiving holiday. Enjoy!
download (15)

Writing For Fun And Profit? Come On . . . Get Off It! (Weird Freelance Jobs!)

the-weird-writerBeing a freelance writer (specializing in humor) often brings amusing or lighthearted requests (website copy for actors/singers or material for a 50th birthday party roast anyone?) but sometimes I’m hired to be a wordsmith for concepts that are downright strange, yes even for me!

And if I had a dollar for each time someone asks if the “free” in my Freelance title means I don’t charge for my work, I’d be the wealthiest . . .  well, let’s just say I really would NOT ever have to charge again. But that’s for another blog — So without Further Ado….

You’ve Got The Write Idea, But The Wrong Girl? (My Bizarre Assignments)

  • Let’s start with food. I have plucked the little boring message slips out of fortune cookies with a tweezers and replaced them with my new racy predictions which always ended with, “in bed” for bachelorette parties.  When these same women get knocked up, I am hired to personalize the little Conversation Heart Candies for their birth announcements when they wanna order HERE And if you think it’s easy to find 136 ways to say, “It’s a Girl!” in 10 characters or less, I’m going to delegate this job to you next time!
  • I’ve written personal profiles for dating sites before, but this particular woman was very sick and hired me to create something that would attract a handsome doctor. I suppose she thought it’d save on hospital bills having a hubby who could cure her at home? The entire ad was composed of my original wording of her elaborate medical records and had a catchy title of: “Wanted: Atrocious Diagnosis! And then an interesting acronym.  L.O.V.E = Lymphocytosis/Osteoporosis/Varicosis/Endometriosis” It concluded with a realistic “prescription” for going on a date with a handsome MD. It turns out she was actually just a hypochondriac, so a homely psychiatrist responded and put her on Prozac.
  • I’ve been hired to write several gravestone quotes in advance for the soon-to-be deceased. One lady was a terrific cook so I simply put “Death Warmed Over” followed by her recipe for “Angel Food Cake.” Another was a video game addict so of course I came up with, “Game Over.” And a radio DJ was pleased with my “Stay Tuned” idea.
  • A year ago I was hired by Lice Clinics of America to steer the public perception away from feeling that getting lice was “a head scratching dilemma.”  I think they were hoping my funny words would instead make lice a hair fashion accessory like barrettes or headbands.  I was named, “The Wit Nit.” Click HERE for one of the many articles where I tried to bring giggles to these creepy crawlies and yes, that is my daughter’s photo featured in the article as well.  Just the fringe benefits of having your mother write about bugs . . . you become a Lice Model.  Subsequently I submitted my humor to ant companies, termite services, and other pest control businesses…..but I got zero response…just crickets. 😉
  • Confounded as to why I am forever branded “Little Miss Menopause?” Well stay up nights with insomnia and wonder no longer! Long ago I was hired by a pharmaceutical company who specialized in the manufacturing of hormones for mid-life women, and if you think hot flashes or memory loss can’t be a laughing matter, just click HERE
  • A great looking single executive was heavily playing the field, but far too busy to keep up with the romantic email and texting correspondence his many females yearned for — so he commissioned me to woo his women with my extra sentimental side. Didn’t I see this plot on the Brady Bunch before?? On Valentine’s Day I raked in the bucks from this phony fellow, whose name btw was Jonathan. But if any of his ladies were adept at symbolism, or reading between the lines — I dropped tons of hints that he was a major player — so fittingly, I expect a few of them to hire me to write their “Dear Jon” letters.
  • When lottery tickets were first being sold in California, they were the rage to give to friends as little surprise token gifts. I came up with something called, “SLottery Greetings — the card with the lucky SLOT!” Each greeting card had a perforated little window where you could tuck a (hopefully!) winning lottery ticket inside and the recipient could read things on the front like, “Happy Birthday to my One in a Million!” or “Darling, When I Met You, I Hit the Jackpot!”
  • Spire Inc. manufactures something like a FitBit, only you wear it on your wrist and it monitors your breathing. I wrote things that made their electronic contraption “come alive” and have emotions just like the computer operating system did in the movie HER. Check out what falling in love with this device might feel like right HERE
  • A very heavy drinker had me write all the amends they make you do in Step 4 of the Alcoholic Anonymous program so he could apologize to everyone he’d hurt. He printed them on wine labels and affixed them to bottles of Merlot.
  • My creative poetry ended up on a dog collar, giving new meaning to a “tagline.”

    Bring Buddy Back!

