Long Mumps Poems
Long Mumps Poems. Below are the most popular long Mumps by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mumps poems by poem length and keyword.
Tables are Covid-full.
Some have had it. Some have it.
Some are carrying it.
Some are vaccinated. Others are not.
Masks are down because this is the cafeteria.
All are eating, conversing, putting droplets onto tables.
My mask is up. I am a lot older. I am trying not to get this.
Covid is up five hundred percent in two weeks where I live.
Some students have been quarantined.
A few have been quarantined twice.
Parents are phoning us, irritated their children have been sent home.
School nurses are depressed, ready to quit.
I watch it all in awe and amazement.
We eradicated the smallpox, measles and mumps.
Everybody got vaccinated.
People were more concerned about others than their “rights”.
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
To visit the Gulf of America,
In case you get the notion,
You might fly over what’s now called
The Mar-a-Lago Ocean.
Be sure to click your seatbelt,
For when using this portation,
(The “trans” has been removed)
You’ll pass a bright red once-great nation.
Get your brand-new passports ready
For the agents are quite brusque
And you might just get deported
To a planet now named Musk.
What once was Mars is filled with
Crowds of migrants (oh, such noise!),
Lining up to use the bathrooms
Clearly labeled Girls or Boys.
There’s a huge arena filled with
Those with polio or mumps,
For there are no more vaccines,
Which Junior argued were for chumps.
While back on earth, the military
(Minus gays and gals)
Is patrolling Mar-a-Gaza,
Filled with Donald’s kiss-ass pals.
And in Congress, the Republicans,
With joyfulness, cavort,
Knowing that, no matter what,
They’ll have the backing of the Court.
For those of us remaining,
We can mutually mope
Or reclaim the Gulf of Mexico,
With just a thread of hope.
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
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
We've torn down buildings, and built new ones
Yet we have no foundation.
We are illiterate to what we truly feel and breathe unless,
It is seen else where first.
It too is a reality that we've created.
This feeling that can only be described in Braille.
We too are restricted.
These bumps that go unnoticed.
The mumps in the crevice we band aid until it's too late.
We continue to tear down these fortresses of ourselves.
What concerns most is that I see myself in you.
The same love and laugh that become the building blocks that haults the storm.
Yet we reject each other due to the mentality of our environment.
With lack of understanding,
We fail to embrace choosing the cause and effect of all differential.
We seek to destroy forgetting what's important.
We work against each other doing more damage that good.
We need each other to further emancipation.
To build one another once this storm reaches peak.
As simple as it sounds it becomes more complex.
To build a new building on top shakey ground.
Everything must be cleared out.
The participation of presence
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.
all gym op Ill chumps free caw’s paces.
ball brim bop dill thumps see jaw’s maces.
call crim cop grill pumps knee saw’s cases.
nonsensical word play is the aces!
doll dim drop shrill humps plea yaw’s places.
fall flim flop frill rumps tree slaw’s glaces.
hall him hop jill lumps dee flaw’s races.
sing song rhythm leaves graces.
enthrall limb lop bill dumps knee straw's laces
mall mim mop cill grumps lee vaw's faces
paul prim pop hill stumps wee heehaw's praces
melody keeps me jumping glaces
saul stem stop zill mumps jee gnaw’s braces
tall grim plop thrill plumps zee draw’s vasesp
wall whim whop pill frumps kee shaw’s daces
loving this poem and her traces.
This telling is about a gift. The gift includes oatmeal, but the real story is very much more.
Mom had been farm-raised during the Depression and had little. Her father, to me ‘Grandad’, with ‘Grandmother’ had lived frugally and saved enough to buy a farm and then a house in town, with cash. As WWII loomed, she went to college, then taught for 8 years. After the war, Dad and Mom married and she took a hiatus of 10 years to have and to help Dad marshal the 5 siblings in our family. She would return to teach another 30 years. With her dual jobs, Mom always got the least amount of sleep.
At age 10 and both early morning risers, she’d get me up at our usual 5 AM to begin delivery of newspapers before school which began at 8. I’d finish my pre-school studies by 7:30 before my ‘trash duties’ and then the walk of 3 blocks to school in our town of 2000 Christian souls.
Mom kept a tight accounting of the time and taught me to do so as well. She was proud that I ended up with an 8-year record for school attendance, interrupted only by a case of MUMPS when I was in the 4th grade.
In those days there were no instant oats and no microwave. It was required to bring the water in the pan to a boil with its pinch of salt, then add the measured cup of raw oats followed by clock-watching the instructed 10 minutes to bring it to readiness for serving, …but…only after adding brown sugar and raisins that I liked. As we ate, we’d share our time, the day’s schedule, our beliefs and hopes. Mom made it all great as she mentored me.
Sometimes she would decide to take me in the car if it was stormy or cold. We’d continue our time together; Mom with one of her sons, continuing to share devotional time discussing things that mattered. She’d often sing a favorite hymn,
"In the Garden", or other, and sometimes listen to Dad’s "Old Rugged Cross" on the radio. Mom was truly one of the Greatest Generation the world has known.
These days, I sometimes have oatmeal the way she fixed it and remember what Mom meant to me and remember the “Gift of Time Together” that Mom gave to me, and to pass on to my family.
Elva Fern, aka Mother, later aka ‘Mom’, mentored me well.
I still get up at 5 AM.