Many years ago, when we were all young,
We really thought life, would be so much fun.
While playing dress-up, trying on mom’s stuff,
Putting on make-up, we found to be tough.
Then came our schooling, and boy things would change,
“Those aren’t our parents”, when they acted strange.
Sometimes they were hip, but old-fashioned too,
That’s something I swore, I would never do.
Wishing you were older, adults had it made,
They would do nothing, yet still would be paid.
That is how little, we all had known,
We surely found out, once we were grown.
Loving the twenties, we’d go out with friends,
When we went shopping, we followed the trends.
Doing what we wanted, and staying out late,
It didn’t matter, what time we all ate.
Then came the thirties, and most of us wed,
Watch what you wish for, my parents had said.
We had to work hard, many bills to pay,
I guess they were right, what more can I say?
Raising your children, was hardest of all,
Needing some advice, your parent’s you’d call.
It seemed so easy, they needed no rest,
So now it’s your turn, you learned from the best.
The forties arrived, that was a shocker,
We’d spend lots of time, just at the doctor.
Back aches and headaches, so tired you’d be,
Trying not to cough, or else you would pee.
The fifties would come, and your grandkids too,
Where were your glasses? You hadn’t a clue.
You searched here and there, and under the bed,
“Hey grandma” they laughed, “They’re right on your head”.
Here come the sixties, now let’s have some fun,
You are retired; your work is all done.
To dinner with friends, you dressed and you wait,
They never show up, you have the wrong date.
Now the seventies, with friends playing games,
If only you could, remember their names.
You try hard to hide, those under-eye bags,
Gravity happens, and everything sags.
Enjoy every day, and have a good laugh,
All the steps you took, led down a new path.
Live life as it comes, each year a new page,
One thing is for sure, everyone will age.
Mother Superior faced a daunting task,
Like no other in her forty years.
She had prayed it simply wasn’t so,
That Godly intervention might belie her fears.
But sadly, there was no such intervention,
No relief from the duty she did rue.
Despite her hopes and all her prayers,
It had been confirmed. What she feared was true.
So, she gathered all the Sisters after Vespers.
The impromptu meeting caused quite a stir.
There was murmuring as they filed into the chapel.
She hesitated for a moment... but no, she was sure.
“Sisters, I asked you all here to share some news.
It’s something I never thought I’d have to say.
We have a case of gonorrhea in the convent.”
Mary Catherine, a Sister for sixty years, said,
“Oh, thank God. I’m so tired of Chardonnay.”
It’s a mother-in-law’s right, her prerogative
To ‘drop in’ on her son almost any time,
But a mother-in-law should always be prepared
For almost anything she may find.
So, Mother Cready dropped in unannounced;
But as she approached her son’s front door,
Suddenly it opened. “Ta Da! Do you like my happy dress?”
His young wife stood there in her ‘all in all’…nothing more.
“Oh, my word!” Mother Cready exclaimed with surprise.
“Why are you naked? Are you insane?”
Just as surprised, the young wife pulled her inside.
“Please, Mother Cready…if you’ll just let me explain.
You see, when Mac has had a rough day,
When he’s been under a lot of stress,
Sometimes I meet him at the door
With a smile and a kiss in my happy dress.
It always relaxes him and makes him happy,
Then he makes me very happy too.
It works for Mac and me, Mother Cready;
Maybe it would work for you.”
“We’re too old for such.” scoffed Mother Cready.
“Perhaps if we were young like the two of you.”
But, on her way home, she decided
She was definitely going to try it too.
So, she bathed and put on some nice perfume,
Fixed her make-up and her hair.
She was thinking some very sexy thoughts,
But she had to hurry…no time to spare.
She heard her husband’s car in the driveway;
And as he approached their front door,
She threw it open. “Ta Da! Do you like my happy dress?"
She stood there in her ‘all in all’…nothing more.
She saw a little grimace cross his face,
But that was not the worst.
Then he said, “I appreciate your happy dress, my dear;
But maybe you should have ironed it first.”
ALTERNATE LAST VERSE
“Well…your ‘happy dress’ could use some ironing;
But my birthday suit could use some starch.”
He kissed her. “Bet you and I can work it out.”;
And off to bed they marched.
