A Poem: Wordle Word Rolling Behind My Eyelids

A thank you to all my friends who’ve gotten me into the wordle word craze. What would my life be without you?

Thanks to all of you
I now close my eyes to sleep
and see wordle words
rolling behind my eyelids
instead of counting sheep

I wake in the middle of the night
with wordle words in my head –
“sight, tight, write, fight,
light, might, right” – is “shite”
a wordle word? I ask as I lie in bed.

One of you mentioned “octordle” last week
and I felt myself getting ascared –
What next? I asked myself in a panic –
will there be Spanish wordles and French ones?
Oh, merde.
-Karen Molenaar Terrell

(Originally published in Humoristianity.wordpress.com)

Thoughts on Humorship

I do, of course, know everything. Mostly. Now and then. I mean… well… even a clock, right? And I AM the co-founder of Humoristianity. Which. That certainly (possibly?) gives me some expertise (okay, not really) on the art of humorship. So, as a possible maybe expert on humor, here are my thoughts about the art of comedy:

My favorite comedians are the ones who can laugh at THEMSELVES. I love people who don’t take themselves too seriously – comedians who recognize their OWN flaws and make fun of their OWN nonsense. (Lucille Ball was a great example of this.)

I also have respect for those comedians who aren’t afraid to laugh at the powerful and the corrupt – who aren’t afraid to use their art to battle injustice and inequity and bigotry – I might even consider those comedians to be heroes. (Charlie Chaplin in “The Great Dictator” is a great example of this.)

But the “comedians” who make fun of people with disabilities or medical conditions, or who make fun of people because of their age or gender or race – who make fun of other people because of their physical appearance – those comedians are bullies, not heroes, and I don’t find them particularly funny.

In my highly (questionable) expert opinion, cruelty is not funny. My first lesson to those wanting to be funny is to laugh at yourself before you laugh at anyone else. Laugh at your biggest enemy – your own ego.

Karen

Groucho Karen

Figurative Language: A Poem

I apologize. I have no excuse for this. What you see here is an English teacher with some extra time on her hands.

Figurative Language

A poem is like a simile.
A poem is a metaphor –
stepping, stretching, strolling,
striding, sliding until you soar.
A poem can sing or cry or wail
– it can BOOM or it can ROARRR –
a poem can lift your heart to the sky
or be the biggest bombastic bore.
A poem can shatter you and make you cry
or carry you to a distant shore.
And you can find within THIS poem
personification, alliteration, and more.
-Karen Molenaar Terrell

(Photo of snow geese by Karen Molenaar Terrell.)

Escapee Cricket

I spied an escapee cricket in the PetSmart store today,
hopping down the aisle past dog toys and making a left
at dog food.
I wanted to cup him in my hands and take him outside,
but I realized that would be shop-lifting.
So I let him hop on and wished him well.
-Karen Molenaar Terrell

The Christmas Tree’s Final Decoration

Like last year, this year I did not want to kill any trees. I just don’t have it in me anymore. So, like last year, Scott cut off an extra trunk growing on our redwood in the back field. Scott said we were actually saving the redwood by cutting off the extra trunk because if a wind came it would split that baby right down to the nubs. This tree has character. Or maybe… this tree IS a character… It fits right in with the family.

Hold on… I think I’ll go put some Groucho glasses on it…

A Christmas Story in Homonymese

Two my deer English teacher friends (and those who speak Homonymese) –
Eye thought it mite bee nice two give ewe sum thing too play with two-day. Sew eye give ewe a Christmas story:

Once upon a thyme inn a land far, far away, their lived a young girl named Surely. Surely was a suite child and was all weighs looking four opportunities too give two those around her.

Won mourning, as Surely walked down the rode into the town of Bethlehem, she past the in they’re and heard a we baby crying inn the manger. Surely all weighs carried her drum set with her (because who doesn’t, write?) and – bee-ing the suite child she was decided two play her drums for the knew baby boy.

She maid quite a racquet, let me tell ewe. Pretty soon people were paying her too stop. She gave the money too the baby’s parents, Merry and Joseph. Because she was thoughtful like that.

The End.
-Karen Molenaar Terrell

Snow in Bow

Only Five More Days

My dear Humoristian hooligans –

Only five more days. Whatever befalls, know that your humor and wit, courage and honesty, compassion and kindness, have mattered. You have made a difference in our world. None of the good you’ve done has been wasted. I am so grateful to know you – each and every radiant, rascally, raspberry-blowing rapscallion one of you.

The world needs you. May those weary wanderers athirst for a kind word in a desert of rudeness find comfort in your good-natured cheer. May the ascared and lonely find hope in the smiling eyes above your masks. May you bring laughter to those in desperate need of a healthy guffaw. May the the bigots, bullies, braggarts, and busybodies be transformed by your irrepressible, irresistible joy and good will.

Polish your kazoos, bring out the whoopee cushions, don your Groucho glasses and your Lucy wigs – avail yourselves of every tool in your Humoristian bag of tricks – and go out there and work your magic!
Karen “Wingoof-Wingoov” Molenaar Terrell