The Good Lord Giveth

“When God was handing out brains, you thought he said trains and yours hasn’t arrived yet.”

“Oh yeah? Well, when God was handing out heads, you thought he said beds, so you asked for a big, soft one.”

“Oh yeah? Well, when God was handing out noses, you thought he said roses, so you asked for a big, red one.”

“When God was handing out looks, you thought he said books, so you didn’t ask for any.”

“Well, when God was handing out chins, you thought he said gins, so you asked for a double.”

“Yeah? Well, when God was handing out legs, you thought he said kegs and asked for two fat ones.”

“Okay then. When God was handing out ears, you thought he said spears and asked for big, pointy ones.”

“When God was handing out eyes, you thought he said ties and asked for two crossed ones.”

“Oh, yeah? When God was handing out foreheads, you thought he said warheads and asked for the biggest they make.”

“When God was handing out teeth, you thought he said wreaths and asked for a load of green ones.”

“Well, when God was handing out shoulders, you thought he said boulders and asked for two round ones.”

“When God was handing out wives, you thought he said knives and asked for one that wasn’t too sharp.”

“When God was handing out kids, you thought he said lids and now people keep grabbing them by the ears trying to open them.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

*Some of these are oldies, but goodies, while the rest are my own. Can you come up with any?

Ode To Miss Mary Bennet

Miss Mary Bennet, life’s middle child:

Dour, unremarked and, by choosing, unstyled.

Watching your sisters play whist in their pairs

Consigned to their shadows, resigned to your prayers.

Oh, to be Jane! The most prized of them all

Who turned every head at the Netherfield Ball.

Or Lizzy, who routs senseless suitors through wit

Delighting your father more than he’d admit.

Would you be like Kitty who follows the crowd?

Or Lydia, brash and unsuitably loud?

Alas, those sweet psalms you impart by the dozen

Did fail in the end to secure you a cousin

And having entailed the estate to a son

The Bennets have lost and the Collins have won.

And so, dearest Mary, were God so to judge

Will your role be that of your poor mother’s drudge?

Or is your intended more than a mere dream

Who’s destined to save you as part of His scheme?

Now, blow out the candle and softly to bed

Let sleep chase such worriment out of your head.

And judge not too harshly, as you’re wont to do

For, one day our eyes may be turned toward you.

Root Cause

Noisy nests and early dawns

Hedgehogs digging up the lawns.

Whirring hives drip zooming bees

Syrup tapped from maple trees.

Newborns heading out to graze

Bike seats needing to be raised.

Buds appearing on a vine

Washing hanging on the line.

Little League and sowing hay

Storing skis and skates away.

Walking with a bit of swing

Raise the sash because it’s spring!

St Valentine’s Day Mascara

Monkey Waiting for a Kiss

I gave my heart to you, my love
One February night
Invoking all the saints above
I prayed you’d hold it tight.
And after we had made romance
For, that’s what I still call it,
You gave me such a loving glance
Then made off with my wallet.
The next day you were seen at lunch
With someone we both know.
Now, looking back, I have a hunch
My best friend’s your new beau.
According to my Visa bill
You both then saw a play
A great night out is greater still
If one needs never pay.
Faced with costly overruns
From two hearts hewn from stone,
On my part, not to be outdone
I hacked into your phone.
And so, my love, for us it ends
As does your victory lap
For, you’ve just messaged all your friends
To say you’ve got the clap.

Roll, Play

My love, you’re a Tahitian girl

That dances on the sand

Who charms the breeze with every twirl

And gesture of her hand.

My love, you’re absinthe through the veins

Each time my lips are kissed

A cruel elixir bringing pain

Which no man can resist.

My love, to me you are a song

Whose chorus fills the air

Inviting men to sing along

Allaying their despair.

My love, your powdered skin’s as soft

As petals on a rose

Its luring scent designed to waft

With each layer you expose.

Alas! Another’s at your door

I thank you for your art.

In truth, our love’s a game, no more

And you have played your part.