Speak to Me Only With Thine Dementia

“Oh. My.” She said it every morning. You would think he’d be accustomed to it, even tired of it.

But she had a way of infusing each word with childlike awe.

That was why he loved it; why her daily exclamation touched him every time. By now, he lived for this. He couldn’t imagine his day starting otherwise.

His wife turned, all smiles, and said the phrase she always followed with: “I think I’ve awakened in paradise.”

He rose and put his arm around her. Staring out their bay windows at the private ocean bay; he, as always, agreed.

©2022 Chel Owens

Photo by Thomas on Pexels.com

Written in response to Carrot Ranch‘s prompt:

November 21, 2022, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story using the phrase, “Oh, my.” It can be used in storytelling or dialog. What is the cause for such a response? Have fun with this one! Go where the prompt leads!

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest 4/1/2022

It’s finally time to announce the winner of Colleen Chesebro‘s challenge to write a terrible burlesque poem on aging (ageing):

PEW

by Matt

20’S COOL
30’S COOL
40’S Pew!
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.
50’s Pew!!
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
milk
Serious, seriously serious…that came out of your heiny?
I’m smellin’
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:

Untitled

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.

—–

Untitled

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
Imagination. Agitation.
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?

—–

Gnarly
A dig at Joyce Kilmer’s’ ‘Trees’ a trite, turgid self-important load of sappy claptrap if I ever read one.

by Obbverse

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.

by Frank

I’m over the hill
over the hill
la-dee-dee
da-dee-dee
da-dee-dee-dill
overly
overly
over the hill

(repeat ad nauseam)

—–

Photo by Ivan Samkov on Pexels.com

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:

terrible-poetry-contest

©2022 The poets, and their respective poems.

The Terrible Poetry Contest 3/18/22

Welcome to the biweekly Terrible Poetry Contest!

Most poetry is terrible. We’re just out to make fun of it. Need to know how? Click here.

Here are the specifics for this contest:

  1. Colleen Chesebro has decreed the Theme to be aging (or, ageing). The form is a burlesque poem. Burlesque isn’t difficult; after reading the definition, I realize we write in that form frequently. The idea is to mimic styles or subjects of others in a funny way.
  2. Therefore, Length is up to you.
  3. Rhyming is up to you.
  4. Making it terrible is up to you! I suggest you choose to, since you’re not likely to win otherwise. Parody the satire out of a pastiched poet. Please.
  5. Rating: PG-13 or cleaner. Aging can bring out the worst in us.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST on Thursday, March 31 to submit a poem.

Use the form below if you want to be anonymous for a week. It hasn’t gone through unless you see a message saying it has.

For a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments. Please alert me if your pingback or poem does not show up within a day.

The winner gains bragging rights, a badge, and the option to choose the next iteration’s topic and type of poem.

—–

Photo by Ivan Samkov on Pexels.com

©2022 Chel Owens

Gramma Dear

Flowered pots and colored notes
fly gently on the walls;

Whose smiling, standing stick-men

Wave out from rainbowed pen?

 

Wrinkled cheeks and vacant eyes
of startling, once-clear blue;

What’s inside now, Oh Gramma dear?

What’s cloudy and what’s clear?

 

Gnarled hands and anxious grip
that once held mine with love;

Whose fingers do you think these are?

Whose hand felt from afar?

 

Silent words and down-turned mouth
mar lips that laughed and spoke;

What joke or story would you say?

What do you think today?

 

Who are these strangers milling round;
unfamiliar people?

Where is the you

You know?

cristian-newman-63291-unsplash.jpg

Remembered for Carrot Ranch‘s weekly prompt: growing older

May 9, 2019, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about growing older. It can be humorous, dark or poignant. It can be true or total fiction. It can be fine wine or an old fossil. Go where the prompt leads!

Respond by May 14, 2019. Use the comment section below to share, read and be social. You may leave a link, pingback or story in the comments. If you want to be published in the weekly collection, please use the form.  Rules & Guidelines.

 

Photo Credit:
Cristian Newman