Tag Archives: :)

Random Tiny Equation

silverware. . .

sometimes it’s plated

which is ironic,

if you think about it

–like saying an


car is tired,

and sometimes it’s beveled

–which is less funny, and mostly unnecessary–

like a Photoshop filter that perplexes. . .

sometimes forks

have 3 tines,

and sometimes 5,

and I dunno–

I prefer 5 to Trident

so I never gulp it down

by accident.

Sometimes spoons are


and sometimes

spoons are silver,

and sometimes spoons

are sporks!!

my favorite kinda spoon–

since we all knows what comes after spooning. . .


and if you rip open that plastic ware

well, spork you, right?

sometimes knives are


and sometimes

knives are kept

in back

–usually a last minute thing—

but I prefer

chomping at the bits, anyway

/ to cutting up __

since my farce is often lost

in translation,

and no matter how you do

 that math

–you need it to complete the set.


S’nooze to Me

at Dark o’clock

I let go of Y’s,

& catch some Zzz’s

–my close up

finally at hand.

a La-La land hitchhiker





I never retire

hells, no, I

turn in


to someone else—

cast invariably in the

starring roll, it’s

— something else—

and involves quite a bit of farm-work, first I

count sheep, and then I

–tell Mary–

hit hay, and then I

–look for that needle, I suppose—

saw logs

for ranch house repair

before I get

the Nod

to knock off,

for the night-night—

a runaway success


taking 5—

(or 40)




Colored Contacts


Black & white,

is quite all write,

when penning any verses…

but world sans,

a rainbow band,

is bland and quite accursed.


Yes, light’s destroyed,

in blackest void,

& white –though bright—is empty…

but hue I choose,

to shade unused,

can fill it full of plenty.


By purest chance,

I’ve kept my glance,

the color of first blush…

with rosy specs,

all grey deflects,

surrounding views as flush.


I’m in the pink

–and so is ink–

behind my fuchsia goggles…

my wordy rows,

a different prose,

since world view has toggled.


©Karen Robiscoe

daily prompt: local color

Cleric Merrick

Charron's Chatter for funny writing
a writer’s pallet is

a lonely one, sometimes

a ticking stuck through with straws

of all kind–

short, grasp, last, & long,
and never a pen when you need one….

sharing sheets with phantoms

that aren’t even dressed

–for an Opera—

of course, and

who’s Opera, you say?

Why, it isn’t a Who

but a What:

an exaggerated recounting

of an otherwise


(Reality TV)


How exaggerated?

Well, it ain’t over ’til the Fat Lady sings…


that bitch gets her vibrato on through the entire thing–

I mean the entire thing!

Great time to nap,

whaddya suppose her most unusual plaint is?

You’ll never guess–

it’s the greasepaint,

of all things

the greasepaint.

even after the show vestigial traces

mar her everyday collars, too.

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