Poetry in Odd Places

What in tarnation!
A second poem about castration?
You might be thinking, “Oh, brother
How, oh how, could there possibly be another?

The poem from April first had a different theme
A medieval love affair was its basic scheme
But this here poem’s inspired by “My Cat From Hell”
A TV show I think is really swell

Jackson Galaxy is a cat behaviorist
On neutering your pets he strongly does insist
In last night’s show two episodes explored
This neutering theme, not to be ignored

And the cats were better off, trust Jackson on this
The critters went from misery to happiness and bliss
So you see? Poetry can be found in castration
And aren’t we all glad I’m done with this creation?

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Eleven I've sold
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Not for the Faint of Heart

A poem about the weekend chores
I’m warning you ahead
This little ditty details
Cleaning out the shed

Why did we save this thing?
What use can it possibly serve?
I’m going to throw it out now
I’m getting up the nerve

Hubby holds up a trowel
Encrusted in who-knows-what
For fear of finding out
I keep my eyes most tightly shut

Two sets of old golf clubs
But honey, I’m confused
Why have we saved those for decades
When they’re never even been used?

And that thinga-ma-jig over there?
Someone gave us at our wedding
I don’t mean to alarm you
But I do believe it’s shedding

Why did I buy this junk?
A full gallon of purple paint
I’m trying to recall the project
But sorry, I really cain’t

That table with a broken leg
The repair was supposed to be easy
But since we’ve misplaced our hammer
The thought of fixing it makes me queasy

Several rolled up rugs
The cat long ago destroyed
Why didn’t we dump these sooner?
Okay, so I’m getting annoyed

But look! We’ve reached our bicycles
Which means we’re almost done
And now with a clear path to the doorway
They might actually see the sun.

Julia Child I Ain't

Years of trying but it never took
The fact remains I hate to cook

Given my druthers on what I prefer
To others my stove, I would gladly defer

Not that I can't cook and bake
I make a to-die-for chocolate cake

Hubby likes that cooking stuff
Elaborate prep? He can't get enough

Peaches for cobbler he is blanching today
and he's roasting some garlic in a dish made of clay

Some sort of pasta sauce he is apt to prepare
With graters and blenders he has quite a flare

So to his heart's delight my hubby cooks
Meanwhile me? I'll be writing my books

Parallel Parking Blues

Some basic skills I do not got
At some simple stuff I really rot

Parallel parking's one of those
This is how it always goes

I find a spot that's larger than life
And gear up for inordinate stress and strife

Toward the curb I steer the car
But from the curb I am far, far, far, far

I climb back in and steer some more
Closer I must be, I'm fairly sure

Oops, I hit it, bumpity bump
And feeling like a stupid chump

I check around hoping no one's looking
And climb back out to see what's cooking

On the sidewalk my back tire sits
I conclude yet again that parking's the pits

If the tire's not flat I give up and drive away
And say to myself that at home I should stay

Aplomb-less

I handle life's challenges with zero aplomb
To every little issue I quickly succumb
And start screaming bad words at the top of my lungs

The coffee's too weak, and the cereal is soggy
I need gas in the car and the weather's turned foggy
And I haven't thought of a poem for my stupid weekly bloggy

The battery's gone dead on the kitchen clock
And I can't find the match to my most favorite sock
And my brilliant idea the boss just summarily blocked

These types of traumas put me over the top
And make my blood pressure do the opposite of drop
Even when I take a deep breath and tell myself to stop

I do yoga and long walks for some zen-ish insight
To which my foul moods say "Get serious. Yeah, right!
Now you're all sweaty and your hair looks a fright."

Yes, other people seem way more well-adjusted
In patience and sanity they seem to be encrusted
I wonder, can these people really be trusted?

Why I Love Summer

The sights I see off of my dock,
Let me just sit here and take accurate stock.
Sailboards, and canoes, and kayaks galore
And every other kind of boat, you name it, for sure.

No yachts, but who needs something so big
When one can ski behind a much smaller rig?
Pontoon boats and power boats pull kids all ages and sizes.
Everyone has fun, but no one wins prizes.

The waterfowl need no help staying afloat.
They probably laugh at all of us fools in a boat.
Loons, and merganzers, a gull, and ducks mallard.
It's the birds that inspired this ridiculous ballard.

The water itself is a fabulous sight
The lake gets all sparkly under brilliant sunlight
And the waterlillies bounce upon the waves so mild
Is it any wonder I've loved this place since I was a child?

News from Barcelona

In Barcelona for a week
So new experiences I do seek

Liking Spain and learning a lot
So far, this is what I've got:

Gaudi is the hero
Of straight lines, he likes zero

His Park Guell
Is downright swell

And the Sagrada Familia?
Ma Ma Mamilia!

Eating lots of Tapas
At several charming placas

Placas are the city squares
And Tapas is the city's fare

Sardines first thing in the morning
Might become habit-forming

Today I saw Port Vell
Then on to El Ravel

But the Barri Gotic
Is for me the most chic

Salute to William Gilbert

The Pirates of Penzance I did go to see
Gilbert and Sullivan is a definite guarantee
For nonsense to reign and let logic get set free
Just the thing to bring me happiness and glee

Gilbert, the master, could always find a rhyme
For any word or situation, he did it every time
Out of every muddle, mishap, and hill the hero had to climb
Because a sad ending would really be a crime

The stories are ridiculous, the characters are trite
But Mr. Gilbert was never ever any too uptight
To describe every silly saga as a perilous plight
Much to my sheer and thoroughly entertained delight

The silliest stanzas get repeated and repeated
Never, ever, ever would they ever be deleted
Since we the audience would then feel rather cheated
For the show for which we were staying seated

In comparison my own poems are almost somewhat serious
Although I try to make each one extremely cheerious
I could write until my eyes were bloodshot and blearious
And never come up with something quite so downright delirious