Confessions of a New Age Failure

Confessions of a New Age Failure

 meditation

My Karma’s hit a snafu

My third eye’s on the blink

My Chakra lights are dimming

And my Guru is a fink

 

My mantra it has asthma

My Buddha’s out to lunch

To top it off my psychic’s got

Her bloomers in a bunch

Buddah out to lunch_s

 My levitation doesn’t work

My Medium’s not rare

My Kirlian Photography

Just makes me want to swear!

 

My paradigm it doesn’t shift

My Om has left the room

My stupid cosmic consciousness

Is full of doom and gloom

 

My ESP is DOA

My dowser is a louse

My Astral Body’s far too fat

My aura wears a blouse!

psychic

So to  you all I bid adieu

And hope you won’t be bitter

But when it comes to New Age stuff

My higher self’s a quitter

 Thrid eye

Irena Delphina Hot Diggity Dog

 

Irena Delphina Hot Diggity DogIrena Delphina Hot Diggity Dog

In the parlance of engines was merely a cog

 

In the gearshift of life she was quite unexciting

(She had nothing to do with, say, spark plugs igniting)

 

Her job was more blah, more boring, more simple

She was put on this earth to showcase her dimple

 

And stand on her tiptoes with arms stretched apart

While posing for drawings of horrible art

 

Oh if only the artist could draw her an ocean

She’d sit by the sea and imagine the motion

 

Or maybe the artist could draw her Mt. Zion

She could hike to the top with a leash on a lion

 

Is it any surprise that Irena’s not pompous

When the drawings of her are so catty and wampus?

 

Is it safe to assume that she’ll never be seen

Staring up from the pages of Vogue magazine?

 

Poor Irena Delphina Hot Diggity Dog

She’s destined forever to live in this blog

Confessions of a New Age Failure

 meditation

My Karma’s hit a snafu

My third eye’s on the blink

My Chakra lights are dimming

And my Guru is a fink

 

My mantra it has asthma

My Buddha’s out to lunch

To top it off my psychic’s got

Her bloomers in a bunch

Buddah out to lunch_s

 My levitation doesn’t work

My Medium’s not rare

My Kirlian Photography

Just makes me want to swear!

 

My paradigm it doesn’t shift

My Om has left the room

My stupid cosmic consciousness

Is full of doom and gloom

 

My ESP is DOA

My dowser is a louse

My Astral Body’s far too fat

My aura wears a blouse!

psychic

So to  you all I bid adieu

And hope you won’t be bitter

But when it comes to New Age stuff

My higher self’s a quitter

 Thrid eye

Tary Not Dear Gwendolyn

Peculiar PoetryTary not dear Gwendolyn

O’er ice cream, cake or pie

Your stomach never proves to be

Much smaller than your eye

 

Tary not dear Gwendolyn

When heaping full your platter

A garden salad? Or french fries?

(You know you’ll choose the latter!)

 

Tary not dear Gwendolyn

With pralines in the pantry

Sweets like these although they please

 Make waists turn vigilante

 

Tary not dear Gwendolyn

On scents of roast beef gravy

Such nourishment will only serve

To make your waddle wavy

 

Until next time . . . I love you

 

The Neck of Polly Petunia Penelope Peck

Polly Petunia Penelope Peck

 

Polly Petunia Penelope Peck

Had a heck of a time with her tubular neck

 

When through the town’s center she’d venture to walk

People whipped on their glasses in order to gawk

 

Her head bobbled and wobbled and tilted unsteady

(Which is par for the course when your neck’s like spaghetti)

 

And when desert winds blew from the south (Santa Anas)

Her neck!  It would bow like Chiquita Bananas!

 

Twas in such a state that she met her man, Nate

(He’s a sucker for woman whose necks oscillate)

 

And married got they — on the fourth of  July

Polly wore shorts and a turtleneck (high)

 

And happy they lived all their lives ever after

With Nate’s head in the clouds and hers in the rafter

* * * 

Until next time . . . I love you

The Smears of a Clown

Welcome to Wednesday (again)!  It ‘s time for Friday Fictioneers.

Here’s this weeks 100-word story inspiration picture by Janet Webb over at  This, That and the Other Thing:

janet-webbs-sangria
Copyright Janet Webb

The Smears of a Clown

Penelope Snoots was the talk of the town

When she married a man from the circus (a clown)

Who thought himself clever at messing around

With oil paints, charcoals and color crans (brown)

 

His  pockets were empty – he was really quite vain

(Though his face was Picasso on drugs when it rained)

Yet Penelope loved him in ways unexplained

Cause her wine limit was . . . shall we say . . .  unconstrained?

 

One day he took fruit and chopped it up nicely

Combined strawberries, wine and cantaloupes thricely

He killed her and placed her on ice cubes concisely

Then he painted Penelope’s portrait precisely

 

"See how much better I can paint you when you hold still, Penelope?"
“See how much better I can paint you when you hold still, Penelope?  I know you can’t answer that.  It was rhetorical.”

Of course Wednesday means it’s time for 100-words of fun hosted every week by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple.  Pop over and join us.  The more the merrier!

Until next time . . . I love you