WINNER of the A Mused Poetry Contest 12/11/2020

After traveling the vast wastes of my comments section and e-mail only to find a few more entries floating amongst a specific search in the Reader’s Feed, I nominate WordPress for some New Year’s Resolutions….

But, that’s not why we’re here! We’re here (unless you’re lost) to name the poet who wrote the most amusing limerick about resolutions! And that is:

Untitled, by Ruth Scribbles
The girl said, “Oh no! I refuse!”
You simply just want to bemuse
I vow I won’t change
I love being strange
My nose wants to sport two tattoos

Congratulations, Ruth! You are the funniest poet for the week!

Understandably, many took this opportunity to reflect on a serious year full of serious things. Of those attempting humor, I selected Ruth’s because her surprise ending left me snickering the most. Well done.

Maybe you’ll re-think your goals this year after reading all the entries:

Untitled, by Richmond Road
Is it time for this year’s resolution?
To atone for last year’s contribution?
My performance next year?
No better, I fear
I am lazy. Don’t expect a solution

Untitled, by Richmond Road
Here is this year’s resolution
We’re dismantling the constitution
You can’t run. You can’t hide
We have reached the low tide
Step aside. This is a revolution

Untitled, by Matt
There once was a fat guy named Matt
Who resolved to lose weight and that’s that
Shoved his cat aside, and to his wife he lied
that his cat food diet is what he takes in stride 😻

You say you want a resolution, we-e-ll, by Doug Jacquier
There is an old man from Australia
Whose wisdom will not falter or fail ya
New years is his forte
So list to his thought, ay?
‘Resolving is useless, inter alia’.

Untitled, by Frank Hubeny
Those demons look deeply demented.
Based on deeds, none of them have repented.
Resolutions to keep
Are not won on the cheap.
With such demons you’ll turn up tormented.

How I wish I could make resolutions
That would stick when they’re stuck in solutions
When solutions go weak
Resolutions will streak
At the cost of some nasty pollutions.

Every plan I attempt goes to pot.
Every dream I cook up has a spot.
Resolutions today
May resolve in some way,
But they’re not, though, the kind that I’ve got.

Untitled, by Willowdot
This year I can say without doubt.
Is defunct and driven us all up the spout.
The virus has plagued us
Upset and betrayed us
It’s enough to make us all pout.

So what will happen next year
Maybe more of the same I fear
So I vow to sleep
My council to keep
Until it’s time for 2022 to appear.

But have I resolutions you ask.
I will definitely be wearing a mask
I shall keep my distance
And leave nothing to chance
Keeping covid free will be my task.

So what’s in store for you
Is ignoring the rules what you’ll do.
Or will you like me
Cover, wash and flee
Steadfastly ignoring advice that’s not true.

So really at the end of the day
There’s not much more I can say.
The Vaccine is here
Hold out your arm dear
And let’s kick the old Covid away.

Untitled, by Tnkerr
There once was a girl with a toothpick
Who resolved to write nary a limerick
She gave a small laugh
And slipped into her bath
A nude poet who’s anacoluthic

A New Year’s Resolution, by Hobbo
Ecological, his resolution
Eliminate foul air pollution
He stopped eating beans
Cabbage or greens
An effective, but small, contribution.

The Dissolution Of Hope, by Geoff Le Pard
Annually we solemnly resolve
Our past crimes to try and absolve
Yet we suffer conniptions
When our plans become fictions
And all hopes of success dissolve

Re-resolved, by Obbverse
It’s time to repeat the same damned vow I swore
Like last year, and all too many years years before,
It’s my traditional annual end-of-year vow-
‘Next year I’ll be a better man than I am now,’
So many broken promises, still plenty more in store.

