Best Mumps Poems
The Jab
I am somewhat disenchanted by what I’ve seen and read
Antivaxxers believe the lie that soon the vaccinated will be dead
That our leaders are out to get us, dictating what we need
and will decrease the population by deciding how we breed
I’ve heard more twisted theories in my time upon this rock
made so much worse with rumors on you tube and tic tok
I pray that common sense will soon take hold of every friend
Covid 19 is NOT just another virus. Don’t let it be your end
Remember mumps, measles, tetanus and whooping cough
They were cured by science, not a de wormer in a trough
Think of polio, rubella, diphtheria, hepatitis B and A
Thanks to vaccinations, these diseases were kept at bay
This world is full of deadly germs, we make perfect hosts
Please listen to the doctors instead of any ill-informed posts
Life is short, so show respect for the time you’ve got
Think of others, not just yourself. Now go and get your shot!
A double sonnet in which the great detective and his faithful sidekick, Dr. Watson, alternately deduce the cause of Sherlock’s latest malady…
Part the first
Sherlock could not deduce his source of pain
at first. “Try as I might, I cannot find
the cause – is it contusion, or a sprain?
Perchance a mere psychosis of the mind?
“Yet by deduction, I’ve ruled out the plague,
consumption, smallpox, cholera, and mumps.
My symptoms, although serious, are vague –
this lack of answers has me in the dumps!
“Where’s Watson? He would have a quick prognosis –
I’ve never seen him err in all our years”.
Then! Churn of stomach yields its diagnosis
just as his friend, the good doctor, appears:
“What seems to be the problem, troubled one?”
“It’s alimentary, my dear Watson!”
Part the second
But from the learnéd doctor’s point of view,
there yet were tests and readings still to take.
He’d learnt the ill effects of poor review
and on his friend would not make that mistake.
“Stick out your tongue! Now, turn your head and cough!
Say ‘ah’. Hold this thermometer in place,
and while you’re at it, take your trousers off -
we’d better check your prostate, just in case!"
But Sherlock dashes to the water closet
in dire urgency and grave chagrin
to make a loud and liquidy deposit.
“It’s diarrhea!” Doc yells with a grin.
“How did you know?”, shouts Holmes. “How in tarnation?”
“Why, Holmes, mere process of elimination!”
written 17 Jan 2020
The last Night of October
It's that time, again, the last night of October,
the last glow of twilight nearly gone.
Children race out and about,
winding through the streets and alleys.
Brightly colored costumes,
mom's old wig, dad's old sport coat.
All hoping to fill their bags with the prize:
Candy bars, bag of licorice, candy corn, pop corn balls,
apples, Bit-O-Honey, and Pez dispensed joy.
Some, their favorites, to greedily keep their own,
others to give to a poor sibling, who stayed home with the mumps.
With faces painted, steel themselves, for the gauntlet ahead,
the familiar street now somehow strange in the gloom,
to walk past hallowed ground,
All was quiet, save for the rustling of the leaves.
The daylight gone, now cloaked in Stygian darkness..,
ahead lie, the old grave yard.
Raucous laughter, which echoed only moments before,
trailed off into whispered murmurs.
All eyes from the once merry band looked now,
to their leader, albeit quickly chosen,
the tallest, and oldest, and bravest.
He too, resolve waning, felt the grip of those things unknown,
in the shadowy mist,
heart now beating faster, he chides the little ones,
for being such silly ninnies.
Just now, what was that! What was that sound?!?
Was that an owl? Or, maybe Old Man Godfrey, come back from his
now disturbed rest!
Young sister's hands clasped brother's, tightly,
and brother's, impishly taking the clammy worts,
decidedly grew, just a bit older, wiser,
and braver in kind.
Now turning the corner at Elm street, they walked at even pace.
With heads bowed low, mid-block, each chanced a glance, only to look away,
from the wrought iron gate.
Young heads, did now envision mystic spectres, ghouls and fantastic phantoms, with jaws agape, smiling in toothy cheer, bony fingered hands reaching through the heavy bars.
Swallowing dryly, daring just one quick glance back,
at the narrow lane winding, into the stone covered grounds,
dotted with ivy covered trees of willow and oak.
