Weekly

The A Mused Poetry Contest 1/9/2021 – 2/6/2021 (AKA 9/1/21-6/2/21)

/ Chel Owens / 12 Comments

Life’s not been great for quite a few humans recently, myself included. If I were a mature, serene type, I’d likely suggest a mature, serene acceptance and a moving forward with healing. …I’m not really that type, though, so this month’s theme is:

  1. Snarky Rant. That’s right: a jaded, sarcastic, fed up, perhaps even nihilistic poem in an “I stick it to you, sucky events!” manner.
  2. The Length is your call. This is something you get to call the shots on, after all!
  3. Rhyming is also up to you.
  4. The Rating’s still PGish to keep general audiences happy, but there are always asterisks or near-fudges for situations like this.
  5. Despite the he** you may have endured, make us laugh. As we lay, prone, in the minefield of calamities, help us hold our bruised ribs in a knowing and painful release of the bad times we all relate to.

You have till 10:00 a.m. MST next MONTH (February 6) 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. Let me know if your linkback does not show up because WordPress is having issues with that.

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Enjoy.

Photo by Joshua Mcknight from Pexels

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©2021 Chel Owens

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

/ Chel Owens / 27 Comments

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.

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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

I Say! Where Might YOU Be From? A Question of Pronunciation and Colloquialisms; What, What!

/ Chel Owens / 99 Comments

Awhile ago, I took a clickbait internet quiz to see where I was from based on how I spoke. Did I say, “Coke” or “soda” or “pop” for a sugary, carbonated beverage? “Ay-pri-cot” or “a-pri-cot” to describe a fuzzy fruit? “Rooooof” or “ruhf;” “crick” or “creek;” “malk” or “melk” or “milk…”

Photo by slon_dot_pics on Pexels.com

The neat thing about this highly-scientific and accurate test was that the designers included a map with a target-type graphic. Every answer I gave sent the reticule to one location or another around the United States. And, believe me, mine was flying all over. My saying one thing suggested East Coast; another said somewhere in the ocean; perhaps the program was trying for England? I felt a bit proud that I couldn’t be placed -probably a relic of my younger years when I really wanted to be a secret agent.

Recently, however, my friend corrected how I said, “Appalachian.” I’d learned to say the ‘a’ before the ‘chian’ with a long vowel sound: “A-ppa- lay-shan.”
“How’d you say that?” she demanded. “It’s ‘A-ppa-lah-shan.'”
I thought to correct her. This had to be an accent thing since she’s from The South. Then, I used my ol’ phonetic skills and thought, Ya know; I think she’s right…

Still, I’ve heard how the newscasters have been throwing around, “Ne-vah-da” and “Or-eh-gone” lately. I can be smug in knowing those are “Ne-va-da” and “Or-eh-gun.” Right?

Photo by Stephan Müller from Pexels

It’s true that certain regions pronounce certain locations a certain way. There’s good reason for that know-how with some of those. For example, I have no idea how to say, ‘Worcestershire.’ Of course, visitors to Utah are sure to butcher ‘Mantua’ or ‘Tooele.’ Do you know how to say them?

Besides honing my spy skills further, I’m curious: what are some strange names of cities or landmarks near you? What are some odd ways your community pronounces some everyday words?

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Here’s my postings for the past week:
Monday, December 28: Wrote “Re-Resolution” in the early morning hours, then posted a quote that might be by Mother Teresa.

Tuesday, December 29: Shared “We-Resolution” to encourage more humorous limericks.

Thursday, December 31: Wrote another update on Coronavirus life at home. You know, now that I’m not at home so often.

Sunday, January 3: Poemed whilst in a dismal mood. Cancer sucks.

Monday, January 4: Shared a quote by Glennon Doyle.

Tuesday, January 5: Wrote yet another bad limerick. You all need to enter the A Mused Poetry Contest to put a stop to them!

I also posted random thoughts of mine on my motherhood site.

©2021 Chelsea Owens

What’s So Bad About Being a Karen?

/ Chel Owens / 65 Comments

I think I might be a Karen.

pexels-brett-sayles-2505970

If you don’t know what heinous sin this is, ‘Karen’ is a name people apply to busybodies, do-gooders, and -basically- annoying types who butt in to ensure you’re doing something correctly. If you look lost on the street, Karen might walk over (uninvited) to tell you not to loiter and exactly what destination you must see. Standing in the wrong place at checkout? Karen will set you straight.