    “If you’re reading this, it means I’m lost.

    Maybe there’s a street I shouldn’t have crossed.

    But the worst is over ‘cuz now I’ve been found. . .

    And you’ve saved me from ending up in the pound.

    So pick up the phone and give my owner a holler

    And tell them you read about it here on my collar!”

  • My rhymes wound up on a bachelor’s tee-shirt:

    Hey ladies, look my way so I’ll flash you a wink,

    I can do so much more than buy you a drink.

    I can talk to you and compliment and flatter,

    But lemme take you home and prove size really does matter!

  • And how in the world did my words make their way hanging over a speculum in an offbeat gynecologist’s office?? Thank goodness there’s no byline.

 

 I‘m cold and metal but actually quite gentle,

Any pain you feel is purely accidental.

If I touch you “down there,” don’t give me a slap,

Just checking that you haven’t been given the Clap.

You might say I’m important and quite ‘instrumental,’

Your doctor owns me outright, I’m not just a rental.

I’ll never be replaced with a cellphone or an App…

Rest assured, I’m the only way to get your Yearly Pap!

711616037e21c4fe02b9c89f8985092e--strange-magic-weird

 

Let’s REALLY Mix Up the Media!

AAEAAQAAAAAAAAEiAAAAJDUwZTk3MDViLTFkZGQtNDg2OC1hNWI0LTcxNDQwMzMwZjNiMw (1)In an age where amusement park rides (“Pirates of Caribbean”) and board games (“Clue”) can become movies, comic strips (Lil’ Orphan Annie) become Broadway musicals, books (“Gone Girl”) become cinema thrillers,   and novels become a controversial Netflix television series (“13 Reasons Why”) I’ve decided WHY STOP THERE?

Songs Becoming News Stories!

(Billy Joel’s “Piano Man”)

In a New York bar on a Saturday night as the regular crowd shuffled in, many patrons allegedly inundated a helpless pianist with random musical requests. Some were sad, some were sweet, and some were incomplete as people struggled with their memories, substituting “La la la, di da da La la, di da da da dum” for actual lyrics. Even the bartender, who was identified only as John (and who gave free drinks, was quick with a joke or to light up a smoke) seemed to hold the compassionate piano player accountable for his own unhappiness and the fact that he couldn’t break free from the nightclub to become a movie star. “Bill, I believe this is killing me,” he was quoted as saying. Other innocent bystanders included a real estate novelist, a waitress practicing politics, and some businessmen slowly getting stoned. One witness claimed the piano sounded like a carnival and the microphone smelled like a beer, but this could not be substantiated. In fact many customers ordered the drink special of the night, called “Loneliness” and this seemed to evoke a common sentiment that if the pianist would only sing them the right kind of song with a melody that they were in the mood for, then everyone would be feeling alright. The manager finally appeared and gave a smile, aware that it was his establishment that helped everyone forget about life for a while. It was unknown whether the Piano Man later sought therapy for the pressure he felt during this incident.

Recipes Becoming Poetry!

(Toll House Chocolate Chip Cookies)

Baking time will be less than a half hour at 350 oven power

First grab 1 tsp salt, baking soda, and 2 1/4 cups flour,

Add in 3/4 cup sugar, 2 eggs, and be sure it’s 1 cup butter

You’ll be dropping by spoonfuls, no need for cookie cutter!

Don’t overbake, you want them soft and chewy to the lips,

And they won’t taste right if you don’t add chocolate chips!

Poetry Becoming Dog Tags!

If you’re reading this, it means I’m lost.

Maybe there’s a street I shouldn’t have crossed.

But the worst is over ‘cuz now I’ve been found. . .

And you’ve saved me from ending up in the pound.

So pick up the phone and give my owner a holler

And tell them you read this rhyme on my collar!”

Lyrics Becoming Essays!

(Katy Perry’s “Firework” – Graded by Little Miss Menopause)

Kati Perry “Firework”
8th Grade/Eng Comp 101/Period 4

Do you ever feel like a plastic bag drifting through the wind, wanting to start again?(Careful beginning any persuasive essay with a question — if the answer is “No” you’ve just lost your reader.)

Do you ever feel, feel so paper thin like a house of cards, (archaic phrase, nobody knows what this is except for the popular TV show.) one blow from caving in? (overly dramatic, credibility?)

