Susan Noyes Anderson » Humorous Poetry

Sticky Fingers

admin — Wed, 21 Mar 2012 16:47:50 +0000

It was only ninety-eight cents,

but giving it up made her tense.

She was found at the scene…

near the gumball machine.

Caught red-handed without a defense!

(Fingerprints make for strong evidence…)

Word Verification Rant

admin — Wed, 21 Mar 2012 16:26:57 +0000

Word verification is not my thing.

No added safety does it bring.

It only takes a lot of time

and makes commenting less sublime.

At first, I had it too, you know?

It took some nerve to let it go.

But others bloggers cheered me on,

and they were glad when it was gone.

The dreadful problems I had feared

without it, never once appeared.

No spam, no weirdos, no remorse…

just lots more comments! So, of course,

I did not turn it off in vain.

Word verification is a pain!

Resolution, Schmezolution

admin — Sat, 07 Jan 2012 07:01:10 +0000

Resolution! Schmezolution!

This year, I’m resolved

to make no resolutions

because failure is involved.

No plans, no goals, no promises.

No journal, chart, or list.

No calendar that goes unstarred

for every day I’ve missed.

No weekly ruminations over

changes not achieved.

No self-defeating burials

of good intentions grieved.

No self-recrimination or

disparagement at all.

No personal experience

of how the mighty fall.

No feeling like a loser as

the year rolls to an end.

No starting fresh on New Year’s Day

and trying to pretend.

‘Cause this time WON’T be different.

Join my cause and face the facts.

The Resolution Revolution:

"Just give goals the axe."

The Cure

admin — Sat, 08 Oct 2011 17:46:00 +0000

When chamomile tea she slurped,

Leigh stayed awake but soundly burped.

The melatonin was okay,

but left her groggy the next day.

Lunesta was discarded soon;

it had her barking at the moon.

Hops didn’t live up to its name;

Leigh's lack of sleep remained the same.

The Ambien she had to change

because it made her act so strange.

Sheets sprayed with lavender smelled sweet

but could not wakefulness defeat.

Warm milk went over like a brick;

sans chocolate, it just made her sick.

Valerian, the slumber root,

was nothing but a vain pursuit.

And yet a fix Leigh finally found.

At last her sleep was deep and sound.

The best and only cure of all?

You guessed it! Friday night football.

Words Fail Me

admin — Sun, 04 Sep 2011 15:28:10 +0000

Words Fail Me

You are my sunshine in the morning

and my northern star at night.

You’re the clouds that give me warning

when the storm is out of sight.

You are water when my well runs dry,

a breath of clean, fresh air.

You’re the castle in my star-crossed sky,

a blessing and a prayer.

If an ill wind blows my boat too far,

I set my sails for you.

In the dawn of each new day, you are

the sweet, distilling dew.

Every load I bear is lighter

as you lend your strength to mine.

Every song I sing is brighter

when our voices intertwine.

Your music lifts me, fills me up.

My heart stands all amazed.

I honor you; I raise my cup;

I drink you in, quite dazed.

You are my one and only love,

Prince Charming plus; it’s true…

The King of All Clichés, because

I can’t find words for you.

You are my sunshine in the morning

and my northern star at night.

You’re the clouds that give me warning

when the storm is out of sight.

You are water when my well runs dry,

a breath of clean, fresh air.

You’re the castle in my star-crossed sky,

a blessing and a prayer.

If an ill wind blows my boat too far,

I set my sails for you.

In the dawn of each new day, you are

the sweet, distilling dew.

Every load I bear is lighter

as you lend your strength to mine.

Every song I sing is brighter

when our voices intertwine.

Your music lifts me, fills me up.

My heart stands all amazed.

I honor you; I raise my cup;

I drink you in, quite dazed.

You are my one and only love,

Prince Charming plus; it’s true…

The King of All Clichés, because

I can’t find words for you.

Come Into My Parlor

admin — Sun, 17 Jul 2011 07:55:50 +0000

“I’m not getting any younger,”

said the spider to the fly.

When into my web you blunder,

could you let me know you’re nigh?

My eight eyes are growing dimmer,

My eight legs are growing lame.

This arachnid’s getting slimmer.

(I’m not saying you’re to blame.)

But if you would be my dinner,

it would be so awfully nice.

As a meal you’d be a winner.

You won’t have to ask me twice.

I will open wide for you, dear.

I will savor every bite.

It’s a lovely thing you do, dear.

Thanks for dropping in. G’night!

The Ballad of St. Joan: A Cautionary Tale

admin — Tue, 21 Jun 2011 16:15:23 +0000

Joan didn’t want to sing next week.

What happened to free choice?

She didn’t need a chance to grow;

she had a perfect voice.

“So hold the guilt trip, please,” thought she,

“and just leave me alone…

The church might want to share it, but

this talent is my own.”

She loved to sing. She really did,

but only now and then.

She sang for Easter, and when

Christmas came, she’d sing again.

It wasn’t like they paid her;

she did all this stuff for free,

and sometimes that accompanist

would miss a note…or three.

Joan’s talent was a cut above,

the kind that lifts and lingers.

She clung to it so tightly that

it slipped right through her fingers.

All in the Family

admin — Wed, 18 May 2011 18:11:03 +0000

I’ve got the nose of Uncle Gene,

the eyes of Grandpa Fred,

the mouth of Aunt Virginia, and

the chin of Cousin Ted,

the hair of Grandma Applegate,

the Okelberry ear…

And if they ever take them back,

my head will disappear!

Not Every Turkey Gobbles

admin — Sat, 20 Nov 2010 20:35:16 +0000

“Pardon me,” said Tom T. Urkee,

“but I’d like to say a word.

Let me make this clear, not murky.

I’m a man and not a bird.

Why must people be so jerky

when Thanksgiving rolls around?

They just look at me all smirky

and inquire ‘How much per pound?’

Sure, I know I’m kinda quirky;

I’ll admit that I’m a geek,

but I’m not THAT kind of turkey.

I’ve a nose and not a beak.

Henny-Penny, Turkey-Lurkey,

Cocky-Locky…beaks galore.

I’m a dork from Albuquerque.

I can’t take this any more!

Call me dweeb instead of turkey.

Call me doofus; call me drip.

Just don’t look at me all perky,

like you wanna take a nip.

I am not THAT kind of turkey.

I’m a GUY, so shut your lip!”

Grandpa’s A Really Good Guy, Oh My!

admin — Wed, 03 Feb 2010 16:19:24 +0000

Grandpa’s a really good guy.

He knows how to make a kid fly.

He fills up his jeanses

with bright jelly beanses

and blasts our blood sugar sky-high.

~ the end ~

but not the end