Are you weary?
Is life dreary?
Why is Covid a political query?
Does anyone even hear me?
Will I get infected if you get near me?
This is not about YOU, deary.
Are You Weary?
Category: poetry
Lend Me Your Ear
When I was born they helped me hear
The original function of the ear.
Next, they helped hold back my hair
so my eyes could glance, or see, or stare
Earbuds were inserted for music and song
Before Bluetooth cell phones came along
Then vanity was added on to hearing
When I pierced them and wore earrings
Next came glasses to better see
Letters no longer clear to me
Now that masks are daily wear
My ears have more than they can bear
Hearing aids not yet required
Nor or they as yet desired.
Brewster the Rooster
Brewster the Rooster thought that he was the one
To pleasure the hens and get the job done
But when came time to deliver the shipment
Poor Brewster failed–he lacked the equipment.
National Limerick Day
Reblogged from Words and Music and Stories. Make sure you read the fun quarantine limerick.
O
bserved annually on May 12th, National Limerick Day celebrates the birthday of English artist, illustrator, author, and poet Edward Lear (12 May 1812 – 29 January 1888)
Poem 30: The Race is Won
The 30th poem on the 30th day
This race is over, Hiphiphooray.
I persevered and now I’m done.
The Poetry Month marathon is won.
Poem 26: In honor of Arbor Day and National Pretzel Day
Pretzel shapes are varied
Like knots, or twists or loops
The baker decides upon the form
From the pretzel dough he scoops
Nature usually shapes the trees
Based upon the type
Unless mankind interfers
with his usual hype.
He grafts a twig upon a trunk
Intending to create
Something never seen before
But hopes it will be great.
Poem 25: Headlines by Book Order
If librarians
organized the headlines, book
covers would be words.
Poem 23: Shakespeare’s Birthday
Happy Birthday to the Bard
We really can’t send you a birthday card
Your rhymes are better and more renowned
Than the rhymes, I’ve read on the cards I’ve found.
Why do rhymes today sound so trite?
Is it the modern way that we write?
Our vocabulary may have gone astray
by using emojis to mean what we say.
Is an emoji worth a thousand words?
The very thought seems so absurd.
We couldn’t use an emoji to write a sonnet
even if we stumbled upon it.
Poem 22: Rituals
Our rituals can
Hold us up or hold us back.
How do yours hold you?
Guest blogger: JeanMarie Olivieri
JeanMarie posted this gem on her blog. Click here to read the entire article, Dear Diary.
Purpose
A place for everything ̶
everything in its place ̶
everything else in the junk drawer.
A tidy home is not the same
as a clean home. I know
where everything is;
just don’t look close at my floor.
Everything has a purpose
except the quarter inch of plastic
I found on the floor one day.
It might be a screw,
but it has grippers on it,
although it’s too small to hold a picture.
The hole on top
is for an allen wrench
if I had one that small.
Where did it come from?
What does it do?
Can I afford to toss it away?
These unanswerable questions
keep it in my drawer.
Poem 21: Geezer Par Excellence
Thanks to Allen Rizzi for the thought.
I am a geezer par excellence
as long as my ego does not exceed
the knowledge I have to share.
Some people do not know
when to stop talking,
running their mouths
ad nauseam.
Make them wish
you had said more
rather than sorry
that you did.
Beware the 80 somethings, they are the boomer’s version of teenagers.
Poem 20: Reading and a Library Card
This little guy, so cute in his mask
Knows the answer to questions we ask
How can I travel when I’m stuck at home?
With a good book, the world you can roam.
How can travel when I can’t leave my yard?
All you need is a library card.
With free books online, you can read anywhere.
Even if your bookshelf is dusty and bare.
Poem 17: Red, White and Blue Ridge
Redbrick ruins front
White snow in April flocking
Blue Ridge Mountain peaks
Man’s reign lasts longer
Then the ephemeral snow
Mountains survive both.
Poem 11: Creeping Down the Stairs
Creeping down the stairs
The Window is prettier
Than the view outside.
Don’t judge the value
by the ornate frame displayed
Pictures may vary.
Poem 8: To Anna Anderson
Anastasia was your name
bringing you haphazard fame
without proof to back your claim
Then, rumors were put to rest
With the results of the DNA test
No longer can anyone cotest
Little girls still like your story
Their favorite princess allegory.
Anna Anderson was the most famous of the many women claiming to be the Grand Duchess Anastasia of Russia. She eventually married an eccentric professor near Charlottesville, Virginia. Her memorial is at the University of Virginia graveyard. Her ashes were buried in the churchyard at Castle Seeon on 18 June 1984.
Click here to read more about Anna Anderson.
Poem 7: April 7 is National Beer and National No Housework Day
Since I don’t like beer, where I write beer–for me think wine….
I think I’ll start the day with beer
So there will be no cleaning here
Once I fill that mug with brew
My daily chores will be all through
Today will have no pain and sorrow
They can’t return until tomorrow
Carpe diem is what I say
Raise your mug and seize the day.
Poem 6: Ode to Chocolate
Ode to Chocolate
Chocolate that’s dark
Chocolate that’s light
Or just any chocolate that comes into sight?
Chocolate that’s weak or chocolate that’s strong
As long as it’s chocolate, no choice is wrong.
I like my wine and my rum drinks too
But chocolate, my first love will always be you.
Poem 4–Winter’s Delaying Tactics
Old Man Winter doesn’t know when to leave;
His long nails are caught in Spring’s lacy sleeve.
Despite her March winds, his grip won’t let go,
His delaying tactics make her progress too slow.
The flowers are blooming, new green on the trees
But the temperatures still fall with each Wintry sneeze.
Temps rise each week to a new average high.
But at least once a week, we shiver and sigh
Let Go, Old Man Winter! Please just say Good Bye!
Poem 3–Today is Tweed Day
Why is it Tweed Day?
I’m still at a loss.
Was it a fabric
Or merely a boss?
The British wear Tweed
Professors do too
With suede elbow patches
So their arms don’t poke through.
Poem 2–Someone Didn’t Get the Word
There is always that someone
It seems quite absurd
That just can not manage
To get the word
Why doe he linger
And act so slow
Didn’t he realize
It’s past time to go.
So why did he linger so long and tarry
The last hanger-on, the red holly berry?