Do you ever feel already buried deep six feet under? Screams, but no one seems to hear a thing. (morbid tone, not in keeping with rest of your paper, Ms. Perry)

Do you know that there’s still a chance for you ’cause (you must type out ‘because’ in formal essays) there’s a spark in you. (more supporting evidence needed) You just gotta ignite the light and let it shine, just own the night like the Fourth of July. (awkward sentence structure!)

‘Cause baby you’re a firework, come on show ’em what your (you’re) worth. Make ’em go “Oh, oh, oh!” (use proper dialoguing format here.) As you shoot across the sky-y-y. (cliche) Baby you’re a firework. (cite your source) Come on let your colors burst! Make ’em go “Oh, oh, oh!” (Choppy!) You’re gonna leave ’em fallin’ down down down.

Boom, boom, boom even brighter than the moon, moon, moon. It’s always been inside of you, you, you
And now it’s time to let it through. You’re gonna leave ’em fallin’ down down down. Boom, boom, boom. Even brighter than the moon, moon, moon. Boom, boom, boom. Even brighter than the moon, moon, moon. Etc, etc.

(D+ You tried Katy, and this is a much better effort than your “I Kissed a Girl and I Liked It” term paper, but your closing argument paragraph is redundant, nonsensical, and frankly better suited for a song lyric. I’m recommending you repeat English Comp 101.)

Movie Dialogue Becoming Resumes

Skills and Experience:

  • Phoning Home
  • Building it so they will come
  • Showing the Money
  • Looking at you, Kid
  • Rounding up the usual suspects
  • Putting my lips together and whistling
  • Seeing dead people
  • Depending on the kindness of strangers
  • Never using wire hangers. EVER!
  • Martini making, shaken not stirred
  • Making your day
  • Keeping the force with you
  • Not putting babies in corners
  • Not giving a damn, but in a very frank way

Readers, join me in the fun of mixing and matching our crazy media! Why not leave me a comment with your own creative blend?

social_media_blender

Ode To Control Freaks!

f3e373d7d47b35818c0798a92a1947d2_control-freak-control-freak-clipart_400-366

You may think our logic is slightly flawed,

Certain we know best, even better than God.

Our kids wear sweaters when we’re really the ones who’re cold.

And good luck throwing us Surprise parties without us wearing a blindfold.

Need to know everything — we’re obsessed with discovering stuff.

You may admonish, “Mind your own business!” but never have to say, “Get off your duff!”

It’s not enough to just know the outer you, we want to know your internals.

That’s exactly why it’s fine for us to snoop thru your diaries and journals!

And if we’re extra polite, saying thank-you and please quite often,

We think you won’t bristle at our demands, in fact we think you’ll soften.

But look at the upside to being one of us — we’re meticulous with wars we’re waging.

We fight about marriage, work, schools, friends, and we’re totally against our own aging!

‘Micromanaging’ — such a vulgar term, we’d never EVER do it!

But alas our “helpful hint” is taken the wrong way, folks just misconstrue it.

So if we cannot manipulate our world at large, you, or even our own mate’s lives,

At least we’re gonna stay in charge of our kid’s health… with the prevention of hives!

Um, that last line was stupid, but controlling peeps are stubborn,

Even over words, language, rhymes, we must try and govern!

And there’s one more thing we’re planning to subtly orchestrate . . .

Bestowing a new name on US, one that promotes a euphoric state.

‘Cuz calling us CONTROL FREAKS is rather harsh, ugly, and bleak.

How about just saying we have special powers due to our technique?

So from now on, “Universal Supervisor” replaces “Control Freak” as our new term.

Can we all just agree on this? I really need to know you’ll confirm!

And ‘cuz we’re certain that most of you find our control issues something to condemn…

Therefore nobody who is “One of Us” will admit that this is actually them.

But I’ll raise my hand proudly (sorta!) because once you get to know me . . .  I’m really quite a gem!

Lastly before I leave you, I’m not beyond using guilt to influence and apply a little pressure,

If you don’t leave me a comment, nobody will know you exist or that you’re such a WordPress treasure!

control-freak-quote

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/control/

 

A Wrinkle In Time (Ode To Old Yearbooks!)

fullsizerender-36Buried under my bed, a keepsake box that if opened will summon Pandora,

Lo and behold, at the bottom — my school yearbook with signatures galora!

 

I’m not gonna admit the year I graduated, surely you’ll guess the date,

Michael Jackson ruled, but Men At Work had a hit — so it was a G’day Mate!

 

My name misspelled when classmates signed, “Have a Bitchin’ summer!”

“K.I.T!” (with their 7 digit landline, no area code!) “I’ll miss ya. Total Bummer!”