Back into the world of the living, back to
All Hallow's Eve.
-Happy Halloween
Only three of us now who knew
both sets of our grandparents.
The three of us, 96, 94 and 88,
how much time have we left?
There are sepia photos from the
old, first Brownie cameras, a few
portraits of some from a bit later,
all still, silent, as they were not in life.
Being the oldest, I recall two great-
grandmothers, albeit vaguely,
one only in a darkened bedroom,
the other short, chubby, with the
horn she put to her ear to listen.
My mother’s father, Grandpa Jones,
studied his Bible lessons every day, but
he died when Dan and I were little.
Who but we three now remember the
stern but kindly mother of my dad?
Grandma Pope had endless patience
teaching my small hands to make jam,
can tomatoes, make pie crust and bread.
She had an infectious laugh which sent
tears rolling down her cheeks.
She let me go alone to
the bakery to buy penny rolls.
Grandpa Pope first showed me a keyboard
and named the keys. An accomplished
pianist and organist, who had worked
for Chickering Pianos, he didn’t play
often any more, as he had toughened his hands
in the factory where he worked during
the Depression, but when he played
everyone was completely entranced.
My mother’s mother, Grandma Jones,
was Boston proper, a wonderful seamstress
and seemingly stern, but very loving.
I often would crawl into her bed at night.
When I had mumps she made me hot chocolate.
She would be sure I had hat and gloves
and take me to lunch at Jordan Marsh.
We did endless puzzles in her sitting room.
So much more to these people than
ever can be seen in a photograph.
Even this poem only scratches the surface.
The love, quirks, personalities are missing.
I suppose, some day, my descendants
will look at pictures of Doug and me
and wonder what kind of people WE were
and what WE really were like.
A VISIT TO THE DOCTOR
I had a bad cold,
And my throat was sore,
My husband told,
Me to go to the Doctor,
Before I got flu!
I made an appointment and was due,
To be seen at two o’clock.
I sat down next to a young man,
Who had the pock,
He was coughing and
Spluttering all over me,
Can’t you see,
Don’t you care,
Are you not aware,
That you’re spreading your germs,
All around this place,
He got up with a red face,
And sat on a chair at the back
Which fell as he sat for he was big,
And the chair had a crack!
As soon as he left, sat a lady,
She told me she had shingles,
Just to look at her gave me tingles.
I got up very concerned and ready
To take my next seat
I chose one whose occupant I didn’t suspect,
For physically I couldn’t detect,
Anything visible, she told me
She had swine flu,
And my flu vaccine was overdue!
I shot up and was ready to leave,
But the next patient was a toddler
Who seemed very shy, and I
Did not register,
That he seemed to have lumps
His Mom told me
Her youngster had mumps,
After he had sat on my knee,
And had a chew on my car-key!
I phoned my husband and told him,
That I had been in touch with a toddler,
With mumps,
I could immediately hear he fell down
In the dumps
For he had never had mumps,
And disliked the thought of getting
These lumps,
And of course any repercussion thereafter,
Would certainly not be a matter,
For laughter!
As I was about to leave,
A little girl arrived with measles,
Who repeatedly said
Mom I don’t like needles!
This was too much I was going home,
I opened my bag, and put back my phone.
We both thought it was certainly safer,
To go home and take a Corenza!
So if you get sick,
Try and get better on your own,
Or try to speak to your
Doctor on the phone,
For whatever it was I had,
If I’d stayed at the Doctor's rooms
I’d be sicker, sad
And feeling bad!
I"m getting rather faint again
I don"t feel well at all.
My back has gone,my legs both ache
must sit in case i fall
Scurvy,swine flu,measles mumps.
I must have had the lot
I even broke out in a sweat
whilst i was in my cot
The doctor calls,he doesnt care,
Just looks at me and smiles.
I grimace back in pain,not joy.
I"ve just sat on my piles
The end is nigh,and thats a fact.
Of this i can be sure.
My epitaph will surely read..
They couldn"t find the cure
The Spanish flu started everything off
Now we are excited by a cough
Typhoid Mary, regular gal
Please keep six feet, okay, pal?
