I Cannot See My Feet No More

I cannot see my feet no more;
I think they’re down there, on that floor
-Which also rests beyond my view
And holds those ‘lusive things called ‘shoes’-
…And more than bumbling me can know;
I oomph and eeek on stumbling toe.

It ’tisn’t fair, I amble, sigh;
Lamenting loss of pedi-sight.
That, as my motivation stops,
As belly button pokes and pops,
That I can’t see feet, floor or toe —
‘Cause I just dropped some cookie dough.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

©2021 Chel Owens

Heeeere’s Chel, out loud!

*I’ll post the results of the A Mused Poetry Contest tomorrow. Go ahead and enter if you haven’t yet; the judge clearly hasn’t had time to look at all the entries!*

A ‘Political’ Poem

Ohhhhh
I don’t mind your arguing -if
You’ll open your mind
To others’ views, just like you want,
And if you will be kind.

Oh, don’t you see, that you and me
Live on the same, great Earth?
And, don’t you see, that you and me
Think everyone has worth?

Ohhhhh
I’ll even read your quotes and ‘news’
Although I’m short on time.
I hope you’ll do the same for mine;
Let’s read between the lines.

For, don’t you see, that you and me
Live on the same, great Earth?
And don’t you see, that you and me
Think everyone has worth?

Ohhhhh
I don’t mind your politics
So long as you’ll hear mine,
And not reject my thoughts and face
Until the end of time.

‘Cause, sure; you see, that you and me
Live here, on this same Earth;
That you and me, most def’nit’ly,
Know everyone has worth.

©2021 Chel Owens

Early Morning Poetry

I woke, at three, as baby stirred;
The birds were no help, either.
My brain, a-swirl, my hunger roused,
I grabbed a jacket, cer’al doused

And here, I sit –
Or, rather, lay
And contemplate if that’s the way
To say that here I am, reclined,
When, still, my brain’s a racing mind.

For now, at five, as baby wakes,
And time’s flown by
While here, I lie,
I realize I’ll need to rise
Before the garbage truck arrives.

After all,
it’s near sunrise. 🌞

© Chel Owens

A Voter’s Paradise

All of those attending school
Will get it paid for, as a rule
And all of those who don’t feel up
To working jobs still make a buck.

Doctors, nurses, surgery
Do pristine work, completely free!
For your baby (if you keep it),
You’ll never worry how to feed it.

And parents wanting free day care
Will have a government au pair.
For your dog or cat; chinchilla
Vets will never, ever bill ya.

And all the lawns will get a mow
And all the driveways, free of snow.
Heck! Any leaks or cracks or breaks
Are covered, FREE, make no mistakes!

Food will grow without a weed
Fulfilling everybody’s needs
And, though y’all are sitting ’round
A fat person will not be found.

Your bank accounts will all be full
And backyards all will have a pool.
A mansion’s waiting for your lives;
A sports car’s waiting for your drives.

There’s nothing anyone will want
There’s nothing anyone will need…

Don’t you see?
A vote for me,
Will make things nice:
A paradise.

© Chel Owens

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

Hey, it might be possible. Dunno who’s gonna pay for it all, but who cares? Cast your own entry for this month’s A Mused Poetry Contest. You’ve got till May 14th.

Secret Snitch Will Scratch That Itch!

♫ If she says, “Come here!
“My dear!
“There’s something no one else can hear!”
Think of us, and never fear:
The secret-selling championeers!

We pay top price!
We sell, rock-bottom!
And promise no one’s e’er forgotten!

A secret’s safe, till you can pay;
Visit Secret Snitch today! ♫

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

©2021 Chel Owens

There are still a few more hours to write a humorous jingle for a product that shouldn’t be sold! C’mon! It’s for the A Mused Poetry Contest.

Grampy’s Burlap Underwear

♫ When your life is without care
And when your nether’s without hair;
To follow laws, you can’t be bare,
So try our burlap underwear.

Grampy’s Burlap Underwear!
Grampy’s Burlap Underwear!
You’ll want to swear
If you’ll but dare
To wear
Ol’ Grampy’s Underwear! ♫

Photo by Skylar Kang on Pexels.com

©2021 Chel Owens

I’m sure to get hired by a PR group soon… Try your own hand at a humorous jingle for a product that shouldn’t be sold for this month’s A Mused Poetry Contest.

Late for Work

There isn’t time for smiling eyes and toddling legs; fat fingers grasping loose Cheerios.

There isn’t time for “Uh-oh” cups of milk -thrown, giggling, to the just-mopped floor.

There isn’t time for biting kisses, hair-ripping hugs, or I-got-your-nose-Mommy.

There isn’t time for all the ‘helping,’ all the sighing; all the crying.

There isn’t time for childhood.

So go to work. There isn’t time.

Photo by Tatiana Syrikova on Pexels.com

©2021 Chel Owens

More Ranting, in poem form

C’mon, guys! Get angry and enter the A Mused Poetry Contest by this Friday. I promise that it’s fun!!

Assphorisms

Roses are red, ’cause they’re all full of thorns
That pricked you and caused you to bleed.
Violets are blue ’cause they’re feelin’ fed up
With being around all the weeds.

The bluebird of happiness doesn’t exist,
‘Cause Fate shot it, and served it with rice.
‘Fact, the only bird he and Karma will give
Is the one that isn’t so nice.

Think positive. Right; like my thoughts are the why
For pandemics; bankruptcies; death.
Moments that might take our breath all away
Are mostly just taking our breath.

The one thing I’ve got, right down to an art
Is lack of an income; cash flow.
Money can’t buy up my happiness, see,
So my mood ought to perk up tenfold.

My momma said there would be days like today
But not any days like the rest.
She couldn’t have known ’bout the last ten twenty forty years
When she said I should give it my best.

In conclusion, I’ve seen that the problem is all
The people we’ve voted to lead.
It might also be my life consequences
……
Nope. It’s th’ gov’ment, indeed.

Photo by Kaboompics .com on Pexels.com

©2021 Chel Owens