 

And though the things we penned  were “bogus” or “rad” or bordered on perversive,

We thought we were super “gnarly” because we never printed, we wrote in cursive!

 

Guys in corduroy pants and girls flaunting that leather n’ lace look.

All our smilin’ pics, “Let the good times roll!” The original Facebook!

 

As I turn the pages thinking, “These were the best years of my life?”

The Mean Girls jump out at me and I remember all my fashion strife.

 

Bonjour, Calvins, Jordache, Sasson, Sergio Valente – all those designer jeans,

My mother nixed buying them, ($$) so I was just a big fat loser in my teens.

 

Needless to say, popular “Candies” shoes were also not in family’s budget,

So I wore cheap knock-offs thinking “It’s just footwear, I can fudge-it.”

 

But when it came to hair, I had it down pat — the exact way to toss it,

Mine was a perfect cross between Jaclyn Smith and Farrah Fawcett.

 

Whom do I kid? My locks are still long and layered today — frozen in time.

Maybe that’s what qualifies me to write here at “Once Upon Your Prime?”

 

Once in a while, it’s fun to dig out yearbooks and it’s great for some posterity. 

A laugh or two over hilarity and show your kids where you ranked in (un)popularity.

 

All I know is the “Most Likely To…” page wasn’t meant for me … The Underdog.

Unless they could vote for, “Most Likely to document it all in her weirdo Blog!”

Do you look back on high school as the best years of YOUR life? Leave me a comment with the popular phrase most used when signing your high school yearbook (Mine really was “Have a bitchin’ summer!”) and I’ll try and guess the year. Or at least the decade.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/slog/

img_8023

Probably safe to say this classmate didn’t win any spelling bees!

img_8025

Where are they now? These Class Clowns, Best Athletes and Most Likely To Succeeds??

No Worries – – We’ve Got Your Back.

mad magazine

When a normal person is scared they have breast, skin or bone cancer,

They simply get examined by a doctor and have a quick answer.

But I worry the procedure will have serious complications,

Or their medical equipment will have poor calibrations,

Or the laboratory will make gross errors in their calculations,

Or the results will come back with (gasp!) positive confirmations!

So instead I go to a therapist and have lengthy conversations . . .

“How do I stop incessantly worrying about everything?” I ask.

They nod knowingly, sending me home with one simple task.

“Write down everything you fear happening, make one great big list.

Because once it’s down on paper, from your mind it’ll be dismissed.”

I take my pencil and put every single dread down in plain black and white

But maybe writing causes lead poisoning, how to avoid that disturbing plight?

And reading these awful lists are more frightening than thinking I have ovarian cysts.

To the depths of despair I sink, the only thing to do is find another Shrink.

The next one prescribes Xanax, Zoloft, Valium, and even a little Prozac.

Cuz drugs have your back & get you on track when life goes outa whack.

(Never mind the side effects, like filling your arteries up with plaque!)

Oh dear, this isn’t working; I think I need to just find a homeopathic Guru.

“Don’t Worry, Be Happy” a sign over his desk sounds a little too woo-woo.

He warns, “Thinking about something you don’t want, will surely bring it about”

Oh great, now all my concerns will come true, of that there can be no doubt!

“Thank you!” I say as I pay the pretty receptionist his outrageous high bill.

I can’t think about going broke; I need to worry about writing my own will.

But first my caring boyfriend offers (for free!) his own professional tactics,

“You need an adjustment,” he says, “You should never underestimate chiropractics.”

I climb up on his special table, wondering if it’s been recently sterilized.

“Just don’t touch my neck, back, shoulders or body…I don’t wanna be paralyzed.”

He shakes his head in frustration and I fear his prognosis is gonna be bleak.

“I know you pick our dinners and movies — my diagnosis is you’re a Control Freak.”

As I drive home I realize I haven’t heard from my kids, not a peep all day long,

Now I’m sure they’ve been kidnapped or injured, or something else is wrong.

“Kids” I say, “Why don’t you phone to pester me or tell me your life is a mess?”

“We’ve been told to keep things secret, so we don’t cause you further stress.”

This sounds like bad advice from none other than my ridiculous Ex.

Now how will I know if my son is on drugs or my daughter’s having sex??!

As a last resort, I take all my troubles to an Author’s Workshop and ask for advice.

“Go home and Blog about it, I’m sure your followers will think that’s nice.”

But I worry an 800-word story about an MRI and a malignant brain tumor,

Will cause my readers to suspect, “She’s completely lost her (odd!) sense of humor!”

