One of my many ongoing projects is compiling and sorting my poetry for publication. I came across this one recently in an old three-ring binder that also contained my homework from a writing course at McMurry University in Texas. Written (scribbled in pencil on faded, lined notebook paper, actually) in 1984, it is a rather tongue-in-cheek, simple doodle and not meant for anything but a smile, really. Prior to posting it on this blog, I made two changes. The original presentation was all text alignment left with no breaks between verses so I tweaked it a bit for visual interest to give it movement as you move from destination to destination as if actually traveling. Secondly, I changed the old city name of Bombay to the current Mumbai and altered the verse slightly to accommodate the name change. Without a great deal of editing and rewrite, this work will not (in all probability) make the final cut for inclusion in the poetry book so I thought I’d put it here in its current state. Why not? As someone before me so famously said, what’s life without a little whimsy?
Does whimsy bounce at Wimbledon?
Shall we have that spot of tea?
No mad hatters haunting me.
What cold gremlins occupy the Kremlin?
Swig a shot of vodka down.
Laughter comes before a frown.
Do bells ring in old Belfast?
Can we hear them chime?
Their silence isn’t worth a dime.
How many rows to get to Cairo?
Paddle the blue Nile River.
Mummies make me shiver.
Do toucans fly high above Tucumcari?
Is there often pouring rain?
Praying for it’s all in vain.
How many girls named Lulu in Honolulu?
Grass skirts sway and wiggle.
Shaved ice makes me giggle.
How many tokes abound in Tokyo?
Crowded city’s sushi bars,
Anime and compact cars.
Is there good vanilla out in Manila?
John the Baptist, patron saint
Frequents bordellos do you think?
How many bays shimmer in Beijing?
Not many ‘round with poodles
Feasting on delicious noodles.
Is there mumbling in Mumbai?
Saffron colored serving stalls;
Hear the vendor’s barking calls.
Can we marry in Marrakesh?
Yes, certainly among the red halls
Just inside the ancient Ochre Walls.
How united is United Airlines?
Wonder if I will be fed?
Can’t wait to sleep in my own bed
And end my quirky travel.
Note to readers: WordPress is showing there are two posts made to this poem but they do not appear anywhere for me to review and approve. Don’t know if it is a glitch in the system or what might be the cause. So, if you have posted a comment here and do not see it, please post again. Thank you.
Oh, but the sights you see and the adventures you have – still sleeping in my own bed is the best.
Thank you for that, Nancy. 🙂