Untitled, by Sara
On the treadmill I walk, my flubber a-flapping
Think I would have lost some with all that Christmas wrapping
So, here I am,
Here it goes,
The chafing on my thighs as red as Rudolph’s nose

Untitled, by BS
A cat spoke up with meows
His resolutions he sealed with vows
To catch more mice
Would be nice
But all he got was cows

Untitled, by Bruce
My New Year’s resolution’s a vow,
Though some smell a rat or a cow.
It’s the one day a year
When I shed all my gear
And reluctantly get in the shower.

Untitled, by Rugby843
It is late in the year 2020
Of faulty leaders we have had plenty
C’mon 2021
Get the job done
So we have a new year entente

You’ll have to say it all the time you know, by Herb
The end of the year should be fun
And that year had its place in the sun
But it sends the mind reeling
The terrible feeling
of saying twenty-twenty won

Untitled, by Arthur Richardson
The trouble with trying to be humorous
is that senses of wit are quite numerous.
This nonsense solution,
with a rhymed resolution,
is a punchline that stays unassumerous.

Untitled, by Minzkhaitan
Winter chills and the virus development never stops me to look forward
Blanket of hope gives the warmth of the new tomorrow
Child in me gets excited to set the new plans upright before we takeoff from 2020 to 2021

Untitled, by Deb Whittam
A middle aged woman named Debbie,
Had gotten kind of heavy.
She resolved to lose weight,
Began running every day before eight
Now she has more aches than an old chevy.

—–

Photo by freestocks.org on Pexels.com

Now, resolve to return tomorrow for next month’s prompt.

Ruth, here’s a badge for you to use on your site. Congratulations!

©2021 The poets, and their respective works

The A Mused Poetry Contest 12/12/2020 – 1/8/2021

A new year’s creeping up on us, and I think it’s time for some limericks.

  1. This month’s Theme is Resolutions.
  2. The Length is however long you need for a standard limerick: five lines of AABBA, in anapestic meter.
  3. You’re going to have to Rhyme; that’s what AABBA means…
  4. The Rating’s PGish. Yes, I’m aware of how these poems usually go. Be creative.
  5. And, above all, make us laugh. I want your life coach to drop his Downward Dog in convulsions of hysteria on his organic bamboo exercise mat.

You have till 10:00 a.m. MST next MONTH (January 8) to submit a poem.

Use the form, below, to remain anonymous until results are posted.

Otherwise, include your poem or a link to it in the comments. Leave a comment if your link-back doesn’t show up by midnight of the day you create it.

—–

Happy New Year!

Photo by freestocks.org on Pexels.com

—–

©2020/2021 Chel Owens

The Diet: It Sucks But It Works

I love food.

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I mean, I love food.

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I mean, I really, really love food.

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Like most humans, I love the wrong kinds of food. What can I say? The ‘bad’ sorts just taste better. Eating lots of the ‘bad’ sorts also tastes better, particularly as a coping mechanism for depression.

However, that is known is gluttony, and is my favorite sin.

As such, baby-making and age eventually caught up to my habit. I found myself considering something I’d never had to before: a diet.

Before Child #4 and my thirties, I’d been blissfully ignorant of the difficulties of weight loss. I walked a lot. I was actively breaking up fighting children. I worked around the house and in the yard. I cooked our meals; sometimes, from our garden. I’ve never consumed alcohol or coffee and do not drink soda pop often.

About who-knows-how-many years ago, I had to do more. Baby #4 could walk and talk …and go into preschool, so I couldn’t use his birth as an excuse for the 30 extra pounds anymore. So, I started my own variation of the no-carb diet.

Diet #1

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I cut out sugar, white flour, white rice, and white rap (we all know Mom’s spaghetti is loaded with carbs). Instead of going completely lettuce-wrapped, I replaced my grains with whole wheat and brown rice.

I lost about 10 lbs; then, reasonably, gave up.

This may have also coincided with school letting out for the summer.

Diet #2

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About a year after Diet #1 and Christmas, I implemented another diet. I focused more on not eating after a certain time (9 p.m.), drinking more water, and not eating any sweets or desserts.

Again, this lasted about a month.

