I’m in Africa
For the very first time
And so it deserves
Its very own rhyme
Marrakech
To be specific
A lovely city
Really terrific
The cacti are green
The stucco is pink
I like the mint tea
A very good drink
Snake charmers
And acrobats
And people wearing
unusual hats
Bought some slippers
In Moroccan styles
I also like
The Marrakech tiles
The tajine is tasty
The temperature’s hot
Tomorrow the Sahara!
To give camel-riding a shot
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Sitting here
Feeling tortured
Cuz nothing rhymes
With apple orchard
And apples is
Another word
To rhyme something with
Is hard and absurd
But hubby said
Write today’s ditty
About the orchard we saw
But this ain’t pretty
And so about apples
You’ve learned nothing new
And I’m happy to say
This apple poem’s through
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For Hubby’s birthday–
He’s turning fifty
I had an idea
I thought kind of nifty
Fifty gifts for him
Given in three days
As we near the end
It’s kind of a haze
His mother is here
And has helped quite a bit
She contributed several
All were a hit
His brothers sent
A nice bottle of wine
My contributions
Weren’t nearly so fine
Some friends and the cat
Got in on the plans
Hubby has lots
Of generous fans
Décor for the garden
And also a teapot
Stuff for the kitchen
Was featured a lot
Most gifts were cheap
And many were silly
But most were of use
Since Hubby hates frilly
If he hits one hundred
Will I try this again?
Oh, sure why not?
Cuz we’re truly insane
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When it gets colder
Than I would like it
Hubby makes cocoa
And then he spikes it
Hot milk and chocolate
Would be fine enough
But Hubby adds other
Really good stuff
He throws in a dash
Of cocoa-chili blend
Hope we find more of it
When this jars ends
Remove from the stove
And then the fun starts
We debate with each other
What would most warm our hearts
A pour of Sambuca
Works well, I think
Hubby prefers rum
To be put in his drink
Sipping this stuff
Warms me right up
If not for the calories
I’d drink cup after cup
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This week’s embarrassing
Poetic confession
I go to the movies
For the concessions
And let’s make it
A bit more specific
I think movie popcorn
Is really terrific
Butter and salt?
Please pile it on
I’ll eat every kernel
Until it’s all gone
Popcorn I get
In large-supersized
The amount I can eat
Leaves people surprised
Hubby says
We’re married, let’s share
I say No way,
It wouldn’t be fair
You’d go for a handful
I’d push you away
I’m warning you all
To heed what I say
I really do need
A bucket all for me
And then I’ll be quiet
And watch the movie
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Hosting a party
And they all must be fed
Hubby and I will
Put on a mean spread
Appetizers, desserts
Champagne, beer, and wine
Serve them enough
And all will be fine
Pickled mixed veggies
Is one of our faves
And my guacamole
Always gets raves
I’ll make the biscuits
Hubby cooks ham
Give ‘em something Southern
It’s all in our plan
Water chestnuts in bacon
For something served warm
Forgetting the cheese platter
Would not be good form
Folks with a sweet tooth
Will not be forsaken
Three kinds of cookies
Are all in the makin’
And peanut butter truffles
To add something new
We hope everyone’s happy
When our party is through
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A holiday about tradition
Merits another poetic rendition
That’s at least my humble position
I say this with zero contrition
Thanksgiving is the best!
Cookbooks scattered here and there
Tables, counters, everywhere
As hubby wonders what to pair
With his pumpkin pudding éclair
New recipes to test!
Turkey’s easy, at that we’re pros
Gravy and stuffing, but then who knows?
Sweet or russet mashed potatoes?
And as for veggies, anything goes
Saute well, add lemon zest!
Friends and family will arrive
Thanks you guys for making the drive
And for new dishes you all contrive
So on Thanksgiving we will thrive
And afterwards will need a rest!
In case you were curious, here is last year’s poem
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Quinoa I hear
Is a kind of a grain
Although I keep trying
I find it too plain
Liking the stuff
Is rather a strain
Quinoa I hear
Is a way healthy treat
It’s good for my blood
And likely my feet
Antioxidants galore
Nutrients replete
Quinoa I hear
Can be made into pasta
I’m willing to try it
Since little the costa
But why am I certain
It will be quite a losta?
Quinoa I hear
Can be made into chips
Salted and fried
To add pounds to my hips
But still I won’t like
How it tastes on my lips
Quinoa I hear
Is so good for me
But I’ve tried it and tried it
And now I shall plea
That my diet remain
Healthy quinoa free
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A favorite nibble at our wedding brunch
On a small sandwich it was fun to munch
Guest voices rose in a crescendo, please
Give us more of that pimento cheese
A special spread southerners admire
When Yankees try it they get quite inspired
To eat the stuff a lot and more
What is this creation, they do implore
Southerners call it pimento cheese
Not sure you can get it overseas
But in the south it’s a common treat
Without which no buffet is ever complete
I like it especially on burgers grilled
When I do this for friends they become rather thrilled
Their voices rise in a crescendo, please
Give us more of that pimento cheese
Where do you get these pimentos, they ask
Pulling them from olives must be quite a task
They come in a jar all by themselves
Right there in the store on the canned veggie shelves
Add onion and mayo to plain old cheddar
And chop in pimentos to make it taste better
A dab of mustard to top off the spread
Refrigerate three hours and then go ahead
And serve it to friends at your next dinner party
But warn them ahead it is rather hearty
Their voices will rise in a crescendo, please
Give us more of that pimento cheese.
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Roses are red
Black raspberries are, umm, black
This little ditty will prove
That I’m a poetic hack
I like black raspberries
They make me say the word “yum”
But right now they are causing me
A peculiar conundrum
Their bushes are close by
On the outskirts of my yard
So what’s the problem you may ask
That makes picking them so hard?
The berries are beautiful
They’re ripening quite nicely
But here’s the situation
That makes picking them rather dicey
The berries are entwined
Amongst a very dangerous vine
This plant has leaves three
And yes those leaves do shine
Protected by poison ivy
I’ll leave the berries be
Perhaps the birds will eat them
But those berries are safe from me
Roses are red
Black raspberries are, umm, black
And that’s the latest news
From the outskirts of my Vermont shack
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