Measles, mumps, rubella.
Aids and HIV
And shingles too
Chickenpox
Virus
Sick
Only a baby?
You got to be joking! This little thing!?! This tiny being!?! A little baby!?!
This is the one to be my Saviour!?! He, will give me, life eternally?
Hmmm, this is stretching me! I got to be crazy to swallow this story.
A big man like me; rescued by a baby; smelling of cattle and poultry.
I must admit, his parents look ok; but, He ain’t got no muscle;
My Redeemer!?! He never had a cold, flue, mumps, nor measles.
He’s totally helpless; in swaddling clothing, lodged in a manger;
He can’t tell left from right; black, from white; safety, from danger.
How can He save me from my sins? He ain’t know how many I got;
I’ve been sinning so long; I would not even give me another shot.
I’ve stolen, cheated, hated, lusted, lied and fornicated frequently;
What can this baby do, to make me change my ways, repentantly?
I only know the ways of the world; the streets are my daily beat;
What can this little baby do to help me, to make my ends meet?
This big man got a wife and children; I got to take home cheese;
I’m frustrated; if this little baby can be of any help; tell me please.
My life, children, and wife cause much pressure; and I confess, stress;
Will the little being have enough peace to add comfort to my distress?
I heard people say that the baby is King of Kings; and Lord of Lords;
It’s hard to believe; seems almost completely absurd. I’m lost for words.
The prophets said He will be as amazing, as the Good book prophesy;
I’m starting to believe; will He change me; so I can also testify?
I’m putting my ego and pompous attitude aside; got to be humble;
And give reverence to the New-born king; though only a swaddling bundle.
The ‘little baby’ did it: humbled Himself and became as a lowly man;
To live as we live; feel, what we felt – yet, function, as the Divine Son.
He made the supreme sacrifice: gave up every divine privilege, for us all;
For our redemption sake – Salvation and life eternal; even after the “Fall.”
End
By: Dion Penville
Preserving Childhood memories
Those years are like dusty boxes of old books
Each book classify as a quantum leap for me.
My first steps that led to many things,
I kept thinking of my small bottle of goat’s milk
Flavored with Grenada nutmeg to tone down the taste:
Perhaps after my father saw the look of disgust on my small face,
After my first tastes, in comparison to the cow’s milk
Lactose intolerance was the key word in those days.
Little did anyone knew of it…then..
Which was worse the cod liver oil, on Sunday Morning?
Or the nauseating feeling, of the repeats of the oil in one’s mouth
1950s hardly a child escaped mumps, measles, whooping cough or chicken pox.
Childhood disease was most feared, especially amongst the poorest.
So the old folks did whatever, it took to protect us ..
I was always searching, for my next chapter, as soon as I was out of
The danger zone to record, one line at a time
to the simplest things such as choosing the
Best pebbles, the loudest night crickets, to the most
Beautiful butterfly for my collections:
I think I had mention this before once I caught a snarky bird
And try to cage, the poor thing, until my grandmother beg of me
To let it go free, freedom for him was a squeak of happiness,
I could be wrong, but I think the bird return a favor to our household…
There he was picking away at the bananas on the kitchen counter,
Perhaps he saw the danger, that windy morning
A nearby kitchen towel was left to close to the burning stove,
Freedom for him was a squeak of happiness for us on that day
I must indeed say:
Preserving my childhood memories,
not only came from on top of that Hill
But from what that bird taught me,
About a kitchen window that opened with a slight squeak"
freedom
?
Measles, mumps and chicken pox,
Insidious diseases,
Were all a part of childhood,
Paired with earaches, strep and sneezes.
But that was many years ago
And scientists have found
The vaccinations needed
So those germs won’t get around.
Except in some communities
Where parents do refuse
To inoculate their children
Due to controversial views.
So new cases of the measles,
Once now gone, have reappeared
And now hundreds are infected,
Which the health officials feared.
To the anti-vaccinators,
With your self-indulgent ways,
You’re infringing on your neighbors;
Sometimes selfishness betrays.
