humor

Morning Triku #145 – Word Play

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Whole Hearted

Do soul mates exist?
Do hearts and minds spark when kissed?
Yes and more when missed.

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Think About It

Mind over matter
is absurd when the world’s weight
is on your shoulders.

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Non-Yielding

It’s not easy street
with bumps and stops, though poets
get the write of way.

~*~
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Twas the Ale

Twas a fable yet scribed I chanced on a trail

Whilst adjusting lapels on my shiny chain-mail

Running behind by fast falling hail

When caught by surprise by a soon too late snail

Rushing past for the tour of a mighty blue whale

A little boy followed, arms all a flail

Yelling and screaming and waving a pail

Fearing for life, I ratted out the snail

Thus rightly rewarded a tasty round quail

I plucked a plume, it barked a wail

I flew to the pub and grabbed me an ale

I asked of bread, it answered stale

I ordered steak and was given kale

Complained to a waiter who proceeded to rail

Then I was bounced out, back onto the trail

Went in head first and came out on my tail

Now bumps and bruises read like braille

Poking and prodding will always fail

The highs and lows of a musical scale

Whilst the notes remaining  …  twas this tale

~*~

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Dreaming Valentine’s

So is the end of another Valentine’s Day,
all the confetti’s been vacuumed away.
Cards now stored neatly in a special drawer.
Dying flowers are thinned till there are no more.
~
The romantic dinner’s now just a memory.
The dessert was great but sure wasn’t free.
There are two candies left no one will eat,
one’s missing a bite and the other’s no treat.
~
Her dress was stained from wine I spilled.
The rest of the night I thought I’d be killed.
We woke the next morning and she’s still peeved.
But I’m still alive, so I was relieved.
~
I tried to kiss her and she yelled “go away!”
Then she went off about ruining her day.
The whole event gave me a terrible scare.
But all’s good now cos it was just a nightmare.

~*~
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When?

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If life begins at birth we know of no tomorrows.

If life begins at ten we know of no ends.

If life begins at twenty there’s still time a plenty.

If life begins at thirty it’s time to get flirty.

If life begins at forty it’s time to get naughty.

If life begins at fifty it’s getting kind of iffy.

If life begins at sixty, then have yourself a ball.

If life begins at seventy you had no life at all.

If life begins at eighty than you better take it easy.

If life begins at ninety then better you than me.

If life begins at a century it’s a life most never see.

Every days a surprise, every tomorrow’s a bet.

It doesn’t matter where you start, it’s how far you get.

The End

 

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Tis a Dali Recollection

Sitting quiet with an empty mug of Dali handled haste

Recollections of past mistakes, lessons not to waste

Bottoms dry, sticky drop sides, lip prints beckon more

Pouring fast without a rinse, that always forgotten chore

*

I pass the sink, I didn’t use, but visions tapped never forgotten

Fondly recalling a baby kitty, who with first glance I was smitten

She was a  tiny ball of ebony fluff that strayed from her mother

Found sickly and shy at a shelter, unwanted by all other

 *

Crusty with kitty litter and boogies I tried to give her a bath

And with a flash and a roar I released a pound of wrath

Water splashed and dishes flew as did my favorite mug

Later to be dissected from a wet and soapy rug

 *

Pieced back askew with frustration, dust, fur and fuzz

Now forever immortalized, better than it was

The glue eventually dried as did a smelly kitty snoozing on my lap

It would come to be her favorite place for a cozy nap

*

The mug still has some whiskers stuck in its bumpy glue

Though with each year passing it loses quite a few

Beloved kitty’s now passed after a long and happy stay

Leaving reminders of mistakes that came to be the better way

 *

Like the tasty sip’s that’s now savored from that Dali-handled mug

While quietly  savoring kitty’s memory with every wobbly chug

*

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Purgatory

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Stairs climbed to a heavenly lair

Each step reluctant of the riser’s dare

The falls grow closer the higher I go

The ground grows distant with hell below

~

This tug-of-war is fought within

Pushing and pulling each a twin

When a journey’s long, all’s to win

With stich and glue all can grin

~

Time’s not direction with a start or end

There’s no give or take, none’s to defend

To counter clock’s never wise

It’s works concealed by the faces disguise

~

Incased to shield and hands that wind

Hands to watch to lose one’s mind

Minds lost seldom found

Seconds ticking to find sacred ground

~

With no end in sight, sight has no end

Starts at viewer, depths depend

Colors attract and shades divert

See the light or life’s inert

~

The stairs again beckon, to darkness they rise

Yet tread must I to rest sleepy eyes.

~*~

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Writewright Rite

Write by day if fear of night.

Write by night if fear of light.

Write of fear if there be a fright.

Write of joy if there be no plight.

Write with passion when love’s in sight.

Write with vision when all is bright.

Write when sad to feel all right.

Write when weak to feel the might.

Write to humor but never with spite.

Write to soothe and to excite.

Write for a voice but never a slight.

Write for yourself, don’t be uptight.

Now get your pens and write write write!!!

~*~

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