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Category Archives: Humor

Me thinking:

about the web, connected in intricate high wires

dangling, trickling inadvertently behind me,

as I walked through the pines

with a feeling  I felt,

 I had left!

 

Never touching the ground,

I moved with patience

on silk trepidation

—for a life, that insists

 to be defined.

 

Me waking up:

The thread of my existence is never behind!

Nor could I manufacture a web;

that connects me to illusive time.

 

I Shook it off with a wiggle—

that trickled

inadvertently

 behind.

            ~~~~~

I had to grab something to protect myself

from transparency

when you kicked me in the groin!

I collapsed in the shower,

wrapped in aluminum foil.

 Bad bad puddy-tat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 
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Posted by on July 7, 2019 in Existential, Life, Silly stuff, Zen

 

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The wind sends messages

     

      The wind sends messages through pine wood doors, around skyscrapers and street lights. Through the matrix of the suburbs, over the mountains, across the pastures, sown fields, and vineyards; repeating her message to the sea.

      I heard one night as the wind passed through, that the moon is made of cheese. I smiled and snickered when suddenly my hat blew off my head, hearing very distinctly “oh pull-eeez”.

Winds play limbs at night

Moon dances in their shadows

Winter snow smiles

 
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Posted by on February 2, 2019 in Haibun, Haiku, Humor, Zen

 

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Cabin Fever Mutterings From Sandwich Notch NH

Spring Will Be Early This Year

 

My young friend in her late 50’s, is experiencing hot flashes.

I, on the other hand, in my 70’s am cold all the time;

often checking to see if I’m dead as sunlight passes.

 

This winter has been a very cold one.

We have to flip to see who controls the thermostat.

Warm, if I’m the winner—an evening well done and that’s that.

 

Loser, I have to wear hand warmers, two sweaters,

a 100% wool lap blanket and a hat.

Or, as previously noted

 

—she sits on the porch,

Oblivious of accelerating spring flowers.

 

Ain’t love grand?