She was a tappin' to the tunes...
of those Mississippi blues...
step-pin' out, in her white...
We were a watchin' her a prancin',
all through the kitchen, dancin'...
for she was so...hot & sizzlin'...
hummin' to those Mississippi tunes...
Funny curlers too, upon...
her head...for a new... Hair dew,...
she was, a swirlin'-in that bakers apron,
when her head...star-ted a bobbin' to...
those Mississip-pi blues,
'Pots were a knockin'...
Grandma a sockin' down all she brews,
while that kettle there was whistlin',
in har-mo-ny, with them good ole...
good ole...mississip-pi moves,'
That floor there, was a bouncin'
holdin' hands we were a jumpin',
an-a hoppin' In the kitchen, to those...
Where Grandma's feet were a stompin',
In her new...New-white-sexy-pat-en-
I sat there staring at the screen
Thinking about lunch
Feeling very lean
I sat there still
Letters taunting me
Staring out the window sill
All I got was Nature staring back
Mocking me completely
I grew so slack
Haiku’s flashed through my head
So short and sweet
Frustrated, I went out to my shed
But narrative poetry that I must
Haiku’s so less sticky
My heads about to bust
Haiku’s I pressed on
The boss said otherwise
So much I think I might go eat a flan
Who’s this boss?
Master of school and more
Salad she did toss
She who is the bomb
Yet stern as a stone
She is known as my wonderful mom
What shall I ever do
Going through such misery
I shall go watch Winnie the pooh
Going to the big screen
I watched away
But I must return to my previous scene
Back at the small screen I ate a skittle
Finally arriving at the last
I think about Haiku’s
But I actually had a blast
In the yard I see our gnome
Standing there alone
Telling me to end my narrative poem
She stays awake for hours, cutting Xs in the sprouts,
Then peels all the tatties, a ton or thereabouts,
Slicing and dicing parsnips is next up in the plan,
Chops up carrots and a swede, and put them in a pan,
Mixes up her sage and onion and stuffs it in the bird,
Along with some pork sausage meat that’s been pre-prepared,
She takes apart the oven, to fit the turkey in,
Hangs it up with bits of string, there’s no room in the tin,
Wraps sausages in bacon, in case they catch a chill,
But makes sure they‘re all cooked thoroughly, so the family won’t get ill,
Cooks the bird for hours, while the table’s being laid,
With all the finest crockery (and some of lower grade),
Makes space around the table, brings in extra chairs,
Adorns the place with candles and other Christmas wares,
Lays out a Christmas cracker in everybody’s place,
Complete with rather tacky joke, no doubt of a straight face,
And brings out all the condiments, the pickles and the sauce,
The salt and pepper, the mustard and radish known as “horse”,
Next she makes the starter, the simplest course by far,
A cocktail made up of prawns and a sauce out of a jar.
The family then all piles in, and argues over seats,
The children are already full of chocolates and treats,
Grandmother is mumbling, “Kids should be seen not heard”,
Meanwhile back in the kitchen Mum’s wrestling with the bird,
She tries to carve up slices, but ends up with turkey chunks,
While Dad and Gramps have become a pair of Christmas drunks,
They start an argument about which wine goes with the meat,
And restless children run around, not staying in their seat,
Mother tries to keep her calm and bravely soldiers on,
But the roasties are all blackened and the sprouts are over done,
Mum enters the dining room looking very puffed,
She throws the turkey down and shouts ,“There you go! Get stuffed!”
18th November 2012
Sam, the box turtle, sauntered down deserted gravel road;
when he bumped into Elli, a gorgeous, slender, green toad.
Together they stopped to admire the rustic scenery;
noting, Bunny would like hiding eggs in all that greenery.
Easter will be in a few weeks, kids will have fun hunting eggs;
Bunny would be quite busy hopping on two spindly legs.
Sadie, a monarch butterfly fluttered into their path;
she was perched on a tree branch taking her daily sun bath.
“Hi!” she said to Sam and Sadie. “Have you heard hottest news?
The Easter Bunny was murdered, on the headline reviews.”
Sam and Sadie were speechless, much too shocked to say the least;
who murdered the Easter Bunny, who was the wicked beast?
