For the record, I hate eating fish and I’ve never gone fishing. (But I had a fun time with the prompt word “catch.”)
We were s’posed to go fishing, but natch, It’s too stormy again; we must scratch All our catch-eating plans. Guess I’ll open two cans Of smoked trout. Why’s there always a catch?
My dear husband’s gone off to a pub. I’ve stayed home cuz I hate all the grub That they serve on this day. Consume corned beef? No way! Plus I’ve joined the new “Recluses Club.”
My short height makes it hard to withstand Heavy wind gusts. I’d rather not land On the sidewalk face down. Broken bones make me frown… And I DON’T want more body parts scanned.
Can you help me get out of my jam? I was eating some jelly and, damn, It’s all over my dress And I’m rather a mess, So I need something STAT to look glam!
Myopic teacher mistook inept coloring for misbehavior.
The prompt for this haiku was “myopic” (plus a memorable personal experience.) When I was 4, my teacher punished me for not coloring within the lines. (I had very bad vision, which hadn’t yet been diagnosed.) And my teacher actually called my parents in to complain about my bad behavior. (My vision wasn’t tested till I was 9 and got coke bottle glasses.)
When comedians freak out and fold Cuz their jokes left an audience cold, It is said that they’ve laid An egg. I’m afraid That their jokes (and those eggs) can’t be sold.
How I love to write lim’ricks amusing! But with news so depressing and bruising, I’m confined to a tonic Of verse that’s sardonic. Blame my Muse! (She’s morose, so she’s snoozing.)
“Have you noticed that men can’t abide Being told that a lace is untied? A mere warning that’s gentle Turns many males ‘mental.’ I am fit to be tied,” cried the bride.
When the staff mentioned leaks and a draft, Their mean manager grimaced and laughed. Then he raved and he ranted, But soon was supplanted; Staffers craftily pinned him for graft.
While in school, I liked one type of test; Those with “multiple choice.” They’re the best! Choices helped me regain Info deep in my brain, So they made me look smart, when I guessed.
The young dentist was rooting around In my mouth, till he told me he’d found The root cause of my pain: “Please don’t frown, Mrs. Kane, But it’s plain that you’re root-canal bound.”
Some assert, “There’s no rest for the weary,” A bleak proverb that makes many teary. And yet I can attest That a multi-bar rest Tends to make bleary oboists cheery.
Poetry prompts are big on Bluesky. And one of them (the word “tour”) inspired me to write about something I’ve never written about before: touring with the Dallas Symphony way back in 1970.
So here’s both a limerick and a haiku about that experience.
Just imagine an orchestra tour Via a bus. It was tough to endure: Two long months on the road, Bad hotels, our abode… And no Net, so for boredom, no cure!
Traveled via bus on 2-month orchestra tour– Played oboe … and chess.
I’ll admit it: I’m one of those nerds Who enjoy learning obsolete words, Like “forswunk” which (I’m told) Means exhausted. I’m old And yes being forswunk’s for the birds.
With the ceaseless review of elections, Pompous discourse, post-mortem reflections Upon who has been bloodied, Has anyone studied The impact (with stats) on erections?
It is “National Short Person Day,” So I can’t resist shouting “Hooray!” On a good day, I’m just Five foot zero, and lust For more height. (But my ruler says “Nay!”)
