Humor

Picking Up Sticks

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Picking Up Sticks

Go and bend
And go and bend and stand
Bend and look
Go and look and bend

And stand and bend and
Stand and look around
Oh no there’s more
There are more fucking sticks

Huff and puff
And go and reach and bend
Walk and pile and look
And go and bend and stand

And rake and clip
Go and bend and stand
And wheeze and cough
And pile near the road

And come back in the house
And grunt and groan
And sit back in the lounge
And open up a book

(Inspired by my husband, Dennis)

©Diane E. Dockum
April 11, 2015

What to Wear?

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What to Wear?

 

 

What to wear — What to wear?

The rain started just as the

Sun should have come out,

But snowflakes, large as silver dollars,

Replaced the drops

Soon after.

And they said it will be

In the fifties today, so

My boots will serve

This morning,

But, I will carry my

Crocs™ with the holes in them

For later and

The scarf is okay,

But, I’ll wear the coat

Without the buttons

Over my sweater

And I’ll bring my

Sunglasses just in case.

Before April is finished

I am sure I will have worn

My parka and sandals

In the same day.

 

 

© Diane E. Dockum, 2015

Dog In The Morning

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Dog In The Morning

Back to the highway,

The yellow dog

Faces the flower-bed.

Stoic –

Silent –

Unflinching,

He watches mums

And Gladiolas;

The Tiger Lilies dance.

Dog-butt in the dew-laden grass,

He too is planted.

Regal chin held level.

What is he thinking?

The cars pass by

Unchased.

by Diane E. Dockum

Crows At The Park

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Like a family at a picnic

They were trying to be together,

But they didn’t get along.

Well, not completely.

Tolerating each other’s presence, they walked about and

Checked out the scenery; stood at the edge of the river

With hands on hips, making polite noises

Watching lily pads float.

Then someone found a good thing

In the garbage. That’s when the trouble started.

They argued and pulled at it until the biggest one

Flew away with it in his beak,

But it was too heavy, and he dropped it…big mistake.

The rest of them swatted it with wings and stabbed at it with

Talons, until a breeze came by and blew it into the river.

They stared after it

Making side-ways glances at each other

Until it was forgotten

Because some new smells drifted across the campground.

They flew in circles

Landing in the branches of pines.

Except one, who still paced the shoreline

In the shadow of the picnic table

Knowing he could get it back if he tried.

© Diane E. Dockum, Just Beyond The Hill, 2008

Available at Xlibris.com  and Amazon.com

FOUR SILLY LIMERICKS

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ONE

 

There once was a sparrow named Jack

Who said “I’m a duck, I can quack!”

He jumped in the moat,

Made a quack in his throat,

The fish had a nice little snack!

 

TWO

 

A man with a giant physique

Wore shoes that would constantly squeak.

So, often he chose

To butter his toes.

They smelled rancid just after a week.

 

THREE

 

While making a strawberry float

An elephant, cat and a goat,

Two mice and a hen,

Six toads and a wren

All whistled a high sounding note.

 

FOUR

 

There once was a serious monk

Who startled a very large skunk.

His butt hole was pink,

He let off a stink,

The skunk hit the ground in a funk!

 

© Diane E. Dockum, 2014

 

On The Inside

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On the inside I am sitting on a large boulder

On top of a mountain singing

To the music of the sunset

As I play my guitar.

The breeze gently lifts

My dark waist length hair,

And silver bracelets are sliding

Up my slender left arm, as I find the chords.

The long skirt I wear is colorful

And comfortable, it brushes against

The bracelet on my ankle, and the setting sun

Glints on the crystal toe ring on my right fourth toe.

On the inside I smell like warm

Summer sunlight and Patchouli flowers.

I am wise and have great spiritual knowledge.

I give good advice.

Of course no one sees this inside.

My outer surface is very different

And I appear to be a woman of a certain age

Having a weight problem.

On the inside I rise above this

Unfortunate circumstance

And listen to the music

Playing in my heart.

