Poem-a-Day November 2018 Writer’s Digest Challenge #16. Theme: Brave

Culinary Courage

Being brave was eating her dad’s cooking;
being suicidal was eating at McDonald’s–
the latter being just a slow, gelatinous death.
With that kind of suicide,
you could still go to heaven–
not through the pearly gates perhaps,
but through the thresholds of the golden arches.


Writer’s Digest Wednesday Poetry Prompt #445: Special Day

Krystal Ball’s Daily Dose of Snake Oil

Virgo (Virgin, or so she claims)
(Aug 23-Sep 22)

Salutations and congratulations!  Today is your special day!  There may be rain heading your way, but you won’t let it pour on your parade, because your sunny personality (whether hidden under an umbrella or out there for all to see like the light side of the moon) will not be dampened.  Yin is out and Yang is in!

Your longing for love has been realized; a love story is writing itself—your self-love story!  Your soulmate is getting hot, hotter, but you are already on fire; if you haven’t met this kindred spirit already, perhaps it’s as easy as looking into the mirror.

There are some important decisions to be made; whether big or small, what you choose will determine your future, if not present, happiness, so go with your gut (which operates optimally when full.)  Today is the beginning of the rest of your life!

Drink more water to your health, and you just might find yourself in the right place at the right time, or not at the wrong place at the wrong time.

A bit of good fortune is heading your way some day in the future, so be prepared by being there, like really there.  Live in the moment and not in your head, because it may pass you by if you’re not paying attention.

Something big is coming!


Writer’s Digest Wednesday Poetry Prompt #441: Notice

When This Little Twiggy Went to Meat Market (Notice: All Sales Final)

Twiggy Piggy, a foxymoronic sow,
went to look for a smokin’ hot mammalian beefcake
with whom she could cook up something tasty
(like a litter of mini meatloaves).
She turned down Monsieur Filet Mignon
after he made the piggist comment
that his preference was Kosher.
When Ground Biff said he needed a little pink slime
to beef him up,
she sunk her teeth into Sir Porterhouse–
liking the largeness & tenderness of him.
But she realized her haste
when he cornered her in her sty
& said
that after he was well-done,
all that would be left would be her squeal.

Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 441

Writer’s Digest Wednesday Poetry Prompt #435: Reserved

The Bookworm in the Big Apple Tree

Pippin Applegate’s reserve of library books numbered the stars
(the kind that danced on reality TV),
but she hadn’t the time to read them,
for though her textbooks didn’t outnumber that stack,
they outweighed it by twenty pounds,
and she,
by significantly more.

Those textbooks–
as dense as her aunt Bobbi Dean’s triple butter buttermilkfat 5-pound cake,
(and Aunt B.D. herself)–
made her feel just as weighted down,
like Mr. Jonathan McIntosh when he was sauced.

Once she’d learned what she needed to know for a semester
(rather than a lifetime),
she returned to a life of wine, men, and poetry,
when she was feeling fat,
spent her sweet tea breaks noshing on the cake pop version of that pound cake,
to which her frenemies referred as “her daily dozen.”

Then came along Little Miss Honeycrisp,
demanding loads of dough from all who craved her,
making Pippin feel even more rotten,
for she–
a wannabe tart who’d been trying to pass as a Granny Smith
(the best for baking)–
more suited for mincemeat.

Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 435

#Micropoetry Monday: The Lighter Side


Mixed-Up Nuts
Peanut, Almond, & Cashew
went to get their DNA checked,
& found they had been totally cracked;
for Peanut, who was the only one
who liked to be boiled,
turned out not to be one of them,
but a legume.

Type A was the Bachelor of Science,
Type B, the Associate of Arts,
but Type O had University appeal—
being a Universal Donor.

Orange hated being lumped in with Apple,
as he was quite pithy & had a zest for life,
whereas Apple often ended up sauced.

Like a potato chip,
she was salted &
browned to a crisp.
When she was bagged,
she was just full of air.

Hammer, Anvil, & Stirrups
wanted to start a band called The Ossicles,
but sister Cochlea was too wired.
She told them to stop the racket,
& so the boys decided to translate sounds,
waxing at all hours.

Writer’s Digest Wednesday Poetry Prompt #366; Theme: Plus One

Plus/Minus Me

I was a Plus 1,
till I became 1 with Minus,
who totaled me out to O.
I became my worst,
plus-sized and multiplied
for less did not equal more.

He was the dash,
but I was not his dot,
turning me into a Double Negative,
canceling me out,
making me Positive.

So I became a heroine–
not a zeroine–
in the right man’s book,
gaining British pounds while
losing American ones.


Writer’s Digest Wednesday Poetry Prompt #361; Theme: Uplifting

Runneth Over

Bebe & CiCi Cupp
were fraternal twins who
fought for one man’s attention,
which sometimes kept them apart.

CiCi’s plumpness brought her down,
& Bebe was the pert new star,
that is, until DeeDee McCleavey,
a pair of identical twins—
almost Siamese in nature—
came bouncing around.

Bebe & CiCi were dumped,
putting them in a slump,
& crying all the way to A.A.,
where they learned that letters
were just a number.