It’s finally time to announce the winner of Colleen Chesebro‘s challenge to write a terrible burlesque poem on aging (ageing):
What’s that smell? oOoOO that smell, can’t you smell that smell?
Like cheese and a rotten egg got married
yet, rarely it, happened.
That smell lingers from room to room everywhere you walk, in the house, at work, at the groceries store.
How that humanely possible?
60’s and beyond
making me sick, pungent,salty and sour
Serious, seriously serious…that came out of your heiny?
it’s poor English but you sure do, yee old farty pants
Congratulations, Matt! You are the most terrible poet! Let me know the type of poem and theme for the next two weeks! Exclamation points!
The poems this week were terribly clever! I had to pick Matt’s because it was -oh, man, Matt- very terrible with the clever. “Heiny?” “Farty pants?” Ugh. No! 😀
Don’t stop there, though. Go ahead and enjoy the others:
by The Bag Lady
Pulling myself out of the bed
To pee again, something I dread
I’d rather be sleeping instead
Or I could just wet the bed.
Look in the mirror to check what needs shaving
Hoping fingers with razor will be behaving
I don’t want the blade to start engraving
Till blood starts running and raving.
Then there’s dressing, always a treat
Groaning to put socks and shoes on my feet
Stretching on layers smoothed to look neat
Pulling on and tucking in trousers a feat.
Finally finished, its time for a drink
Or breakfast, that’s what most people think
I prefer coffee—makes my eyes start to blink
Then into my recliner I sink.
Morning routines seem to be the way
Doing it over and over each day
Keeps unforeseen accidents at bay
When hair turns relentlessly gray.
Old age comes to us all they say:
“if you’re lucky” or “better than the alternative” way.
Those words spoken cause some dismay
Cause it’s always the young speaking that bray.
by Richmond Road
Stop your crying, I’m not dying
Sit beside me, pretty nurse
Please hold my hand, please understand
That we must delay the hearse
Do I repel you? Please let me smell you
Let me get a little whiff
You’re a fantastic aromatic
Please come closer as I sniff
I know I dither as I wither
My mind and body growing thin
I know this body’s looking shoddy
But a heart still beats within
So though unsteady, I’m not ready
To depart this mortal life
Let’s have a giggle, have a wiggle
You can pretend to be my wife
Though I disgust you, I still trust you
And my bark’s worse than my bite
You’re such a cutie. Do your duty
Look after me tonight
I know you know that it’s all show
My days of love are far behind
Just be patient. Just be kind
Yes, I’m older, but I’m no bolder
Senility is bliss
I’m just ageing, I’m not raging
But ….. how about a kiss?
A dig at Joyce Kilmer’s’ ‘Trees’ a trite, turgid self-important load of sappy claptrap if I ever read one.
I wish I never had to rheumily see
My skin so weather-worn and leathery.
This toothless mouth remains hard- pressed;
My teeth have long gone South and West.
A bod that looks like God had a bad day,
A face beyond all hope, and Oil Of Olay.
A pate that requires new summer wear;
A Blue Jays cap in lieu of lost hair.
When snow falls I dream of hot dry Spain;
Stuck in sodden Toronto, who’d not complain?
When God tires of bad poetry, and poor old me
Put me on the mantel, not ‘neath no cold Yew tree.
This poem attempts to imitate the lyrics of songs like the classic “Bird is the word”. If you’ve never heard that song, don’t look it up.
I’m over the hill
over the hill
over the hill
(repeat ad nauseam)
Thank you, everyone! Come back to learn the next two weeks’ prompt.
Matt: Here’s your badge you can post as proof of your poetic mastery:
©2022 The poets, and their respective poems.