No one could think of anyone who wanted Bunny killed,
the whole town was suspected, everyone thoroughly grilled.
It couldn’t be Sam or Sadie; they were not at the scene;
whoever it was, they were desperate, extremely mean.
Small town sheriff investigated the deadly crime site;
there lay Bunny sprawled along the roadside, eggs colored bright.
Struck down by angry mother hawk, thought he robbed her love nest;
sheriff pulled out the handcuffs, placed mother under arrest.
Copyright © 2013 By Caryl S. Muzzey
The first to wake
Boom boom, shake shake
I used to find them so much fun
Until she decided to scream and shout
Bring it on girl
Loud and all out
I’ll just go and hide on my cloud
Ready steady bake
Last to eat the cake
“Have you had some Mum?”
No darling, you take
I don’t mind
I’d like for you to shed me
Spend some time
To simply find
It’s healthy at times to be blind
I push, I pull
Kids to school
I wish I were just
Horizontal in a pool
I could just walk out
“No mum that’s not cool”
Would I be such a fool?
But I’m the queen you know
I make the rules
The irritating whining song
A bell at the door
I really need a manicure; it’s been so long
“What took you so long?”
I was busy window-shopping in Hong Kong
“Where’s my glove mum?”
Deep breathes, play dumb
“Where’s my recorder mum?”
One, two, three
“Sweetheart bring me the remote”
Here darling, stick it up your bum
The first to wake
The first to leave home
I want to be first in bed some days
To sit around and just laze
I need a haircut, some highlights
“Are you listening mum?”
Silly kittens made of fluff
Pouncing, sliding, snagging stuff
Butterflies that float on by
Out of reach but still they try
Rolling wrestling cotton balls
Soon so tired from their falls
Lying down with mommy purring
Not a kitten soon is stirring
I wanted to write a song for my mother
Then I thought Boyz 2 Men’s "Song for mama”
So discouraged I got
As confused as I was
I then decided to write a letter for my mother
Just when I wrote ‘Dear Mother’
Tu Pac's Dear Mama came into mind
There my Lord, wasted paper and ink!!!!
I then asked my Zulu friend help write a Zulu song
We thought of going the line Mama Wami
Again Deborah Frasers’ Mama Wami came in mind
Not only once, but she did it again as
Britney Spears by singing Mzali Wami
I never got angry at her, but disappointed in myself.
I wanted to write a song that expresses the joy
That my mom goes through when she sees me
My Zulu friend had something like ‘u mama u ya jabula’ in mind
Bother not say it loud, I said
For Bra Hugh wrote the same words
Tho my friend tried, but was not enough
I decided to apologize to mama
For I couldn’t write her nothing
I took a pen and paper and wrote
'Mama I am sorry'
With just four words,
Brenda Fassies’ Mama I am sorry came in mind
For I can’t write what our eminent legend wrote
Not only did she apologize to mama
She also said it was too late for mama
Ohh Sis Mabbrr, sure your legacy lives on
Still as I am struggling to find words for my mom
I got so fired up inside
As boiling as I was
I somehow managed to calm myself down
Just the way Jesus calmed the sea
As creative as I wanted to be
There was no much for me
For much words has been used
Only the good ones rather
I then decided to write a Poem for Mama
Ssshhh listen to this.....
My uncle died, was on holiday in Piraeus,
a pig fell off a balcony.
He left a piano and since his wife didn’t
want it in her house, mother took it,
only because it would lend an impression
of high culture,
no one else in our neighbourhood had one.
I played on it day and night,
picked up tunes on radio and played
them on the piano;
people where impressed, mother too,
but she needed her rest worked long hours
at a fish canning factory.
One day, coming home from school,
a big empty space,
I cried mother gave me Danish pastry,
they were a day old but still tasty.
I’m glad she sold the piano, though I might
have ended up a restaurant pianist
driving from town to town playing evergreens
as background music for bored diners;
a bitter pianist who dreams of
becoming a car mechanic.
A day once created.
A day I will never know.
A day I would love to try.
Planting seeds in a barren land
will not a mother make.
Oh but the joys of trying.
B. J. “A” 2
May 12th, 2007