Apparently, many do not enjoy this setting-straightness. They’d rather be left alone to their pitfalls and foibles and misconducts without helpful advice. Many even consider this meddling to be unhelpful. Can you believe that?

This is Reason One why I may be a Karen: I relate to the idea of ‘helping.’ I like the idea of correcting an incorrect world. I have, for example, added the necessary change to a teacher’s whiteboard lesson when she wrote their instead of they’re. When I took some classes toward college last year, the couple running the group mentioned how they will miss my “helping us to know the correct way to do things.” Ouch.

Reason Two for why I might fit this category is that I’ve noticed that I notice errors. I’m critical. I’m observant about defects or problems. In fact, I worked for a couple years as a Quality Control Technician. When reading something, my eyes are drawn to grammar or spelling errors. Yes; I am one of those people.

Tshirt

Sorry.

The good news is that I do not fit Reason Three: my being named Karen. My name is, honestly, Chelsea. My parents were not even going to consider naming me ‘Karen;’ more to the point, my mother thought I was a boy because I attached so much lower than my older sister…

I try to mask my Karenness. I will my expression to remain neutral at misspeakings or misspellings. When in public, I refrain from ‘helping.’ I genuinely care for people and mean well, though; so, what’s so bad about being Karen?

Wouldn’t you want one around?

—————-

It’s been a while since I’ve done this, so here’s a bit of what I did over the last week:
Monday, December 7: Shared a quote by Muhammad Ali.

Tuesday, December 8: Whipped up an awful example of an amusing poem.

Thursday, December 10: Whipped up another awful example of an amusing poem.

Friday, December 11: Winner of the A Mused Poetry Contest. Congratulations to Doug!

Sunday, December 13: Announced the next A Mused Poetry Contest. PLEASE ENTER a limerick about resolutions!

Monday, December 14: An inspirational quote from a book by Anne Lamott.

Tuesday, December 15: “Safer at Home Journal For My Kids,” by Kat of The Lily Café.

Wednesday, Date: Today.

I also posted random thoughts of mine on my motherhood site.

Photo Credit: Photo by Brett Sayles from Pexels, and CafePress

©2020 Chelsea Owens

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

/ Chel Owens / 42 Comments

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.

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Happy New Year!

Photo by freestocks.org on Pexels.com

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©2020/2021 Chel Owens

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

/ Chel Owens / 29 Comments

Whew! One month ago, readers were challenged to write an a-musing Christmas newsletter poem. Humor and terrible poetry abounded, and one stood out as the winner:

Mabilene’s Christmas newsletter, by Doug Jacquier
Merry Christmas to all of you’s,
time for our annual catch up and news
We know you always look forward to this
so everyone here sends a big kiss. XXX

Hubby Dwayne knows it was really dumb-crazy
but since the lockdown he’s been a bit hazy.
Wore a mask to the bank and passed the teller a note;
six months in prison, that’s all he wrote.

Our eldest, Billie-Jean, she’s doing so well,
especially since she learned how to write and to spell.
She’s a Social Influencer now, raking in the money.
Praise the Lord, it’s the land of milk and honey.

Our boy, Nathaniel, is the world’s greatest nerd;
want a new app and you just say the word.
His latest is a thing of digital beauty;
Sort of a cross between the Bible and Call of Duty.

Young Charlene, well, she tries really hard
she’ll never be a whizz-kid or any sort of bard;
but I have to tell you she’s making considerable progress
on her ultimate goal: Member of Congress.

Old Mabel, our dog, she keeps pumping out litters
despite her bouts with the mange and the skitters.
Last winter we sold one to a damned fool yuppie;
it’s now in dog heaven, that poor slush puppie.

I’ll sign off now and wish ‘Season’s Greetings’
(I don’t want to miss one of my AA meetings).
Love to you all and always remember
I’ll be back in your mailbox this time next December.

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

As usual, I had great difficulty selecting one poem to win. Doug’s was clever, like others; followed a funny theme, like others; and it rhymed, like others. I chose his because I snorted at “[s]ort of a cross between the Bible and Call of Duty” and the lines involving “yuppie” and “slush puppie.”

