R E L I G I O U S R E M I N D E R
My father said, “Son, we’ve discussed
How vital it is to have trust
In God’s secret ways
And live out our days
With faith that we’re more than just dust.”
© 2021 David E. Miller (incl. photo)
Bad poetry versus the world
Today we are cursing the cloning machine
That copied the Prime Metamorphosis Gene
Of Ovid, the great Roman poet
The lab work succeeded, although it
Created a mutant dubbed Ovid-19
© 2021 David E. Miller
Elf frustration
A fantasy author, while combing his shelf,
Detected the smell of a small woodland elf
“An elf has slipped out of my book!
He’ll hide where my eyes do not look
And can’t be talked into revealing himself…”
© 2021 David E. Miller
Frankenstein’s monster: brainless and harmless
The doctor applied elbow grease to an arm
“Now raise your arm higher… That works like a charm!
I’ve named you Maurice
Now go keep the peace
And prove to the townsfolk you mean them no harm!”
© 2021 David E. Miller
Monster puzzle
Nine hundred and ninety-nine pieces were not
Enough for the puzzle that Frankenstein bought
“I’m missing a piece!
No brain for Maurice!”
The doc never found the one piece that he sought
© 2021 David E. Miller
The fine. A ten-part limerick…
There once was a ranger named Mark
Who worked in a regional park
He put up a sign
That warned of a fine
If caught at the wheel after dark
In winter it’s dark after five
So Mark closed the park’s scenic drive
And waited for Nick
“It’s this night he’ll pick
Tonight is when I’ll see Nick drive!”
In fact, Nick was long overdue
For what Mark intended to do
If caught, Nick would pay
For coming this way
Mark wouldn’t let Nick’s car pass through
It came in the dead of the night
A car with its headlights on bright
It slowed at the gate
“Come on, Nick! It’s late!”
He groaned as he started to write
The ticket, however, was tossed
When Mark saw the driver was lost
He later found out
She’d picked the wrong route
“The park roads are closed, Mrs. Frost”
She said, “I don’t know where I am!
I’ve never been in such a jam!
Is that such a crime?”
Mark looked at the time
“Just where were you going to, ma’am?”
“To Bear Creek, that’s where I reside
But now I won’t get there!” she sighed
Mark said, “Don’t you fret!
It’s not morning yet
Just follow me, I’ll be your guide”
That caused Mrs. Frost to calm down
“I take it that you know the town?”
Mark said, “Yes, I do
I’ve fished the creek, too
The trout’s earned that creek some renown”
It wasn’t that much of a chore
He’d done such a favor before
His truck led the way
At first light of day
He saw Mrs. Frost to the door
She thanked him for being so kind
To leave his job duties behind
“You’re welcome,” said Mark
“Now back to the park!”
For leaving his post, he was fined
© 2021 David E. Miller
Beware the kryptonite death ray! An eight-part limerick…
Kount Drak was a vampire from Krypton
Who loved the red blood that he sipped on
Of course, now and then
Blood dripped off his chin
So Drak licked whatever it dripped on
Although far more wolfy than sheepy
And fond of all things that were creepy
There’s one thing he feared
You might think it weird
But Drak was afraid to get sleepy
Whenever he thought of his coffin
His strong mental courage would soften
When Drak went to bed
He did so with dread
And shook in his sleep all too often
He dreamt of green kryptonite headstones
That towered above fleshy red bones
Removed from his cave
His corpse in the grave
His soul set adrift in the dead zones
“Away from the crypt tonight, I’ll play
At night there’s no kryptonite death ray
It strikes after dawn
So try not to yawn
Stay up and it won’t be my last day”
Before the sun lit up a blue sky
Drak fled to his crypt the way bats fly
“I’m so bloody tired
Some rest is required
But try not to get any shut-eye…”
Outside of the crypt it was daylight
The crypt, though, was darker than midnight
When Drak’s red eyes closed
They left him exposed
And that gave the death ray its invite
It skipped through a hyperspace portal
And just like the Grim Reaper’s chortle
It sounded like death
Before it stole breath
Kount Drak is no longer immortal
© 2020 David E. Miller
No wonder she was so sweet!
At last I’ve discovered the truth
About my late aunt, dear Aunt Ruth
Aunt Ruth convinced me
She always drank tea
In fact, she drank sweet red vermouth
© 2020 David E. Miller
Confession of a Criminal Chef…
There once was a criminal chef
Who poisoned his pies! Confessed Jeff,
“I warn every guest,
‘My pie’s not the best.’
But some of my diners are deaf…”
© 2020 David E. Miller
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