Zooing Up a Storm

When sparring mid-clan does commence,

The issues may make little sense.

Still, swords will be drawn

And toes stepped upon,

As players step up, take offense.

The natives grow restless to boot.

Still clueless, they arm, follow suit.

So cagey, they climb.

Opinions they chime,

Though none of the facts do compute.

An argument won may be lost,

If anyone measures the cost.

The top of the heap

Has yet cause to weep,

When everyone feels double-crossed.

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

#atozchallenge

#napowrimo

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Upsy-Daisy

A pep talk lift to rally swift.

Uh-oh. Don’t be in the dumps,

Just because you bear some bumps.

Upsy-Daisy! Off we go.

Life’s a doozy, don’t you know?

Tempest’s teapot is upsot,
Tip-top takes more than we’ve got.
Up united, we can fly.

Two together, touch the sky.

Hold on tight, and trust the wind.

Cringe and cry, but be thick-skinned.

Promise you’ll enjoy the ride,

Once we reach the other side.

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

ABC Wednesday: P is for pep talk.

Meme Express: “doozy”

Simply Snickers: “tea,” “tip-top,” and “two”

#atozchallenge

#napowrimo

Feel free to follow on Google Plus and Twitter. Please visit my Amazon author page as well.

Quitting Time

When Dad and Mom must drop the bomb …

Quick! Call the cops. Sound the alarm.

This suitor sap has lost his charm.

He’ll curfew break,

Keep us awake,

And argue he has done no harm.

Quintastic though our ages chime,

We still remember youth sublime.

But rules are rules,

And fools are fools.

He’s out of line and out of time.

Though quarrel we may aim to quell,

He needs to learn this lesson well.

A brewing storm

Is growing warm.

Parental tempers rise and swell.

The clock has struck. The guy’s still here.

We’re bleary eyed. One thing is clear:

Our kid will bust,

But still we must

Invite the lad to disappear.

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

Mad Kane Humor: “hear” or “here” -- LIMERICK

Meme Express: “quintastic”

Thursday Challenge: “warm”

#atozchallenge

#napowrimo

Feel free to follow on Google Plus and Twitter. Please visit my Amazon author page as well.