Truly, all the others are a hilarious read as well:

Untitled, by Dumbestblogger
The dog died
Our RV broke down
We spent two weeks in Vegas
Retirement is fun

Untitled, by Trent McDonald
Hello
Friends and Foe
A few words
For you to know
It was a year of plenty
This 2020
It started slow,
But our fortunes continued to grow!
In March we sold TeePee
Each roll, ten and fifty!
In April a boom
Of selling lessons on Zoom
In May, for a price
We sent people to places quite nice
Each month we made more and more
Suckering both the rich and the poor
Cashing in on Covid fears
And rumors made in election years
Our fortunes soared
As people hid, quite bored
Trusting their luck
Sending us buck after buck
So you may moan
About being alone
About work being closed
And say the world is hosed
But I disagree
It was a great year, at least for me!
So in my holiday note
This year I’m gonna to gloat
For I am on the good list
For making money hand over fist
And sleep on bags of gold
From all of the garbage I sold
But don’t crawl to me
Looking for a present
Under your tree
I said I was smart
Not that I have a heart
There’ll be no money sent
Begged borrowed or lent
But don’t take it so hard
I did send you this card!
Merry Christmas (at least for me 😉 )!

The things that brought laughter this year, by Bruce
Aunt Mavis got covid and died.
The pot plant I got for my birthday died.
The cat died.
The canary died.
The kid’s interest in school died.
The eldest daughter’s marriage fell apart and died.
The car died.
We feel so out of place here where we live. I know that sounds dumb
But we’re thinking of moving to New York where we won’t stick out like a sore thumb.

Anus Horribilis – a bum year, by Geoff
Well 2020’s been one hell of a year
Though as you see it deserves one cheer.
In January our eldest lad
Decided to become a dad.
His wife however wasn’t happy
And strangled him with a unwashed nappy.
While we were dealing with that little trauma
Debbie our girl had her own drama.
She thought she’d do home repairs
But impaled herself on the stairs.
We entered March rather nervy
When we heard Aunt Joan had viral scurvy.
If that wasn’t bad enough,
Uncle Martin choked on snuff.
In April Grandpa called a meeting
To say ‘I’m gay’ though any joy was fleeting
As Grandma Susan showed her ire
By setting the old boy on fire.
May and June, they were grim
When cousin Mervin dissolved his twin
And my dear papa fared far worse
When too much beer caused his spleen to burst.
The months from July to September
Weren’t the sort you’d want to remember:
I broke a leg, Jane had conniptions
While Tiny Tom ate the kittens.
October promised to be better
We were given an Irish Setter
But sadly I must report
The bloody dog saw me in court:
Apparently I’m responsible
When he ripped out the postman’s tonsils.
I was bailed through November
Which brings us to December
Christmas looms;
We’re fighting the gloom.
I know many dear souls have passed away
And it will be quiet come Christmas Day.
But let’s try, shall we, to take the positives.
At least I’m not feeding my bloody relatives…

Christmas Catch All Ya’ll Up, by Obbverse
Hi guys, it’s time to keep ya’ll in the know,
With the festivities near we’ve horns to blow,
Folks keep sayin’ ‘times is hard, the ‘conomy’s shot’
But we’re happy as clams ’cause we got the lot.

My Jimbo’s gone up yet another pay grade-
He must’ve sold every pickup truck Jeep ever made,
The twins is gettin’ schooled and they’s top o’ the class,
We’re hopin,’ with luck, they’ll dredge up a C and pass!

Our Cody won the Jumbo Bear at the tri-county fair,
Took out them three ducks with two rounds to spare,
At the bake off my apple pie took out first prize as well;
The only blue ribbon you’ll see on this Southern belle.

Our Jolene’s playing Mother Mary in the nativity play,
Their damn Rodeo ain’t playing Joseph if I have my way,
No mistletoe kisses a’tween Jo Hatfield and Rodeo McCoy-
I sez ‘Jolene, you don’t have no truck with that bad boy.’

But then that dang new preacher had to up’n speak
‘Let’s try to forgive and forget, turn the other cheek,’
If I believed that liberal trash I’d be a’wineing at Mass-
This Southern Baptist knows Rodeo’s coveting Jolene’s ass.

Still, I must say they look good together, they act pretty tight,
They’ve practised at the Church Hall religiously every night,
Now Jo is a shining star as Mother Mary, positively glowing,
We’re praying, when Christmas comes Jo won’t be showing.

