International Poetry Day - Comic Poem 167

Hail the global Poetry Day! 

Set your syllables in order

Sort old, lost rhymes, blow dust away  

Print a pretty, fern-filled border

Proudly pick out your best poem

Buy, and unwrap, a gold, fine frame

On the wall, enhance your sweet home

In a child's eyes, you have found fame.

The world's best poem is mother's

Like cooking, hers outshines others.

Except gran's historic pleasure

Awesome as a Roman treasure.

-ends-

Copyright Angela Lansbury 2023 March 21st.

Author's comment

The word International pushed the syllable count up to 10 from 8, so I changed the word to global.

I now see other on The Fertile Brains in WhatsApp calling World Poetry Day.  I thought that so long as the correct term was in the title, that was good enough.

A couplet or four line verse is enhanced by a nature scene background or border. 

Unwrap the frame because I often buy a frame which is too good for any item which needs framing. The new frame lies in its dust-defying wrapper.  But if it deserves framing, it deserves a good frame. The old, improved, poem has been elevated to wall status and deserves the special saved frame, which clears clutter. 

Just as every mother and grandmother thinks her toddler's daub is a masterpiece, each child thinks a poem written by an adult and printed is genius. Children's or child's?

I tried alternating the rhymes of the couplets lines in the last verse  from aa bb to abab, but the aa bb made better sense and had more impact. Any purist editor who hates couplets is welcome to move those lines around. So long as I get the credit.

Poetry Or Prose? Comic poem 166

 

In olden times we used to rhyme

And many careful hours were spent

To check the rhythm every time

Before our precious words were sent

So from the first glance you could tell

If your poet was quite unwell

If his rant, or hers, not its, meant

Help, call doctors, social workers

Undertaker, write sympathy

Because a real plea is in prose

But now, we're so confused, who knows

Like texting's terse, poems just verse

An unknown writer, overseas

Shocked all of us with heartfelt pleas

😟

'Modern life is

 killing me

Please save me 

from my enemies!'

Just texts without punctuation

Leaving anxious readers wondering

Should I phone friends - grammar police

Or welfare checks from real police?

After kind readers sent sympathy

'Explain, dear friend,' 'Come round for tea!'

A sharper cynic sent wise words:

'It's not a plea - just poetry.'

-ends-

Copyright Angela Lansbury 2023 March 20th

Photo of suicide prevention barriers on Golden Gate Bridge.

My Diet to Save My Life by Angela Lansbury, comic poem 165

 For Carolyn’s Diet anthology

My Diet to Save My life

by Angela Lansbury

You are what you eat.

You are what you don’t eat.

Angela Lansbury

Poem

The Desperado Diet

By Angela Lansbury

When you find your buttons popping

You need large clothes with batwing sleeves

Clearly, it’s time to go shopping

For loads of shredded lettuce leaves

I used to dream of chocolate

Bread puddings and roast potatoes

With focus I can concentrate

On cucumber and tomatoes

We could have a lot of laughter

Full of fruit and drunk on water 

Look like my mother or daughter

Pictures show before and after.

-ends-

Photo of salad ordered at Gotti restaurant, Singapore. Photo y Angela Lansbury. Copyright.

Biography of Angela Lansbury

Angela is a contributor to books compiled and edited by Carolyn Street

Authenticity and Us - Angela Lansbury’s chapter on Authentic Writing For Your Audience

Fear and Us - Angela Lansbury’s chapter on How To Unblock Writer’s Block

Grief and Us - Angela Lansbury’s chapter on Coping with Bereavement and Depression.

Angela has a blog called Dressofthedaywithaangela.blogspot.com which shows more than 500 outfits.

She has also written a book called How to Get Out of The Mess You’re In

My Good Friend Ruth, comic poem 164

 I have a friend, whose name is Ruth

The kind who always tells the truth

If you promise, please deliver

She'll recall and tell for ever

She won't lie, she'll tell passers-by

If you're the crying sort, you'll cry

I haven't seen her, for so long

I wonder: What did I do wrong?

I'll phone her up, give her a shout

Ask what her exit's all about

She's pleased to speak, seems glad to hear

"I've only got a minute, dear!

I'm tired of speaking, and room booking

Left Toastmasters, back to cooking 

Here's a reminder, tell the truth

At cooking classes, run by Ruth.

-ends-

Photo of Trevor cooking with home made bread. Photo by Angela Lansbury. Copyright.

The Extravert Meets The Introvert comic poem 163 by Angela Lansbury

 by Angela Lansbury

Spot the extravert. Photo by Angela Lansbury.

The extravert and the introvert

What are they going to do?

The sooner we know, the better

To predict the links from me to you

Extravert or introvert?

How do you recognize?

Extravert or introvert

Doesn't depend on their size

The extravert laughs loudly

And runs to shake your hand

The extravert's the solo singer

The other hides at the back of the band

When it comes to taking a picture

The introvert plays second fiddle

Takes the photo, stands to the side

The extravert pushes into the front - and the middle!

An introvert wears gray or black

He or she hardly speaks at all

Go and inspect their hand writing

Hard to read, the letters are all - too small

What puzzles analytic me

What's contradictory and strange

Is experience or training

Over years, can make both exchange

I was born a shy, only child

I was an introvert, small girl

Then I grew old, fat and jolly

Strutting and shouting to the world

I stayed alone at home, tearful, alone

I wrote dark thoughts, folded the page

Now I'm smiling and wearing red

Standing and dancing, centre stage

An introvert or extravert

Two striking words which chime and rhyme

Kind extravert meets introvert

Both have their right place and good time.