So maybe I’ll write a poem – but gosh, should it be a sonnet, a limerick or a haiku?

And will my depressing topic elicit comments like, “Sheesh, we really dislike you!”

Where will this ever end? There’s no remedy for being a compulsive worrier . . .

I’ll just go back to sleep, it’s clear my future’s dim and so much blurrier.

Desperate, I read the label sewn into my bed, “Under penalty of law, do not remove!”

And I smile and think, “Wow, I can do that! Now my life will start to improve!”

Yes, pillows and mattress tags are something I can completely control,

So I can cross off worrying about arrests, going to jail and never getting out on parole!

tag

‘Tis The Season (Without Rhyme or Reason!)

photo-55T’WAS THE NIGHT BEFORE MENOPAUSE

T’was the night before menopause, when all through my bod,
Not a creature moaned or complained more than me, OMG!

The Size 6’s were hung in the closet with care,
In the hopes that Jenny Craig would soon take me there.

My husband was nestled all snug in his bed,
While visions of erotic positions danced in his head.

When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter
Like when I shoved a Hooter’s waitress, carrying a taco platter.

Away to the window I flew, triggering a hot flash,
Followed by clammy skin, irregular heartbeat, and allergic rash.
(Brain fog made me forget to tear open the shutters and pull up the sash!)

Oh, the moon on the breast of the new fallen snow!
Not to mention my own breasts had sunk to a new low.

When what to my fatigued eyes, who should appear?
But a rich, black, chatty woman and a man wanting to do my pap smear.

This wasn’t the plastic surgeon I ordered or the Avon Lady chick!
I looked closer, recognizing Oprah and Dr. Oz, her sidekick.

Then more rapid than eagles, my troubles came with sharp aim,
And Dr Oz. and Oprah whooped and shouted, calling them by name.

“Now Itchy, Now Bitchy, Now Sweaty And Sleepy,
Now Bloaty, Now Psycho, Forgetful and Weepy.
Onward Insomnia, Moody, and Fibroids So Creepy!

To the Top of the medicine cabinet with your symptom roll-call
Dash away Metamucil, Calgon, Midol, Prozac and Geratol!

Then up to the Ceiling Fan, this pair of Celebrities flew,
Cameras rolling, talk shows and infomercials filming on cue.

Just then in a Twinkling, what did I hear on the roof?
A Sitcom Star more famous than this ridiculous spoof!

As I drew in my muffin top, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Ms. Suzanne Somers came with a bound.

She was dressed all in (faux) fur from her head to her (chiseled) thigh,
And she said, “Tis not the Thigh Master that keeps me so spry!”

Bundles of hormones were flung over her (well-toned) back,
With more Bio-Identicals stuffed in her (shapely) fanny pack.

Her eyes, how they sparkled, her dimples how merry,
Her cheeks were like roses, her lips like a cherry.
“Listen,” I interrogated, “Do you still eat Gluten and Dairy??”

“Why are YOU Somebody? Three’s Company went off the air?
If I sound like a Grinch – It’s cuz I just found yet another gray hair.

What did you do with that fat guy and his white beard and round belly?
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
(And made me feel less guilty when I indulged at the Deli.)

Say, you don’t have a stump of pipe in your teeth,
With smoke that encircles your head like a wreath.
And I betcha a new blonde wig, you wear Spanx underneath!”

I demand someone plump or ugly like ‘Elf on the Shelf,’
Someone who makes me feel better, when I compare myself.

With a wink of her eye, and a twist of her shiny, platinum head,
Suzanne said, “No more Somercizing, you’ve nothing to dread!”

She spoke not another word and went straight to her work,
Filled a few lacy stockings, (with garters) flashing a sexy smirk,

And laid a manicured fingernail aside her cute button nose,
Her mom should warn her about smirking, maybe her face froze?

I sprung to my feet as Dr. Oz and Oprah gave a wolf whistle,
Finally some hope that went beyond Black Cohosh and Milk Thistle!

Who knew that a night of magic with Suzanne, Oprah and Dr. Oz
Would have me feeling so much better about entering Menopause?

And away they all flew, but I heard them exclaim,
“If you listen to us, you’ll be one awesome, hot dame!”

That was the last I saw of those three, as they drove clear outa sight,
“Happy Menopause to all and don’t grow old without a good fight!”

 

Little Miss Menopause wishes everyone a day free from brain-fog, hot-flashes and weight-gain on December 25th!

Stephanie