kiwords

I know I’ve been missing for a few days. Much to my chagrin, it seems I’ve been remiss in blogging duties. I have been TAGGED! Not once, but TWICE!

You love me, you really love me.

Or maybe not, because the first tag? Was from Chris, who included me in a round of “turd poetry.”

Ahem.

The rules are thus: Lines 1 & 2 have to consist of the charmingly visual, “turd in a punch bowl,” lines 2 & 4 have to rhyme.

Well, you can understand how that got my creative juices flowing. I mean, to have my innate POETRY, the POETRY of my soul recognized in such a way…well, I was a touch overcome for a bit.

I would have scurried to the computer IMMEDIATELY to post my contribution to the formidable body of work that is turd poetry, but then…um…hey, have I ever told you that I don’t get sick? No, it’s true. I’m freakishly healthy; just ask me, I’ll tell you.

So last week when my children all contracted this sneezy, coughy, headachy cold thing, and proceeded to generously slather me with their germ teeming snot, well. You might have worried that I might actually get sick myself? No! No no no! Because I. Don’t. Get. Sick.

Except in the past few days? When I wasn’t getting sick? I was also busy sneezing, blowing my nose, coughing, and whining, soft and low. It’s a good thing I DON’T get sick, because that would have been unpleasant, doncha think?

Then Grandma and Grandpa’s annoying little dog, Heidi, came to stay here a few days. She’s this squat, fat as heck, miniature schnauzer. And she arrived in the morning, took one look at Carmi (who out weighs her by a solid 50 pounds – and Carmi is NOT fat), and decided she would have to scrap with Carmi for the position of top dog. So my weekend was punctuated with the following scene:

Heidi: (walking underneath Carmi, is overcome by aggression, turns to nip at her ankles) YIP! YIP! YIP! HA! Am I the boss now? YIP! YIP, I SAY!

Carmi: (looking irritated, places one paw on Heidi’s head) Bark. Seriously, dog. I could eat you and not even burp. Chill.

Me: Sneeze! I’m not sick.

So you can see it wasn’t time to plumb the depths of poetry in my soul. But now? Now I am ready. I have meticulously crafted the following poem. A careful reading will show you that the phrase “in a punch bowl” is, in my work, a metaphor for “on the living room carpet,” a metaphor I’ve carefully carried through the entire piece.

What? That’s not what a metaphor is? SILENCE! WHO IS THE POET HERE?

Thank you.

Humph.

Turd in a punch bowl,

What can this be?

Turd in a punch bowl,

Eat the little dog, Carmi.

I know, it brings a little tear to the eye, doesn’t it? And now (assuming modestly that I haven’t expressed the PINNACLE of turd poetry) I nominate Genuine, Sheri, and Tori to write their own turd poetry. If you are too busy (or too intimidated by my work – understandable), no biggie. I won’t judge you or berate you in iambic pentameter. (Chicken.) And if anyone else is MOVED to write their own turd poetry, please let me know, so I can be…um…edified by your offering.

Moving on.

Jen also tagged me, this time to finish five of the following sentences:

If I could be a scientist
If I could be a farmer
If I could be a psychologist
If I could be a librarian
If I could be an inn-keeper
If I could be a professor
If I could be a writer
If I could be a llama-rider
If I could be a bonnie pirate
If I could be an astronaut
If I could be a world famous blogger
If I could be a justice on any one court in the world
If I could be married to any current famous political figure

Ok, then! Lessee…

If I could be a writer, I would spend my days frustrated, trying to get to my computer, and failing in the face of my many other duties. Wait a minute…

If I could be an astronaut, I would think I was very very cool, but would be CERTAIN I was going to blow up upon re-entry, and would spend much time berating myself for my selfish career choice that was going to leave my children orphans. I would perhaps spend SO MUCH time berating myself that I would actually CAUSE the explosion, which is another good reason not to be an astronaut. The first reason being math.

If I could be a bonnie pirate I would be pretty annoying, because I understand from the authoritative tome “How I Became a Pirate” that pirates don’t brush their teeth. This would leave me feeling very insecure, and I would go around whining at the other pirates, “No, really, do you still think I’m bonnie with this breath? Really? Because I don’t understand about the tooth brushing thing…plus, would it kill anyone to use some deodorant around here?”

If I could be a world famous blogger…what, I’m not? Really? Well then. I suppose if I could be a world famous blogger my life would be basically the same, except I wouldn’t be sulking Right Now.

If I could be married to any current famous political figure, I’d be having an affair with Clay. Ok, no I wouldn’t, because neither of us would DO such a thing, but I’d probably fantasize about him. *sigh* He’s rilly, rilly cute, you know.

Yay! I have fulfilled my tag-ed duties. Oh, except I have to nominate three people for the sentence finishing thing. Let me think…how about Linda, Shelley, and Heather?

And now I am done. Smoooches, all!