WHY I CANT RHYME WITH ORANGE

Since April’s when the poet’s pen and craft is on display,
I’ve made the choice to add my voice and celebrate each day.
Though, since I wrote, “Don’t aim for near, but perfect every time.”
I cannot think of any verse to match this paradigm.

WHAT I WILL NEVER BE

I’m not so good with facing death.
I’ll never be a doctor.
Since too much silence drives me nuts,
I’ll never be a proctor.

I won’t be teaching preschool kids;
I’ve little luck with whiners.
I’m rather fond of sleeping in,
so it’s a no for diners.

Because my sense of smell is strong,
I can’t work in a gym.
Which also means with fishing boats,
my chances there are slim.

Since I can’t hide my feelings well,
with acting, there’s a doubt,
and sitting still is not my strength
so, driving trucks is out.

I could go on and on and on
with things I will not do,
but Mother says to not decide
‘til puberty is through.

JUST IN TIME

The deadline is looming.
My chores, all consuming.
My words? Mostly zooming
with no thought of rooming
together in verse.

With nervousness rising
(this fact not surprising),
my sense is surmising
I’d best be devising
to deal with this curse.

With minutes remaining
and intellect waning,
I’m done with complaining.
I’m writing (or feigning)
for better or worse.

POLLEN PROBLEMS

Sally stretched her wings, then circled and spun through the air.

“My very first taste of spring!” she sang as she made a beeline for the crocuses.

“Achoo! A-ah-AHH-CHOO!” Sally’s eyes watered; her vision blurred, and she landed not on the purple flowers, but in a puddle!

She sat up and flitted her wings.

Her fellow foragers buzzed about her asking, “Sally, what happened?”

“I wish I knew!” she said.

Once dried, she flew toward the flowers again.

“Achoo! A-ah-AHH-CHOO!” Her eyes watered; her vision blurred, and she landed…back in the puddle! “For the love of nectar!”

“Could it be,” a friend asked, “you have allergies?”

“Whoever heard of a honeybee with allergies? I’ve failed at foraging!” she said as she smacked her wings in the water.

After some thought, Sally dried her wings, flew straight up and spun through the air. “But imagine what a great scout I’ll bee!”

150 words

Image source: https://media0.giphy.com/media/MDlyDajuzdq3mlfvFf/source.gif

This is an entry for The Spring Fling Contest. The requirements were to write a 150 word (or less) story for children ages 12 and under about spring and inspired by a GIF. If you would like to enter, go to this link: https://ciaraoneal.weebly.com/spring-fling-kidlit-contest.

ON SECOND THOUGHT

What kind of creep
tells you to leap
when all that can be seen
‘twixt where you stand
and lower land’s
a mile in between?

I thought we made
the perfect pair,
my jelly to his toast.
Of late I’ve learned
his toast is burned
and crumbles more than most.

I’d like to push
him off the cliff,
but think the best solution
is try to…
Oh, never mind —
I’ll pray for absolution!

Bless Us!

Oh how quickly the mighty have fallen
from inhaling the powders of pollen,
though the lesser of us have as well
heard the clang of this element’s bell,
when our histamines rise up to fight
without care for our breathing or sight.
In this battle we’re coughin’ and wheezin’,
oft’, annoyingly, down for the season.

Mental Soap

So one may cope,
no need to tope
(nor turn to dope).
Don’t look into
the microscope.
and only on
occasion mope.
In darkness grope
to find the rope –
it’s in your scope…
then pull.

You’ll see. it is
attached to HOPE.

Full Tank

I’ve a tankful of thankful these days
for the people who’ve helped me in numerous ways.

I’ve a tankful of thankful for when,
despite this divide, we’re connecting again.

I’ve a tankful of thankful, but ache
for the sacrifice many are having to make.

I’ve a tankful of thankful, but yearn
for the health of all nations to launch (or return).

On the Brighter Side

My Boxer pup named Josephine
(I call her Joe for short),
embraces life in quarantine
while offering support.

Much like a clerk, she’s by my side
demanding interaction,
but in these times I must confide –
I welcome Joe’s distraction.

Though I suppose, if Joe could speak
there’s one regret she’d air;
it’s since I’m home, she cannot sneak
and slumber in my chair.

“Oh Jonas, dear, you’re back again. No better?” asked the nurse.

“My hands keep getting sweaty and my tummy bugs are worse!

“Ms Nightingale, what’s wrong with me? I’ve never felt this way.”

“You still don’t have a fever dear. I don’t know what to say.

“Remind me what you had to eat…”

“Some peanut butter toast
and then last night for dinner, we ate tater tots and roast.”

“So nothing that unusual? Let’s listen to your heart…
It’s beating slightly faster; you can rest here for a start.”

And while you’re resting Jonas, tell me how your day began.”

“I rode the bus, I got to school, I built a fort with Dan.

“Miss Johnson gave us pictures and I colored in the lines;
she read a book on friendship, then we passed out Valentines.”

As Jonas shifted on the bed, a card fell to the floor.
The nurse bent down to pick it up, “Now, who was this one for?”

“I made that card for Anna Lee. I brought her candy too.”
He pulled some melted chocolates from his pockets and said, “Ew!”

“So why do you still have them both?”

“Well, ‘cause…she smiled at me.”

“Oh Jonas dear, you’re stricken by a crush on Anna Lee!”

The Twelve Days Of Valentines…

It is that time of year again!! Susanna Leonard Hill’s has presented the challenge: write a 214-words or less Valentines story having to do with curiosity.