Christmas Newsletter, by Frank Hubeny
Larry’s Earth is on the Moon.
Greg’s might be on Mars.
Lulu’s livid with the news.
Sue shoots shooting stars.

I’m the final one who’s sane.
At least, I can pretend.
I have no time to rush away,
So Merry Christmas, friend!

The Christmas Email 🎄, by Willowdot
T’was the night before Christmas, I’m peeling the sprouts,
I’ll regret it tomorrow of that I’ve no doubts.
I’ve spent hours wrapping pressies for under the tree.
Everyones socially distancing so it’s up to me.
This year’s been a bummer so I thought let’s spread the joy
(cough) Here’s our news which is bound to annoy.
Let’s start with grandpa well he’s loosing the plot
he’s been stalking the estate quite a lot.
Since they said he can drive no more,
he been acting like a bear with a head that’s sore!
Hubby has been busy washing hands and making masks
when people get too close he takes them to task.
Jerome, Cathy and Hermione are fine,
in and out of school all the time.
Fighting over computer, laptop and tablet …all of them mine!
We’ve all had to isolate at different times ,
we’ve done as we’re told to avoid fines!
We’re all sick of watching the neighbours breaking the rules.
How will we ever be rid of this Covid surrounded by fools.
The chickens stopped laying last week,
the hamsters are missing we’ve not heard a squeak.
We’ve had our fair share of hospitals and Ambulances too.
But to fair in lockdown there’s not much to do!
My goodness is that the time,
I must get this sent then open the wine.
Merry Christmas to you and you bubble,
let’s hope 2021 is less trouble.
The Vaccine is coming we’ll all grow two heads..I don’t really care, in 100years we’ll all be dead!

The Christmas Newsletter, by Hobbo
So, if by chance you meet
And concern is in her voice
Our living on the street
Is environmental choice

Untitled, by Deb Whittam
Ho, ho, ho, it’s Christmas yet again,
But in line with new protocols,
I’m implementing social distancing.

Split shifts on the Christmas line,
One and a half reindeers apart please,
Hey Elf one, was that a sneeze?

And ensure you use hand sanitizer,
Yes Dasher, on arrival and after breaks,
It’s vital, for heavens sakes.

And Elves no sharing tools, no sharing anything,
And if you’re feeling ill at all,
Please don’t come in and please toss tissues in the bin.

What?  Recompense for lost shifts?
Please, who do you think I am?
If you want to negotiate, Santa just ain’t in.

Untitled, by Ruth Scribbles
Dearest ones!

Sublime greetings to you and yous
Our CASTLE is fab, how is your zoo?

Hasn’t 2020 been the best?
We are special and blessed!

We have accomplished so many wonderful things.

Our gloriously framed masterpieces
Adorn the walls of our arboretum

Our new website for virtual viewing
We are not bragging, it’s full of cooing
(httd://weWouldNeverBrag.kiss)

While our paintings were drying,
We each learned a language.
Now we have zoom pals,
What an advantage!

We are just awesome
Our talents just blossomed

I wrote my memoir. Jim started the podcast “we are the greatest.”

We have enjoyed our together time-
Isolation, is the best!

We learned to be perfectly positively toxic.

I, for one, will be sorry to see 2020 go!

Love,
from our castle to your shack,

Ruth and Jim

Untitled, by Brutus Richmond
Another Christmas coming
And thanks, I’m doing fine
No cards are in the mail
Santa’s gone online
There’ll be no ho, ho, hoing
They’ll be no reindeer tasks
I won’t hear Christmas carols
The choir are wearing masks
There’ll be no get togethers
Forget about your rights
A blessed social distancing
Preventing family fights
For me it’s bar and humbug
On just another day
A shocking year is finishing
Another on its way
So that’s my Christmas greeting
For whatever that is worth
But I pray for all your happiness
I pray for peace on earth

—–

Photo by freestocks.org on Pexels.com

If that doesn’t send you off in the right holiday mood, I don’t know what will! Return, tomorrow, for next month’s prompt.

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

©2020 The poets, and their respective works

The A Mused Poetry Contest 11/14 – 12/11/2020

/ Chel Owens / 28 Comments

‘Tis the season for Christmas, and you know what that means: Christmas cards and newsletters. Although many opt for a family picture or online update these days, I still receive (and send) the occasional list of amazing things my family and I did all year long.