-ends

Poem by Angela Lansbury. Preview for book edited by Carolyn Street.

Up in the Dumps, comic poem 162 by Angela Lansbury

Renovation site with attractive arched windows. Photo by Angela Lansbury. Copyright.

Litter bins, old style and new kiddie style. Photo by Angela Lansbury. Copyright.
 

When others feel down in the dumps

I feel happy, up in the dumps 

Each day's a new-found pleasure

Hunting treasure, down by the dumps

My best photo's upside down

You can't see what I want to show

'Just turn your head,' I've always said.

So what went wrong? -  I do not know

I find a shoe box

Two half pairs of socks

Scales which won't weight

And a broken clock

And a suitcase, a bit dirty

With broken locks

A scurry and hurry

To leave my crime scene

I hope nobody knows

What has that camera seen?

Look at that! I look every day

My treasure's what they throw away

They are careless, impatient, blind 

To the fact they're being so kind

Every habit grows is a habit

Which forms an acquired new taste

I'm feeling smug, convinced myself

I'm almost a saint, saving waste

Even when there's no shining sun

So long as it's not hard raining

I take my brolly to the dump

I'm smiling, I'm not complaining

My husband rebukes me

He says, admit, you're a hoarder

I think it's high time

That you set these rooms in order

I sneak back, creep back, I'm heard, caught

'Hi, what have you brought back today?'

'Nothing at all - er - just something small ...'

I rush off to hide it away

So I start to sort

So what if I'm a hoarder!

I recall what I was taught

Create order from disorder

Wipe up the dust, sweep away hairs

Make sure everything's clean

Lift the rugs, move tables and chairs

Run the new washing machine

The new one plays a little tune

To say the washing cycle's done

It's funny, happy, futuristic

Music, comic, oh what fun

Don't hang wet clothes inside closed rooms

Because the result, so I'm told

Is condensation, water pools

In three days you're growing black mould

Forget your fears, forget your tears

Keep busy, you've a job to do

Organizing every small thing

Pencils, and words, masks against flu

Boxes, pyramids in sizes 

The shoes are straight, in pairs

Cushions neatly spaced on sofas

Covers, tied onto the chairs

I have a grandchild

She's only a toddler

So I've so much to teach her

So much to explain to her

She'll know so much more

Than I did, when she's older

Shell throw, or save

But be even bolder

While I am swimming

The day is dawning

A poem's beginning

The lines of rhymes are forming

Writing is like swimming

If you do it every day

Words like wild flowers

Decorate the way

I'm not a good swimmer

But not a beginner

I can speak all day on Zoom

A featured speaker, after dinner

A rhymer's not a sinner

I'm an explainer

But I choose to amuse

An angelic entertainer.

What more do I need

I could use more pay

Then I could pay a cleaner

Now that would be the day

If I have a lot of friends

I need only one

To step forwards to help me

To get each job done.

-ends-

Diet Contest, comic poem 161 by Angela Lansbury

Somewhere far away

In the USA

There is a contest

To see who can eat

More than the others!

Yes, so I have heard -

I think it's absurd!

They like food that's free

They're like you - and me!

Did they have mothers

Who told them to eat

Each piece on the plate?

I had no sisters

I had no brothers

And yet I compete

With every other

Each time that I eat

I loiter and take -

One more piece of cake

I take the last crisp

I don't want to miss

New kinds of biscuit -

See it and take it

I lick both my lips

I don't do cooking

When no-one's looking

I lick the whole plate

And recall what I ate

No crumbs on the floor

I eat one crumb more!

...

But why don't I try

A new way to live?

Instead of taking

It's better to give!

Some guests are quiet

Stick to their diet

Why don't I compete

With those who don't eat?

With those who won't eat!

Over our dinner

Who is the winner!

I know the problem

I know the answer

Just tell her or him

'You look great - so slim!'

Maybe they won't ask

If I wear a mask

I spent my childhood

'Please finish your plate'

Can I change that thought?

It isn't too late

Where should I begin

I have a vision

A new direction

I'll aim to be thin

I must be stronger

I know what to do

So I live longer

I must look away

I just look away

I just walk away

There's no more to say

If I scrape the plate

Then what is my fate?

The scales do not lie

And  no mirror lies

Shock, but no surprise

When our fat friend dies

And his son died, too

So what must we do?

Say, 'I've eaten enough'

It's rough, but I'm tough

So what can I eat?

All kinds of meat

Ending with chocolate

It feels like a feast

Just stick to one piece

I'll eat that later

I'll drink more water

When we are meeting

Instead of eating

Out at a buffet

At home I shall stay

I'll eat less than most

Won't please a keen host

We'll all talk on Zoom

In a food-free room

'cos everyone knows

How to fit in your clothes

Because I confess

At first I say yes

But seconds is no.

I'm saying goodbye

To the weight I hate

It's never too late

To control your weight.

-ends-

Copyright Angela Lansbury. You may copy a couplet but please include a link back to the original, longer poem.

Please share links to your favourite blogs and favourite posts.

You can see my books on Lulu.com and amazon.com and look inside for free or buy one or two and if you meet me ask me to sign a copy for you or to send you a rhyming couplet with your name.