Unable to figure it out

But we always accept

It’s beautiful and mysterious whereabouts.

~~~~

 
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Posted by on February 24, 2018 in Getting Old, Humor, Love, New Hampshire, Poetry, Zen

 

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Ice Fishing With Only One Tip Up (An Ode to sweet Pepper Relish)

Emma-Rose Ice fishing

sweet pepper relish

What else could I wish

On a Bob-House-Grilled hamburger.

Buns stuffed in my mouth with a death grip

pulling up my Derby winning fish

drooling only a lil’ bit

 of that darn sweet pepper relish

A ditty for E-R & Red beard : )

 
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Posted by on February 3, 2018 in New Hampshire, Silly stuff

 

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Lulu and Larry [The Legend of ‘Little Pond’]

On a pond in Center Sandwich, New Hampshire

—there was ripplin’ dimples on the shore

—toe dunkin’, foot slippin’ in mucky mud sinkin’.

—Tad poles at their feet were being ignored

As Lulu and Larry stepped further from shore.

 

 

“Watch out for old ‘Sticky tongue’!

That bullfrog is as big as a horse!

And he knows you’re in his ponnnnnnnduh.”

Shouted, older brother Horace

From the window of the family car.

 

Lulu heard a snap and a hard slap

on the water by her side.

Looking for Larry, finding only a big ripple

circling, melting at her knees in a chilling rise.

There he was! gone!* without a bubble or a scream

in ‘Sticky Tongue’s pond on a hot summer’s eve.

 

PS: Horace rolled up his window as running Lulu joined him –they locked all the car doors and hit the floor. As for Larry?  His parents are still lookin’ fer’.

 Yup! Cross my heart and hope to die .I don’t swim there, but I fish there; catching on a hot summer day, a wiggly reflection on the surface of the water, of sticky tongue’s lair.

 

**********

 This is for those of you who sit at the end of a movie and listen to the music reading the credits:

Note:

I received this glittering notebook as a gift from a wonderful writer friend Kelli T.–teaching as Adjunct faculty (English of course) at Plymouth State University NH—now living the glamorous life 😊 in Minneapolis. A great writer whom I have accepted gracious encouragement from.

The notebook has been kicking around for a while, buried among many journals. Some leather-bound, cloth bound, some on paper bags and some on any colored napkins.

PoPo, my 10 yr. old grandson who has such an imaginary virtual reality and somehow still maintains human sensitivity, along with his older brother Gav, were staying with me for the day. Which I enjoy often.

Trying to figure out how to get their creative attention, my attention was drawn to this glittering notebook. I reached over, sparkling as ever, opened it and wrote the first draft.

 I made them French toast and as they were eating it (plenty of butter and syrup), I read them this draft. When I finished they chuckled, continuing to eat, PoPo asked me to lock the door.

 

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A Private Conversation With Me And I

My life has misplaced my glasses,

The remote, and my e-mail password.

“Stop staggering,

Are you disoriented”?

Yes, someone has stolen my memory.

And, taken all the labels off the cans.

“Oh Shoot-MaHoot,

what are you going to do”?

Open one or two cans

And, expect a supper surprise! What else can I do

Go hungry— never knowing what else to do?

“Sounds right, eat right,

Walk it off, sing a song,

then take a shit

Before you go nite-nite.

 

Hmmmmmm…

 

Glasses, remote, and e-mail note

are balanced on the toilet paper.

left there last night,

busy thinking about tomorrow.

 

Oh, and your cup…

And tea bag

Are on the saucer

On the windowsill.”

Thanks, I remember—  now

I am, on my way there.

 
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Posted by on October 29, 2016 in Existential, Getting Old, Poetry, Silly stuff, Zen

 

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A poem For My Grandson PoPo

Small Spider in my car catches me unaware,

tickling on my chin.

How did he get in?

So sweet, so cute, what should I do with him?

I’ll stick my head out the car window— at 50 miles per hour

That should be the last of him.

Shoot! There goes my hat.

But not, apparently, still hanging on,

Is my new best friend.

 
19 Comments

Posted by on July 24, 2016 in Children, Love, Pine Cone Diaries, Silly stuff

 

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Sweet “Crazy Kids”

( original posted 2013 and revised for Monday WRite and Sunday’s, Poetry Pantry)

Sea weed, seaweed, slurping near the beach.

Cautiously  side stepping, avoiding it from our feet.

Slippery slapping, splashing barely surfacing for us to see.

Oh my gosh!

What is that SLITHERING? And SQUISHING?

Well yaaa! EEEEK!

Run for the beach!

Look! Look!

Where?

Here! See, SEE where it bit me?

Naw, I don’t see nuthin’,

BUT, let’s get out of REACH.

 
17 Comments

Posted by on February 22, 2016 in Children, Poetry, Silly stuff

 

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What’s Her Name

When she was younger, strong and stern,

She raised me in punctuality, good manners,

And, God-fearing morality.

 

I remember one evening, when I was fifteen,

Excusing myself from the supper table, hair still combed and face washed clean;

I said I was going out for a walk, and, “was there anything she might need?”

 

I opened the front door, rushing without discreet,

I heard her holler, “be back before eight.

You have an hour of homework and I expect you, not to be late.”

 

Well… the time did fly and so did I,

When I heard the clock tower striking nine.

What have I been thinking, not paying attention to the time?

 

Hoping she was busy somewhere in the house;

Perhaps in the kitchen, or, in the bathroom undoing her hair,

Any place else but in the front hall in that familiar overstuffed chair.

 

Nope! No such luck. There she was, as I opened the door,

With a half-smile of melting stern

Asking me, “sooo… what’s her name?”

*Picture of my Mother 🙂Ma

 
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Posted by on October 11, 2015 in Love, Mothers, Pine Cone Diaries, Prose Poetry, Silly stuff

 

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Bonsoir Mémé et le Pépé, Bonsoir

 (curtain rises…both are getting into bed)

Mémé: I’m not asking you to cheat

            Only to tweak. (turning over, back to Pépé)

 Pépé: I refuse to participate, in the choices they make,

can’t you see, Just let it be!

(he does the same and turns over. now both are lying back to back)

Mémé: Get off your arse then, and turn off the light!

            There ain’t nothing right… left to be seen this night.

Pépé: I thought it was your turn

To turn out the lights, tonight.

Mémé: You want to fight?

(as a matter of fact)

            I still got a good right.

(giggling)

Pépé: What is it that you want me to do?

            Again. Before I lay down.

(slowly getting up)

Mémé: Go and tell the grandchildren

            To stop this, this… “Messing around!

…La vie ne est plus le pont de d’Avignon.”

Pépé:  

  (re-enters and gets into bed facing mémé)

            Bonsoir Mémé.

Mémé: Bonsoir Pépé.

(Both start humming  ‘Sous le pont de d’Avignon’)

(Curtain closes)

 

On the lighter side, in my “research”, I stumbled on this and if you have the time… [growing up with this song, I couldn’t help but smile when I saw this.]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1W1-hZQNdC4

 

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