And it’s annoying. On that note:

  1. The Theme is the annoying Christmas newsletter.
  2. Although I wish these ballads were shorter, Length has to be 250 words (or, please, fewer) to reflect the true, proud writer’s desire to brag.
  3. Rhyming will happen if you choose the obligatory Night Before Christmas spinoff, but is completely optional this holiday season.
  4. These are family-friendly publications, so I’m reining in the Rating at PGish. You know what I mean.
  5. Please, make us laugh. As we pour over yet another photo posed amidst clouds in an autumn forest and read just how many accolades the family dog earned, bring us laughter before we open the holiday egg nog early…

You have till 10:00 a.m. MST next MONTH (December 11) 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.

—–

Merry? Christmas!

Photo by freestocks.org on Pexels.com

—–

©2020 Chel Owens

WINNER of the A Mused Poetry Contest 11/13/2020

/ Chel Owens / 16 Comments

Friday the 13th is notoriously unlucky, a superstition held in Western cultures. Facing black cats, walking beneath ladders, or breaking a mirror; our poets bravely wrote to humor us despite a bit of bad luck.

One amongst them all rose to be the winning entry, and that was:

Oh Heck, by Hobbo
Seems like a case of bad luck to me
In agony, needs appendectomy
Flash of the blade
Incision is made
Surgeon thinks it’s a vasectomy.

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

These poems were GREAT. I stifled snickers at midnight (the time I finally have to read over entries!) Hobbo’s elicited an unladylike snort; short, painfully funny, and definitely to the point.

I feel badly for all the poor luck had, but know you’ll enjoy reading the rest of the clever poems:

Thirteen Demons Sitting on the Wall, by Frank Hubeny
Lucky this or lucky that,
Luck as bad as that black cat
Cuddling, purring by my side,
Unlikely place for luck to hide.

Thirteen demons looking mean
Pretending that I haven’t seen
Them cackling when they watch me frown.
Too bored to laugh. I stare them down.

It’s not bad luck that made them fall.
They jumped like Humpty from the wall
And then they cracked. Oops. Breakfast time!
They’re lucky. That’s my final rhyme.

Lots, items, knacks, everything, by Deb Whittam
To the counter she marched
resolute, chin held high as
she looked the shopkeeper
directly in the eye.

That painting, there, the one
above the door, I’ll give
you twenty dollars,
not a penny more.

Silence met her words
but with a nod he agreed
and painting in her hand, she smirked,
there had been no need to plead.

At home she unwrapped
her highly sought after prize
only to discover on the frame
a notation that made shock arise.

twenty she had paid,
twenty she had offered,
but the tag clearly stated
clearance – just one dollar.

Riding your bad luck, by Doug Jacquier
Harry didn’t whinge about the flies
that crawled up his nose and in his eyes.
Townies might, like Tom, and Dick and Jim
but Harry would never have that said of him.

Out here, a man who couldn’t fix
a snapped axle (he knew all the tricks),
on a mail truck in a dry creek bed,
wouldn’t be worth bein’ bloody fed.

As for thinking you could hear a train,
you’d have to be born without a brain
or be a mental case escaped detention,
so he paid it not the least attention.

Well, he was right about the train
but what he heard was a wall of rain;
the flash flood took the mail and the truck
and Harry cursed but rode his luck.

A Shaggy Cats Tale, by Obbverse
We had a big black cat,
Grumpy, greedy, weigh too fat,
On Duckpond Bridge he was often sat;
Everything was ducky.

One big bad duck had enough of that,
Feathers flew, one bloody cat lost that spat,
Ran into the path of a passing Dodge Diplomat;
Flat out unlucky.

The Unlucky Date, by Heather Bergen
Jerry was unlucky,
His life was really sucky.
He couldn’t find love on account of his gas,
But finally, one day, he found a young lass.
He asked her out and set the date,
Though Friday 13, it couldn’t wait.
Though warned to postpone,
Jerry would not be alone!
But alas, he did leave broken hearted,
For as they sat down to dine he wet farted.