Diet #3

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Cue yet another year and I told myself this was it. I told myself I would drop that final 10 lbs, whether or not it was Girl Scout Cookie Time.

For some reason, I had also been exercising daily since November. For some other reason, we planned our first-ever out-of-country and longer-than-two-nights trip. The husband wanted me to get a bikini. He assumed I would be seen in public wearing one.

This final time was more difficult than the others; due to its being the last few pounds, due to my exercising, and due to my wavering conviction after a few weeks. I did smaller portion sizes. I tried to avoid refined sugar. I chewed gum, wore my retainer, and shamed myself away from late-night snacks.

But, did it I did. Lost the weight I did.

Aaaand, now I’m back to where I started. Actually, I’m back to where I started, plus a little extra in case we run out of snacks on the flight to where I started. I’ve been trying to diet again, impatiently so.

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I always forget how difficult The Diet is. Day One is the hardest. Actually; like they say in Holes, “the first hole’s the hardest;” then, “the second hole’s the hardest….” If I survive the first week without killing everyone in a hangry rage, my stomach shrinks and I make it a while longer. I’m hoping to stick with it till all the extra baby weight is gone.

I write this post to explain why I’m a little testy; why I’m somewhat unfocused. I also write it to encourage anyone working on dieting or other self-improvement. Self-improvement is difficult, but you can do it. I can do it.

We can do it, one hole at a time -er, maybe one salad at a time.

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What have been your experiences with dieting? What worked? Whom did you murder during the first week?

—————-

I wrote some stuff, too:

Wednesday, January 22: Wondered at the anti-social social world in “Real Life vs. The Blogosphere.”

Thursday, January 23: Throwback: “Herculesa.”

Friday, January 24: Posted the winner of this week’s “Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest.” Congratulations to Doug.

Saturday, January 25: Announced the 56th Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest. The theme is an epic poem of adventure. PLEASE ENTER!

Also, “Quick Game: Edit That Book Title,” for fun.

Sunday, January 26: “The Hereafter, Aloft,” in response to Carrot Ranch’s prompt.

Monday, January 27: An inspirational quote from Charli Mills.

Tuesday, January 28ish: Poemed “Wanton Winter.”

Wednesday, January 29: Today

I also published a bit on my motherhood site. I wrote “You Might Have a New Baby If…” and “Time for Baby.”

©2020 Chelsea Owens

Photo Credit:
Jonathan Borba
Kavita Joshi Rai
Laura Gomez
petra cigale
Ocean Ng
STIL
Pexels
Anna Pelzer

Old Year, New Year – Old Me, New Me

As we come to the end of my self-induced sabbatical, I’ve had time to reflect. I’d love to say I’ve had time to read -but that’s been hit-or-miss. What I’ve actually filled my days with are the following:

  • Stumbling ‘twixt bed and bathroom, mumbling incoherent threats to the piles I stumble around.
  • Thinking of a great story idea during 2 a.m. feeding, only to lament my motivation to write it during 3 a.m. still-awake-and-burping and curse my lack of hands during 4 a.m. walking-the-still-fussing-child.
  • Candy Crush. A lot of Candy Crush.
  • Catching the odd post from a friend about The New Year and a Word for the Year, determining to write my own, and ending up with ideas like ‘Sleep’ or ‘Chocolate.’
  • Becoming horribly depressed when I don’t sleep, then wondering what that was all about when I do.
  • Simultaneously resolving change to better my situation, and resolving sadness and sugar at the pointlessness of my situation.

But recovery is going well, for both of us. The baby is probably up a pound or two from birth weight. He’s a serious child who has not yet mastered his neck muscles or his roving vision. People tell me this is normal, and I’ve nicknamed the situation ‘crazy turtle eyes.’

I’m down a pound or two from birth weight. I’m a serious mother who has not yet mastered my abdominal muscles or roving parenting. People tell me this is normal as well, and I’ve nicknamed my situation ‘hunchbacked snail.’

