Pickin’ Up Pounds

Perhaps pudding’s proof is found in the poof.

A new baker’s dozen,

The doughnut does fill.

Temptation is buzzin’,

Eclipsing the will.

Pie in the sky

On your thigh,

In your eye –

Heavy sigh.

Mere calories nameless

May do one no harm.

Meandering mindless,

Resolve they disarm.

Physicians can’t sidestep:

The pot, still it grows.

They test everything ‘cept

Pinocchio’s nose.

Pie in the sky

On your thigh,

In your eye –

Heavy sigh.

But no pie that’s humble,

No penitent tart –

The oafish crust’s mumble

Will gain no fresh start.

‘Tis those who keep measures,

Not willing to flake,

Who fear not such pleasures

And thus take the cake.

c2017 by Linda Ann Nickerson

Image:

Adapted by this user from vintage artwork.

This poem was posted in response to these prompts:

April A to Z Blog Challenge

National Poetry Writing Month / NaPoWriMo

Meme Express: “baker’s dozen”

One-Liner Wednesday: See subtitle.

Three Word Wednesday: “meander,” “nameless,” and “oafish”

#atozchallenge

#napowrimo

#BeWoW

#1linerWeds

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A-Z sketches in verse: Yecch! Hit the Deck!

A Rhyming Flail on Extra Mail

I saw a spider in the sink.

He hovered by the drain.

I dropped the bills, and in a blink,

He’d found this new terrain.

The hijacker, I soon dispatched

With tap water and soap,

Then stood as sentry there and watched

Him slide that slippery slope.

At least I hope it was a him,

Not pregnant mother type.

The thought brings creepy crawlies grim

Of spidelings in my pipe.

From this day on, I’ll be alert

When picking up the mail.

I’ll give the postal box a squirt

O’er spiders to prevail.

c2015 by Linda Ann Nickerson

Image/s:

Vintage/public domain artwork

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Boundaries

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Boundaries - at the Back Door

Standing By –

A Rhyming Card on a Six-Paneled Guard

The sentry steel keeps me awake.

His slamming sets the house to shake.

Across his portal children stride –

Embark on travels far and wide.

A teen slinks out and creeps in late,

Not knowing that I upstairs wait.

When curfews blown leave tempers singed,

I wonder if I’ll come unhinged.

Will rest elude this parent’s sight

Till all are sealed in for the night?

Until the future is unfurled,

Can’t we lock out the outside world?

c2009 by Linda Ann Nickerson

Posted for a variety of prompts:

AC (poem about something in your kitchen)

Easy Street Prompts (“nuclear family” or “driving lesson”)

Poetic Asides (April P.A.D. Challenge)

Read Write Poem (NaPoWriMo)

Please pop on over and visit my author page on Amazon.

The Booting Brother

Here's my entry for Simply Snickers ’ May 11th prompt (“boot,” “bid” and “blame”) and Sunday Scribblings' "family" prompt.

The Booting Brother
A Poetic Remembrance of Sibling Regurgitation

My baby brother’s sense of smell
Is more than anyone can tell.
He takes a whiff and groans, “Oh, swell!”
And bids his latest meal “Farewell.”

The scent of bacon, frying fast
Can be enough to flabbergast
And set him booting at full blast,
While all of us stand by, aghast.

Our grandma’s brownies make him retch;
They make his diaphragm reflex.
I gag and run for the homestretch,
As Mom jumps up, a pail to fetch.

We load the car for weekend fun
And head for regions in the sun,
Until my brother comes undone
And tosses cookies, hit-and-run.

“The dog’s bad breath just made me sick!”
Sure, blame the pet for your gut-kick.
Of course, we don’t mean to nitpick,
But isn’t that a dirty trick?

We hope he’ll leave this all behind,
But if he doesn’t, never mind.
I’d never mean to be unkind:
My brother’s guts might just unwind!

Love poetry? Check out Simply Snickers, a brand-new weekly poetry prompt. Click here for The Booting Brother - A Poetic Remembrance of Sibling Regurgitation. Or click here to visit Linda Ann Nickerson’s poetry and humor blog, Nickers and Ink.

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Fridge Space

On request from "Sunday Scribblings," this post echoes the agitator, who aims at cleaning out the refrigerator.

My fridge is full;
There's no more space.
The odor pull,
A true disgrace.

So grab a sack;
Turn on the fan.
And let's attack
This garbage can!

Limp salad, toss;
The mayo, pitch.
That applesauce
Might make you itch.

And furry meat
Should be retired,
Not fit to eat,
It's long expired.

That greenish block,
A pungent lump,
Could take a walk
Right to the dump.

Seal up that bag,
Fast as you can!
This fridge might gag
My garbage man!

c2008 by Linda Ann Nickerson. All rights reserved.

Cooking Down a Storm - A Kitchen Rhyme for Family Time

Some storms can only subside when folks form memories together.

Cooking Down a Storm
A Kitchen Rhyme for Family Time

A scent is wafting through the air,
As youngsters sort the silverware.
A meal is cooking, somewhat square,
The makings of intensive care.

We stand together at the sink,
A little nudge, a knowing wink.
Together, we share what we think;
We're cementing our family link.


Want to read the rest of this entry? Click this link to read: Cooking Down a Storm. Or simply visit my other blog, Practically at Home, where this entire poem is listed on the lower right-sidebar.