Untitled, by Gary
Oh no it’s Friday the thirteenth

Which is one less than fourteenth

Started the day by breaking a bedroom mirror

To find my huge tax bill just got a whole lot dearer

Then I mistakenly opened an umbrella indoors

And now my garden is full of rowdy dinosaurs

I foolishly walked under a builders ladder

And got bit on the bum by an angry adder

With a sore butt I then I stepped on a crack

Only to be attacked by a rabid wolf pack

Finally a Black Cat crossed my path

And now I’ve just fallen into the bath

Untitled, by Cupcakecache
Bad luck
needed no prescription
to find a home
next to the pug
running 3 feet from the black cat
Chasing the black cat
darting across the street
The black cat licked her lips
and as she gleefully bit into the tuna
left out
Mr. Pug
happened to escape the house
only to have the cat prance by
meowing
as if to say “Did I not eat a tasty morsel like you in another life, my 7th?”
The pug bit his lip
shrugged it up to Karma
and went off to take a walk around the hood.

I Suck at Luck, by Sara
Bought the winning ticket

Wind swept it in the thicket

Met a nice gal

She considers me a pal

Went for a run

For health and fun

Tripped two minutes in

I just can’t win

Adopted a dog

What a slob

He drooled on the couch

And ate the door

Tossed a message in the ocean

It rolled back to shore

I professed my love

To a sweetheart from school

She wrote right back

Her response, so cruel

You bullied me, she said

Made fun of my hair,

I hope your life has been filled with despair

I suck at luck

That much is true

But, as it turns out,

Karma was due

Friday the 13th Birthday, by Ruth Scribbles
‘Twas the night before Friday
When all through the house
Everyone was hiding
Yes, Even the mouse

They were all afraid
Of how she would act
When she discovered
The presents sent back

Her mommy and daddy
Cuddled up in the closet
Her siblings were hiding
And eating the chocolate

She arose from her bed,
Fuzzy was her head
“It’s my birthday!” She declared
“What a dreadful dream! How absurd!”

—–

Photo by David Bartus on Pexels.com

Thank you so much for the hilarious entries! Come back tomorrow for the next prompt. You’ll have a month to submit an entry!

Hobbo, here’s a badge for you to use on your site (again). Congratulations!

©2020 The poets, and their respective works

The A Mused Poetry Contest 11/07 – 11/13/2020

/ Chel Owens / 18 Comments

Laughter is the best medicine, right after an appropriate prescription from a licensed physician. Most of us are freelance writers, so we’ll take what we can get.

Here are the rules for this week:

  1. In light of our lucky end date of Friday the 13th, the Theme is Bad Luck.
  2. Length: 113 words or fewer.
  3. Rhyming is optional, but recommended.
  4. There’s not much risqué about superstition, so keep the Rating at PG.
  5. The goal is LAUGHTER. Make black cats funny, Karma amusing, and ill-timed fate hilarious.

You have till 10:00 a.m. MST next Friday (November 13) to submit a poem.

Use the form, below, to chance anonymity for a week.

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

—–

Best of luck to you!

Photo by David Bartus on Pexels.com

—–

©2020 Chel Owens

WINNER of the A Mused Poetry Contest 11/6/2020

/ Chel Owens / 12 Comments

“Are we there yet?” You might have wished you were if your vacation turned disastrous -and so wrote the poets of this week’s contest. Of all the mishaps they managed, only one passed for funniest, and that was:

Untitled, by Deb Whittam
Travelling around the countryside,
Ask the Whittams, Ask the Whittams,
Travelling around the countryside
Ask the Whittam Family.

Dear Whittam Family,
What do you do when your nut comes off, dear Whittams, dear Whittams?
What do you do when your nut comes off, dear Whittams, your nut?
Call for a tow truck, dear viewer, dear viewer?
Call for a tow truck dear viewer, a tow truck?
But I have no reception dear Whittams, dear Whittam?
But I have no reception dear Whittams, no reception at all?
In that case dear viewer, dear viewer,
In that case dear viewer, you are kind of f*****

Travelling around the countryside,
Ask the Whittams, Ask the Whittams,
Travelling around the countryside
Ask the Whittam Family.

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

Admittedly, I had a REALLY difficult time choosing only one winner. These were hilarious, especially the ones that were true! Debbie won for a clever parody of an old favorite and for an appropriately funny cuss.

…On a side note, I actually read when this happened to poor Deb…

For a better laugh than the time these poor poets had, read on:

Untitled, by Sara
(This is a TRUE STORY! Only, it was my parents dealing with my little sister.)
There’s that smell

I can tell

She threw up, again

Will this ever end?