In the between-times of cursing laundry and children, I notice my ageing body and failing memory more. “I’m old, Peter -ever so much more than twenty.” “I feel [fat], sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread.” …which is better than during the pregnancy, at the end of which I kept thinking, “No, Sam. I can’t recall the taste of food… nor the sound of water… nor the touch of grass.”

Clearly, when tired, I revert to movie quotes. I think my children are accustomed to the habit. If not, I at least make for a confusing conversational partner.

I’m not in the habit of declaring resolutions at the start. I’m the sort to resolve and break and depress cyclically throughout the year. I do know I’ve a few things I wish to accomplish overall:

  • Lose at least 20 pounds. Ideally, 40.
  • Figure out this hating homelife thing.
  • Read a book on parenting.
  • Read a book a month. Realistically, read a book a year.
  • Go to Europe.
  • Pay for the baby, the water heater, the Europe, the boys’ savings accounts, and our house-painting plans. This may involve robbing a bank, or blackmailing the boys’ orthodontist.
  • Finish my children’s picture book idea with my friend.

If you made it this far, I love you. (“Welcome to Costco. I love you.”) I would also appreciate if you’d do me a little favor: answer a question.

If you could pick one or two books you’d recommend to anyone, what would they be?

My recommendations come with a caveat and depend on the tastes of the person asking. I need a list, though, and trust the high opinions of those who got this far.

—–

Gifs courtesy of GIPHY

©2020 Chelsea Owens

WINNER of the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

This week I only had four entries. While this made judging a tiny bit easier, I also felt a touch sad that more people couldn’t fulfill their New Year’s Resolutions of writing more terrible poetry in a formal format.

That’s not to say the decision of who to crown wasn’t difficult. In the end, this one took the prize:

I don’t need no resolutions

by RhScribbles

I don’t need no resolutions
It ain’t in the constitution
What’s up with that
He said, with the hat
On his head
That he said
He would wear until he died
No absolution
Resolve to die?
Uh why?
I don’t wanna
Make restitution
He’s gotta wear a hat on his head
No lie
No revolutions
Just resolutions

Yay, Ruth! You’ve done it again!

Hers and another’s were neck-and-neck for first place. I decided that Ruth’s lack of direction saved the day again. I mean, what is with the hat?

I also love her rhymes that show up when they are supposed to but also when they probably shouldn’t, and her bad meter.

I’m not saying the others didn’t have plenty of awfulness and humor. Here they are, in order of submission:

New Year’s Day Resolutions

by Greygirlieandme

Are made to be broken.
Like my heart, given to you as a token,
when my love was awoken.

Maybe I can lose some weight
If I send it back to you, wrapped in hate.
Then you can serve it on a plate.

There, that’s one kept.

Without my heart I’d be less bitter,
Although I might not be fitter.
And what a post to put on Twitter.

Half and half on that one then.

Maybe I’ll run it round myself,
Leave it on your windowshelf.
Topped by your stupid Christmas elf.

Yep, that’s exercise done.

Perhaps I’ll no longer drink red wine,
There’ll be no need, I’ll be just fine
You made me drink it, your taste not mine.

Hey, another one ticked.

But now here’s one I won’t stick to
I must stop really wanting you.

—–

Resolutions Derailed

by Molly Stevens

It’s New Year’s Day so what do you say?
Is it time to make a resolution?
Nothing radical. Nothing tragical.
After all it’s not a revolution
Eating more vegetables and fruit
Is now an action for dispute.
Listeria! Hysteria!
E. coli! Holy Moly!

Can I get into shape, wriggle and rock?
Stop pushing snooze on the alarm clock?
How about stashing cash and accruing fortitude
By driving fast past fast food?

But officer, I can explain.
I was merely a passenger
On the self-improvement train.
Choo! Choo! Boo! Hoo!

A ticket for driving at breakneck speed
While I was merely trying not to overfeed?
I’m suing McDonald’s for this misdeed,
And I’ve got a terrific chance to succeed.

