Can you believe I finally made it this far?
Wanna hear my five-year-old birthday dream?
I want a grenade, a pop gun, an exploding cigar,
milk duds and a cone of chocolate ice cream.
To get to fifteen took me forever.
Now, I fall in love five times a day at a glance.
I need a birthday miracle that’s clever -
a way to get in Janet’s pants.
With work and kids, I’m up to my ears.
How did I get into trouble so deep?
All I want, as I turn thirty years,
is one night of continuous sleep.
At fifty, it has been such a long road,
and I’ve now lost a bit of my fire.
My ambitions have been somewhat slowed.
But for college tuition, I’d wish to retire.
Seventy? How the heck did it come so fast?
The things that I hope for as the sun wanes,
is that this year will not be my last,
and a moment without aches and pains.
Who win the Oscars is for nerds,
Not for the fashion flaunting birds
And fashion one thing backs--
What exposes the max,
More words and yards seem for the duds.
__________________________
Happenings |08.03.2026| fashion, films, humour, limerick
Note: The Academy Awards spectacle and Gwyneth Paltrow, her minimalist ivory Armani dress with cutout sides practically all open. Today’s reality is: A dress is something that exposes more than it covers.
Quilted woman’s dwarf man showed off his duds
Some of his co-workers sounded like Elmer Fudds.
They were jealous of his outfit, make no doubt.
Some went home angry, others gave a little pout.
Gourmets everyday wheeze
More moreish morsels tease
Picnics Ploughmans picky teas
No duds taste buds floods please
Those with epicurean degrees
Sees the wood from the trees
Knows.. chose with ease the DB's
Dairy fairy sybaritic disease
Whiffs waft on the breeze
Stole my heart kept the keys
So good the Bee's Knees
Seize the day with CHEESE pleas
An acquaintance left my son a gift
In a bag outside his door,
An amaryllis plant in wax
I’ve never seen before.
Instructions say to let it sit
In a well-lit room, but not
In sun that is direct; perhaps
It might get much too hot.
It needs no water, for the bulbs
Have nutrients within,
Plus all the moisture to ensure
That growth will soon begin.
In four to five weeks, stems will form,
Then one month later, buds,
Which will produce some lovely blooms
(Unless you’re stuck with duds).
A perfect gift for those of us
Whose thumbs are far from green.
With zero effort, you can add
Some beauty to your scene.
White Chocolate
Ivory chocolates
Milk duds
Cocoa beans
So divine
Sweet recipe
I’m your white chocolate
I’m scrumptious
Absolutely delicious
White vanilla
Especially delightful
Your taste buds are dancing
Red wine is swirling
A pleasant evening
Romantic by the fireplace
Have it no other way
You're so fine, will you be mine?
All save all of your smiles
White chocolate and wine
Thoughts whisk me away to a foregone time,
when things were peaceful with much less crime.
Of a Mother who never complained of tired back,
from a ten hour day pulling a twelve foot sack.
She had six children and still worked in the field,
her sleepless nights worrying she never revealed.
A tub and rub board always kept our clothes clean,
we got new duds at school start and not between.
She used a sad iron that she heated on the range,
that kept jeans pressed for a twice a week change.
As older one’s grew up we quickly left the nest,
and all helped mother through each life test.
Mothers day retrieves thoughts of my first lady,
and God called her home at the ripe age of eighty.
God blessed our family and all life wasn’t bad,
because we couldn’t miss things that we never had.
