Bingo, my most loyal pup,
she popped up whenever my mood was down,
to mop up the grief in my silence
with a gulp of my tears seasoned with brine.
Wherever my feet led, she trotted,
night and day, she trailed my shadow.
Her lids never closed till she heard my snore
and up in a flash at my first morning yawn.
One day she followed me to school—
we both planned it without my Mum's consent,
I walked ahead, she darted in front and back of me—
and everywhere around me with joy.
First time crossing the expressway,
she roamed the yard till the watchman chased her out,
we waved goodbye—her final one—
before a car crushed her on the way back home.
Best job I never had was being tickle secretary to a pink dragon, Chad.
I had twenty-six job before I met him, and believe me, they were all bad.
Tickled him every hour from his tail to his gigantic fire-breathing nose.
He laughed like hyena pack who had stayed all night in a bar until close.
If he guffawed too hard, I had to mop up the room and well beyond too.
The great news, is that Chad was good-natured and fun, never ever blue.
Spending time with him was a delight, I never got tired of working with him.
Now I clean up a grizzly bear with a toothache, his name is growly Jim.
A sonorous sound pierced through the tranquil night,
A melodious song filtered into his sleep,
He was awakened by the glorious symphony,
He could hear the rhythmic flow of water,
He looked through his window that overlooked a lake,
Immaculate swans moved in a circle,
They shook their heads as they sang,
They glowed under the moonlight,
Tears streamed down his eyes,
Nature had come to mop up his gloom.
February 24, 2024.
I loved her sorrows.
We shared a mask
that we spoke through -
a mail-box for wordless hungers.
Passion maimed us,
even I shed tears sensing
a Puccini last act.
She read herself in my face;
I gave her long-range forecasts.
She endured –
desperately believing
that I would always be there
to mop up.
Liquor license for my rubbing alcohol
Fumes and vapors have me squinting like a mole
Open my window, let the wind blow through
A bunch of spiders came and crawled right to me
Shouting and stomping like a maniac
I squashed them all, covered in goo
of black
Looked through myself, right at the mirror
Who should really be the fearer?
Do good people kill spiders?
Mop up the viscera left on the floor
Some rubbing alcohol make the stink no more
I left it there for over a week
The time has come to be a clean freak
Lock the door, sit on the floor, and breathe in
Sterilize my mind and sanitize my skin
Guilt is a feeling, shames a disorder
But chemicals, they are my warder
Do bad people realize it?
Where is the flavour,
That we used to savour,
Many years ago
Ripe, juicy peaches,
Apricots and plums
That made flavourful preserves
They were made by many mums.
Gooseberries and Raspberries,
Black and redcurrants too
Succulent, Apples, Pears and oranges
To name just a few
Make sure you have a handkerchief,
To mop up the dribble from your chin,
Nearly every home grew fruit trees
Not to would be a sin
Home produce is healthy,
Picked from trees and dug from Earth,
The labour was rewarding,
It most certainly was worth
The effort to provide
Nutrition for the family
To keep them healthy,
And survive,
Processed food was minimal,
When I was a little girl,
Too much of it is criminal
It makes my stomach curl,
Packets of seeds and granules
A lousy excuse for food
The advertising is misleading,
It states the contents are good
I try to steer clear of them.
And confident others should.
I miss the aromas that seemed,
To be more pungent in the past,
The flavours in fresh food
And the satisfying tastes that last,
I feel a lot of flavours worldwide have left
Please bring back taste and flavour.
Before, it becomes bereft.
You enter your mind daily.
Sometimes you swim in an eye-socket.
Science has proven
that poetry is highly contagious
so never go anywhere or mingle
with the rest of humanity.
Sadly there is no cure.
Eventually the brain gets spongy
which of course
is the only upside to this condition,
for it can be used to mop up
after you spill your guts
all over a page.
I loved her sorrows.
We shared a mask that we spoke through -
a mail-box for wordless hungers.