Since it was Sunday in late December
the sun perched softly behind a dark
swirl - and the distant dust
turned the last ray from red to pink
well before the dainty fingers
of her small hands could count to six
The tide was ebbing but left lopsided
lines of foam-beige brine surrounding
crooked batons of driftwood settling
for the evening - in wait of the dawn’s
salty brush and the mermaid’s call
that only the mullet could hear
Sandpipers skipped across the scrawls
where some spirited soul had neatly
spelled the name Luna and etched
a lazy heart in the sand
made barely legible by the suckle
of less than a half moon of sweet Gruyere
Holiday lamps from the shops in the village,
baptized by a light steam, lifted green and blue
watermarks off the horizon toward the mangroves
and left markings of indelible ink where crow’s feet
tried to sleep and halfhearted whelk
nestled as salt in recesses of aged eyes
The scent of the sea was mild
Then again just the thing to suit
The keenness of the cilia that lined
the inside of the only nostril that still behaved.
And though the Mumps had left one ear utterly deaf
I observed the pelican call
This was neither the place nor time to breathe meekly.
A wordless titter throttled my throat
and I asked myself how life might be sounder
Her lily white hand, half covered in sand
touched the truss in my mind.
Smiling out loud my deaf ear could hear
her juddering blood - for she was totally (and wonderfully) blind
In the land of the lost
They dug up a book of magic spells today
No one had seen spells like this before
Some of them were extremely weird
The cover of the book said:
PO--etry
And the people wondered if PO-etry was a black or white magic. The book was sent to an
expert in magic and his assistant for examining.
Look at page 82
"Mumps on the breast
sleepless rest
Eastless west
I didn't have to study for my urine test."
or
page 97
"Crazy insane
painless pain
evaporating rain
nothing changes perception
quite like the brain."
or how about
page 115
"Vision blurred
brain is slurred
this is what happens
when I think like the herd."
The expert in magic confirmed it was white magic and shared the spells with everyone. The
spells brought wonder and joy to the people in the land of the lost. And perhaps that is magic
in itself.
That climate change
Is affecting the world
There are more hurricanes
And off season tornados
Frozen ice caps are melting
Does anybody care
That it’s causing the
Sea levels to rise out of control
Creating large amounts of flooding
It’s separating our government
Causing hasty decision making
Does anybody care
That it causes an unstable government
Who makes important decisions
It has caused the old diseases
Like the measles, mumps, and chicken pox
To resurface, causing death
Does anybody care
That even polio came back to life
You have more hate
In the world than love
Mainly because of jealous people
Who sets out to destroy others
Does anybody care
02/12/2020
Why can't the world be like it was when I was young
No one cleaning up dog-due dung
Kids dying right and left of polio and measles
Mumps running rampant like scorpions and beetles
Fathers employing razor belts
on recalcitrant sons and leaving welts
Mothers teaching daughters to clean and cook
poor-mouthing math and science textbooks
White folks lording it over illiterate Knee grows
Butchering Espanol -- and a few unlucky amigos
It was all so much simpler way back then
Cowboys shot Indians on the count of ten
So, why can't the world be like it was when I was young
Well, hey, I guess it is ~ English still ain't America's mother tongue...
Hey, kids – know what time it is?
If you’re like me, well, I’m
Remembering just what that meant –
“It’s Howdy Doody time!”
Now Howdy was a puppet
On a children’s TV show.
(Technically, a marionette,
In case you’d want to know.)
From 1947,
It was on for thirteen years,
Five days a week, before we ever
Heard of Mouseketeers.
With Clarabell the Clown
And host Bob Smith, we got to see
Some lucky kids who made it to
The Peanut Gallery.*
My buddies from the block all went
But I was in the dumps
Because I couldn’t join them,
Stuck at home, sick with the mumps.
Last Sunday, though, I got the chance,
So many years past due,
To go to a museum
Where some puppets were on view.
And there was Howdy Doody –
Freckled, smiling, on his strings,
With boots, plaid shirt and dungarees –
The memories he brings!
It made my day to see him,
So my grown-up self could greet
Such a symbol of my childhood
And a perfect birthday treat.
*the seating area for guest children