Springtime, it's springtime
Winter has taken a leave of absence
Now it's time for flower to make their grand entrance
Leaving us awestruck and inspired
The mild breezes drift in through the shades
Almost knocking over the vase last year in pottery class I made
And the weatherman predicts unseasonably rainy weather
I start working out because soon summer will come and I want to feel light as a feather
A unique black squirrel climbs up a tree full of lime green buds
I put away my worn out, dull sweaters
For a nice outfit of cotton duds
Today the rays of sun stay brighter longer
Don't worry, I tell myself, for no longer do I have to feel somber
At the metropolitan parks nearby
The snow shovelers have to say goodbye
Springtime, it's springtime
We can't wait to welcome you again
But for now I'd like to take a walk
With my new best friend
Bouncy Brock blew bigger bubbles than his friends,
Friends whose bubbles were small, soapy bursts of suds
Brock’s bubbles were so huge they’d certainly cleanse
While his friends looked on, Brock trailed through the redbuds,
Blowing such froth, sharing his marvelous gifts
Brock’s bubbles were always stunning, never duds
Brock’s bubbles climbed much higher as the wind shifts
Followed by trails of foam where his bubbles roam
Bubbles wandered through meadows and over cliffs
Bouncy Brock kept blowing, when gone or at home
Leading friends down a path, blowing and blowing
So everyone he met knew, though not noisome…
Brock spent his time puffing so he was glowing,
Realizing his bubbles were mind-blowing!
After a long, long snooze, Rip Van Winkle
Woke with a start, his duds all a-wrinkle
Said he, a bit dotty
"Quick! Bring me a potty
I'm in need of a humongous tinkle!"
Young couple's modest apartment,
no children yet,
a crappy mid-size car,
lottery scratch off ticket duds,
grilled cheese and tater tots.
Punching the clock,
factory worker and diner waitress,
workaday life.
Crucifix on living room wall,
sweet Jesus understands,
and loves His toiling ones.
The refrain of September rain,
it's Sunday morning in the city,
coffee and a Mass on t.v.
Factory worker and diner waitress,
the "L" train rumbling by.
Life can be a rhythmic melody,
workaday life.. ~
You swing onto the ramp of anticipation
then sputter and stall, deceleration
March, thy name is frustration
Your southern breezes arise and tease
‘til night plunges the ground in deep-freeze
March, your late frosts displease
Your rains help the leaves start to bud
then your snows turn frail flowers to duds
March, your name I spell M-U-D
Bike to ramp and from ramp to tree
In just a second you can feel the hit
Hanging midair is a time of glee
Adrenaline rush with teeth a’grit
Grasping his precious jewels
The tens unit clung
Crank that cruel switch to eleven so
His unborn kids will know he was stung
A blindfolded face, cigarette tastes,
Tighty-whities, and a Big Mac burger,
A boxing glove hits a fragile place
So he screamed that his meat was murdered
Hot sauce dares with a barren gut
The bottle beckons, its all for good fun
Capsaicin will rain hell upon his you know what
Chug the demon’s drizzle and the damage is done
Office chair races down a favorite hill
Speeding down through memory lane
On my way towards a hefty dentist bill but
Jackassery is always worth the pain
Rock fights in mud is a childish leisure
With a soundtrack of chuckles and thuds
Growing up simple and hollow is a pleasure
When your friends are a bundle of duds
Fancy juggle clown girl with her hair pinned up
Dined in the kitchen with the maids who sup.
We were thrilled with her fashionable gray dress.
She told us her name was Clown Clarita Caress.
She looked quite tame compared to another clown.
She showed off her designer duds all over town.
Her shoes were polished, her make-up was tasteful.
She did everything right, and was never wasteful.
Uncle Pete agrees to take his great grand-nephew fishing to Lake Mare.
I don’t have a pole, Larry says. No prob, says Pete. We can share.
I’ll make my own rod, the nine-year-old says, and grabs a twig of a stick.
Uncle Pete is decked out in expensive duds; his fishing tackle box is thick.
Look! I caught one! Larry yells! Flinging a giant bass out of the lake.
This startles Pete who thinks “this must have been a little mistake.
But Larry keeps flinging catfish, walleye and groupie out of the water.
His plain inexpensive fishing rod just gets hotter and hotter.
Uncle Pete is sitting on a rock, staring at frogs on rocks.
Thinking he should have worn his lucky crocks!
Larry offers to trade places, so Uncle Pete will have a chance.
But Pete didn’t have luck there either and did the “poor me” dance.
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