Don’t lecture me about eating no fat,
Do you think I’m related to joyless Jack Sprat?
I’m out of time for idle chitchat.
Yes, of course, I want fries with that!

Choo! Choo! Chew! Chew!

—–

Resolution Sonnet

by Bruce Goodman

The megapixel race
is a disgrace.
Photographs may have been getting clearer
but the megapixel camera phones seem to be getting dearer.
Let’s hope that in 2019 camera resolutions will peak
and we’ll all get cheaper photos, so to speak.
In the meantime I’m going to eat lots of chocolait
while I wait
and hope that my resolve
doesn’t dissolve
like it did last year
when I decided to wear
nothing but outrageous wraps
in order to look gorgeous in high resolution snaps.

Many who entered slipped back into the ‘too pretty’ area of verse. Let go your meter, your patterns, your main topics, and your artistic sensibilities. Then, enter tomorrow for next week’s competition.

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Not Your Average Blogger’s New Year’s Post

Word is there’s an event what’s been going ’round. I can’t but turn a corner and I finds myself smack-dab against words like ‘resolutions’ an’ ‘goals’ an’ ‘exercise.’ I tell ya what: them’s fighting words and I’ll have no truck with ’em.

Accordingly and characteristically, I have been pondering on a different weighty subject: obscure talents.

Everyone has talents. Many have useful talents. Still more have talents that don’t come up in regular conversation because they just might get said ‘talented’ person ostracized.

Take me, for example. One of my many less-mainstream gifts is the ability to bark like a dog. Specifically, I bark similar to a German Shepherd. How do I know which canine I sound like? I learned as a child when our pet was that breed. In case you are not sure why I don’t bring this up often, just think where I would possibly apply it. …yeah… I can’t think of a place, either. Mostly I startle people my children brag to, but that’s not happening as much since my kids are getting embarrassed solely by the fact that I’m alive.

Another talent I have is possessing somewhat apelike toes on my long, narrow feet. I cannot hang by them, unfortunately, but I did practice writing with them when younger. I reasoned that the skill would come in handy when I was captured by government agents bent on imprisoning me because of my X-Men-like abilities.

The third of my most-interesting gifts is ear-wiggling. …Maybe more of ear-shifting. They move, anyway. I literally practiced in front of a mirror as a child to first achieve movement, and have since honed and isolated ear wigglingness whenever I’m bored during a conversation or business meeting.

Last for now is hiccups on-demand. A related and less-ladylike talent is erm… on-demand burping -which is another one that doesn’t come up in polite conversation. I discovered, quite early on and in church, that I could give myself the hiccups if I burped (silently) long enough. I’ve used a hiccuping spell to get out of meetings since, and …to accidentally attract my husband on our first date. The good news is that I am extremely good at ridding myself of them as well.

If ever I meet any of you in person, now, I’ll have to ask you not to mention these. Otherwise, I’ll not have any material for that two truths/one lie party game.

Enough about me anyway. What about you? Surely you have a talent of two up your sleeve? In what unusual area are you an expert?

Fork

—–

Yay! A really long week to review!
Monday, December 24: Nothing! Absolutely nothing!
Tuesday, December 25: Dude; that was Christmas.
Wednesday, December 26: “Inspirational Plagiarism: a Dialogue.” This may have come about after thinking to myself for two days.
Thursday, December 27: “I Finally Donned the Sorting Hat,” If I were a witch, apparently I’d be a know-it-all.
Friday, December 28: Inspirational quote by Mark Twain that I intentionally mis-quoted in “Inspirational Plagiarism.”
Saturday, December 29: Announced the seventh Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest. ENTER IT or I’ll only have three entries to judge from.
Sunday, December 30: “Raw Ramblings.” We’ll call it a free-verse poem.
Monday, December 31: A quote to inspire this new year thingie, by James Agate.
Tuesday, January 1: “Wilhelmina Winters, Seventy-Seven.”
Wednesday, January 2: You made it to today!