We pull over

To clean the car

We’re not nearly there

Our destination is far

As we scrub the floor mat

And her little car seat

Little did we know

We were in for a treat

Parked alongside a lovely, vast field

Ignorantly assuming a safe place to yield

Off our gal trotted, right into it

And here’s the ironic, “humorous?” bit

Two seconds later, we hear a sharp cry

It blew back the grass and tousled the sky

Baby girl was stuck

My, oh my

Our vomit-covered darling

Had stepped in a cow pie

Best holiday ever, by Hobbo
(Full version at Hobbo’s site)
We should never have chosen off peak
It was raining, the car sprang a leak
David squashed granny’s best hat
Baby Alfie was sick on the cat.

On the moors, dad ran over a ram
An hour later, we’re stuck in a jam
We got there too late for the ferry
Mum found the bar and got merry.

We arrived there to find we’d left gran
At the caff, with a man from Japan
Our five star was under construct
And all of the rooms double booked.

The food gave young Lucy the trots
And Christopher broke out in spots
German measles, our french doctor said
And confined him to ten days in bed.

Going home, despite begging and pleading
Dad got a ticket for speeding
When the copper told dad he could start
Our tyres were as flat as a fart.

Once home, track-traced for Covid 19
So then, yes you’ve guessed, quarantine
And because we are now isolating
This vacation gets zero star rating.

Basil and Mabel, by Geoff LePard
(You’ll have to disqualify me because it’s too many words, but I hadn’t the heart to cut back on Basil and Mabel…)
Basil and Mabel went to Spain
Again and again and again.

He drove from Dover
And to remain sober
He’d refrain, refrain, refrain.

One day on the Costa
He thought he’d lost her
The pain, the pain, the pain.

To dull the fear
He ordered sangria
Again and again and again.

Mabel was worried,
Around she hurried
The fool, the fool, the fool.

It began to concern her
When inside the taverna,
On a stool, a stool a stool

Basil was slumped.
‘Oh you old chump’
Dabbing the drool, the drool, the drool.

She left the bar
And found the car
Near the pool, the pool, the pool.

‘Where to, Bas?’
‘Let’s try La Paz’
‘It’s cool, it’s cool, it’s cool.’

They took to the road;
She drove like Toad
Too fast, too fast, too fast.

On a blind bend
Tipping end over end
They met their last, their last, their last

The moral of the fable
Of Basil and Mabel
Is you always lose
When full of booze
So try and abstain
When in Spain, in Spain, in Spain.

That Holiday Air, by Obbverse
(Certain hotels should have had their names changed to protect their guilt. But what the hell. And pushing the PG13 rating? Ah, what the hell.))
We breezed into Kingman, wafted up up to our pre-booked room,
‘Twas a romantic cute boutique newly tarted-up hideaway hotel,
Even in this modern times, foolish dreamers, do not presume
That an Arizonan night of heavenly pleasure can’t go all to hell.

The owners had been penny wise when fitting out the Brunswick,
True to its history they’d turned to every possible cheap trick,
An attempt to retain all original features, all part of the plan,
So, creaky bedsprings and no air-con except the ol’ ceiling fan.

Outside a high desert wind buffeted the shuttered window pane,
Inside, an ill wind blew no good, thanks to a lousy hotel’s buffet,
Dawn saw the leaving of two wretches that guest house won’t see again,
Now neither of us dare speak of, much less wish to repeat that sorry day.

Four gormless teenage lads on the road, by Doug Jacquier
Dora Dora has a single building
bereft of any sort of modern gilding;
pub and general store all rolled into one;
no exotic idyll baking in the sun.

Entering we see a bar
that you might see in Lilliput afar;
we become an instant crowd
eight feet sounding too loud.

Behind the bar, in a top hat,
sits a man with a newspaper and a scabby cat.
‘Corn flakes and milk?’ we enquire
‘Not in the bar, take three steps to the side.’

Groceries obtained, we ordered beers for four
and he nodded to where we’d been before.
Shuffling left, he pulled four ales,
fixing us with eyes like bloodshot snails.

Enough was enough and we re-join the track,
thinking it was never like this for Jack Kerouac.
And we realise somethin’ very disturbin’.
We’re not sub-culture, we’re just plain suburban.

—–

Photo by Nubia Navarro (nubikini) on Pexels.com

Thank you, thank you to all who entered! Come back at 10 a.m. tomorrow for next week’s prompt.

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

©2020 The poets, and their respective works