Photo of “The Bean,” by Poppa
When your leader suggests disinfectant,
ingestible or an injectant,
should you chuckle or cry
or heave a big sigh
and wonder what you were expectin’?
© Marie Elena Good, 2020
Okay so part of me feels guilty about this one, but we gotta laugh, right?!
Photo courtesy of Pixabay
I’m all for the masks and hand-washing,
Keeping 6 feet away and not touching,
But for cryin’ out loud
I just gasped at the crowd
On the old T.V. show that I’m watching!
© Marie Elena Good, 2020
True story, y’all! LOL!
Photo courtesy of Pixabay’s Pasja1000
Mask Maker, Mask Maker,
Make me a mask.
Ward off my cough.
That’s all I ask.
Mask Maker, Mask Maker,
Nothing too posh.
Just make me a modest mask.
Mask Maker, Mask Maker,
Put folks at ease
as they pass by,
and I must sneeze.
Your mission, see,
is to render for me
a smidgeon of PPE.
Then drop it
off over yonder.
Leave quickly,
and leave nothing else, please,
for me. Well, I wouldn’t holler
if TP’s included (I’m ill at ease).
Mask Maker, Mask Maker,
Thanks for the mask!
My husband’s at peace,
no longer repeats
day after day, “Sharing isn’t condoned,”
now that I have one
of my own.
© Marie Elena Good, 2020
Found this fun one on Cartoon Stock. Super fun, Tarnowski!
When the hubby attempts do to plumbing,
I’ll hear him sporadically humming.
Then hints of some fumbling
bring mumbling and grumbling.
That’s when I know cursing’s forthcoming.
© Marie Elena Good, 2020
Photo courtesy of Pixabay
Which wish is which?
Witch wish is which?
Which witches swish?
Which swishes which?
Which wishes switch?
Which wishes swish?
© Marie Elena Good, 2020
Not much of a poem, but lots of fun to write!
This little beauty is no longer six, wouldn’t want to be six, and would probably want me to let you know this is not based on a true story. But I paired my poem with this pic because, well, I love her death and the ‘tude totally works. 😉 Not sure who snapped this shot. Maybe her daddy?
“I think I’ll be six now forever and ever,”
she said, and I told her she’d need to be clever
to pull off this whimsical, wondrous endeavor.
Now, did I believe her? I didn’t. However,
she smirked as she pulled out her six-ever lever.
‘K. Whatever.
© Marie Elena Good, 2020
(This is a sequel to Now We are Six, by the extraordinary A. A. Milne. My poem begins with his final line.)
Image by Gerd Altmann via Pixabay
I have to admit
I’ve been syllabically
abusive to you.
I may call you poem
or po-em, depending on
my need at the time,
not even giving
thought to how this makes you feel.
Please forgive me, poem.
And please understand
this earnest apology
stated at this time
will remain sincere
whether at any time I
choose po-em, or poem.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
Don’t like my string cheese stringy.
Don’t care for fishy fish.
Don’t want this squash-y thingy
that’s squishing in my dish.
I’ll take my eggplant scrambled, please,
with not-too-toasty toast.
I feel so sad for black-eyed peas,
and for the poor shanked roast.
My coffee grounds me just enough
to move on with my day,
but navigating it’s still tough.
Will curds show me the whey?
You’re nuts about my pecan pie,
but beef about my stew.
And I just chuckle, and here’s why:
It’s so fun ribbing you. 😉
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
Splinters were the worst.
Tweezers first;
Needles if needed
While I screamed and squirmed
And wormed my way
Back out to play.
Skipping, flipping
Chipping my tooth
(Now it’th loothe)
Palms muddied
Bloodied nose drips
Split lips
Both knees shredded
Splinter still embedded.
© Marie Elena Good, 2019
Inspired by the line “when the purpose of knees was to be skinned,” from John Tobias’ Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle Received from a Friend Called Felicity
(Thanks to my friend Lydia, who gifted me the book that contains John’s poem!)