Passion maimed us,
even I shed tears sensing
a Puccini last act.
She read herself in my face.
I gave her long-range forecasts.
She insisted, persisted –
a desperate belief
that I would always be around
to mop up.
I have reached that golden age worth noting
That I am now in a significant minority
Where my opinion is seldom worth quoting,
Even though I’ll soon be a fragment of history.
I’ve spent a lifetime trying to solve problems
Most of which were too big for me to handle,
I’m leaving behind some systems and albums
But your generation must light a fresh candle.
Mistakes I bequeath, too many to mention,
Poor choices, decisions, and wrong paths I’ve taken
Though none were plainly my good intention,
Too many times I was dead wrong, sorely mistaken.
So, I implore you, don’t blame me for all your ills
I had my share from the previous generation,
I did my best to mop up their miserable spills
Thought I’d leave you with some good information.
Someday, when you are near the end of your journey,
And you are waxing nostalgic for days of your past
Remember when they load you on that gurney
This lifetime just went entirely too darn fast!
written December 13, 2021
Taxis used poop power in days of old
Street cleaners had to mop up the road
A stinky job oh yes
Really quite a mess
Hope they were paid by the stinky load
I shook my old mop through the air-
dust flew, whirled about like small stars
and moons circling planets like ours!
Who's shaking their dust mop up there?
September 1, 2021
Contest: Your Best Four-Line Light Verse, No. 2
Sponsor: L Milton Hankins
ABBA Rhyme
Taxis used to poop in the days of old
Street cleaners would have to mop up the road
A stinky job oh yes
Whatta a mess I guess
Hope they were paid by the stinky load
He's the King of the goblins and should you displease
He'll pickle your eyebrows and eat them with cheese
Or cut you to pieces then boil your head
And mop up the gravy with slices of bread
But should you avoid this nobles displeasure
He will show you his strong room with all its fine treasure
Then returning above from the dark dungeons gloom
To the marble clad walls of the stately throne room
He will smile to his courtiers and wink with one eye
And you know deep inside that you're certain to die
For no one's allowed to return and proclaim
The things that go on in the goblin kings name
If I have the time I’ll clean the kitchen
then tidy round the rest of the house,
I’m due to see the vet with my pet mouse ...
Ted’s lost his fur and he can’t stop itch’in!
My little pet mouse Ted I just adore
I’ve had him since I was a small child,
alas his itchy skin is driving him wild -
he’s shedding fur all over the floor!
I carry Ted in his cage when I visit the vet
and Ted plays happily on his small wheel,
Vet’s hand enters the cage - he emits a squeal
when he gets bitten by my traumatised pet!
I mop up his blood, then hold Ted in my hand
as the vet examines his scaly red skin,
He pokes and prods much to Ted’s chagrin -
if he can be cured it would be so grand!
Vet gives Ted a shot and applies some cream
then presents me with an enormous bill,
the medication works well, Ted’s no longer ill
and his fur’s grown back just like a dream!
If You Have the Time for an Enclosed Rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Tania Kitchin
12/23/19
A funny thing happened on the way to the market
I arrived in my Porsche, there was no where to park it
So I circled the village; and parked it in a side road
When I returned an hour later, my car was being towed!
I asked the traffic warden whatever was the matter
She said there’s no tax disc, boy that warden did natter
I said what planet are you on, you are so behind the times
Tax discs are not compulsory, and I’ve committed no crimes
She said I also saw you were parked on double yellow lines
And for those misdemeanours you’ll be getting huge fines
I said madam I have to totally disagree with you
There are no yellow lines, nor red white or blue
May I urgently suggest you arrange a sight test
and return my Porsche as I’m getting quite stressed
She admitted needing glasses , she had done so for years
And she then burst out crying - I had to mop up her tears
A phone call was made; my car was towed back to me
I drove the warden to Specsavers, then went home for my tea
A funny thing happened on ... Contest
Sponsored by Robert Haigh
6/25/18
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