©September 29, 2013

Diane E. Dockum

Never Hug A Thistle

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Never Hug A Thistle

Never hug a thistle

It is easy to explain

A thistle is so prickly

And it gives you lots of pain

Though you try to cuddle

And hold it more and more

A thistle doesn’t want it

And makes you very sore

Never hug a thistle

Though her blossom’s like a star

If you try to get too close

She will leave you with a scar

Though you hold it to your heart

And you stroke its fuzzy leaves

The thistle with its stabbing thorns

Will really make you bleed

If you’ve ever hugged a porcupine

You know just how they bristle

Well the same thing happens often

When you try to hug a thistle

Never hug a thistle

I’ve said this twice or thrice

A thistle doesn’t like it

She just isn’t very nice

So, if you know a thistle

And I think perhaps you do

Keep your distance and just whistle

Or she will damage you

By Diane E. Dockum

June 9, 2013

He said, She said

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He said, She said

It was raining

And the clouds were gray

In spots

I sat in a corner booth

Drinking coffee

They were college young

He wore a beret

She, a short blonde cut

He asked her why she’d called

She said I missed you like crazy

He pretended to cry

He wanted a sirloin steak

She said it was too expensive

He said she sounded just like his mother

She felt that was lame

He wanted moist, soft meat

That slid right down

The conversation I’m sure

Had sexual undertones

He giggled like a girl

I think she missed him

But she didn’t know why

She studied macrophysics

He had transferred in from Harvard

She mentioned her boyfriend

He asked if he was banned From her room

Probably, she said

Her boyfriend needed to see him first

No offence

But he looked twelve

The wings and dip came

He wanted to share

But Erica, that’s her name,

Said she couldn’t

Share dip,

She absolutely couldn’t

Share dip

Even with her boyfriend

He said she should see a doctor

She had issues

They talked about Los Vegas

And when he lived in Europe

And when he went to Amsterdam

During Thanksgiving

And then Paris at Easter

I could hear the chicken wings

Smacking On their lips

A crow walks…

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A crow walks

the yellow line,

head bobbing,

wings folded,

boldly braving traffic,

focused on

the banana peel

glistening,

its heady scent

wafting with the breeze.

Just the thing

for his stash

of rotting rubbish.

Reluctant,

he relinquishes

the pavement

for a car,

only to return

cawing at the air

cheering his own gall.

 

By Diane E. Dockum

 

 

Rooster & Bear Go Fishing ~ Chapter 3

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Rooster & Bear Go Fishing

Chapter Three

By Diane Dockum

 Rooster and Bear sat on the bank of the stream with their fishing poles. Bear wished he were alone. Rooster was in his glory. The sun was bright and sparkled on the water. The air was fresh and clean.

Rooster threw back his head and let out a most awesome crow. He couldn’t help it. He was, after all, a rooster.

“SH-sh-sh” Bear said, clamping Rooster’s open beak shut with his big paw. “You’ll scare the fish away!” he reeled in his line with a jerk left and a jerk right, mumbling to himself.

Rooster stared and blinked his bright yellow eyes. He cast out his line again and wiggled his bottom down into a comfortable spot on the grass.

A beautiful rainbow colored trout leaped above the water and grabbed hold of Rooster’s line, yanking it away. It was a very big fish. Bear saw it and dropped his pole. He jumped up and started yelling instructions to Rooster.

“Hold on, hold on … now give him some slack, you got it, you got it! Start reeling him in! Pull this way – pull that way…”

“Quiet,” said Rooster, “you’ll scare him.” And he snapped his beak shut.

The big sparkling fish decided to swim up stream and Rooster, being a bird of meager* build, left the bank in a flutter of feathers and was yanked into the water, with a squawk. *(Here “meager” means slender, slight or mostly made of feathers, and not at all very strong.)

Bear’s mouth dropped open and his paws covered his face. (He was laughing, but didn’t want Rooster to see him.)

“Help!” cried Rooster as he was dragged over the rocks and up the stream.

Bear lumbered out into the water and cast his line as hard as he could. The hook attached itself to Rooster’s fishing vest and for a moment he was suspended above the water in a sort of tug-of-war moment.

Then the fish let go and Rooster flew backward toward Bear, who was standing on a large wet rock in the middle of the stream. Bear saw him coming, but didn’t think fast enough. Bear forgot to duck.

With his feet kicking wildly Rooster hit Bear in the middle of his chest and knocked him into the water.

Bear locked his right arm across Rooster’s throat, partly to save his life, and partly to shut him up, and swam heroically to shore.

“Sorry Bear,” Rooster crowed softly.

-end-