A Limerick A Day – Day 31/32 – Happy National Poetry Month

©2013 CEStankiewicz all rights reserved.

And so, friends, we have come to the end of the March Limerick Madness.

Of course, this day brings a new reason to post and poeticize profusely: on April 1st we begin National Poetry Month. No foolin.’

Throughout the next 30 days, I’ll be sharing some new light verse of my own and bringing you a few delicious little discoveries, including wonderful visual poems that meld words and rhythm with moving images.

Today’s post, a fitting end to the Limerick-A-Day challenge and a fabulous kickoff to National Poetry Month, features two verses by one of my favorite up-and-coming young writers: my daughter Ella.

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Easter Mourning

I’ve now got a rich chocolate bunny,
And to be quite honest, it’s funny:
What I really want
Is something to flaunt,
And that something is some pocket money.

©2013 Ella Stankiewicz

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April Rules

A whoopie cushion might burst,
So always fear for the worst.
What trick is planned?
Perhaps one that’s grand,
For today is April 1st.

©2013 Ella Stankiewicz

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Perfect Solution

You know the type.

That one mom who always has it together.

Who always looks fabulous, and effortlessly so.

Who never has a bad hair day.

Who has bright, charming, well-mannered children.

Who got her figure back within two weeks of giving birth to her fourth kid.

Who’s busy with home and career and charities yet still attends every PTA meeting…and brings homemade muffins.

I’d like to think that SuperMom doesn’t exist. But it seems every neighborhood has one.

She’s the Mom We Love to Hate.

In the face of such effortless, envy-inducing perfection, what’s a regular ol’ mom to do?

Funny you should ask…

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Perfect Solution

She’s pretty, she’s witty, she dresses with style.
She’s polite and quite poised, with a perfect white smile.

She never looks tired. She never feels fat.
She’s a perfect size 2, so why would she, at that?

Each time she was pregnant, she never got queasy.
Each time she was pregnant, she made it look easy.

Her butt didn’t bulge, her legs didn’t swell,
Her face wasn’t peppered with pustules from hell.

Her labors were short, her deliveries fast;
She didn’t swear like a sailor as doctors went past.

Sleepless nights never once left her dreary and dragging;
And her nurturing breasts are still perky, not sagging.

Her children hit milestones before they were due —
Potty trained just like pros long before they turned two.

Her patience is endless, she takes tantrums in stride;
And she never — not ever — resorts to a bribe.

For bake sales, she makes whole wheat cupcakes from scratch.
For breakfast, it’s fresh juice — in glasses that match.

Each evening she serves gourmet cookbook cuisine
In a kitchen she keeps antiseptically clean.

She runs a home business that’s wildly successful,
Yet makes time for hubby when his day’s been stressful.

An entrepreneur, and a caring dad, too,
He looks like he stepped from a spread in GQ.

He’s smart and he’s funny, with muscles to flex,
And if rumors are true, they have great, frequent sex.

So you see, she’s not perfect — she’s far, far beyond.
(Oh, and lest I forget: she’s a NATURAL blonde.)

So it’s tempting to wish for her all kinds of strife,
Or just rip her to shreds for her fairytale life…

To spread gossip and rumors and out-and-out lies,
Tales of Botox and implants and lipo-thinned thighs…

Tales of stretch marks and cellulite, looming divorce…
And you knew ‘bout the Prozac with vodka, of course!

Yet – why advocate malice? Why foster such spite?
There’s a much better method to make it all right…

A much better way that would free us from loathing
This woman, her home, her hair and her clothing.

With a small bit of effort, and a bit more of cash,
Ms. Perfect McPerfect can soon meet her match.

Yes, a donation here, an offering there;
And soon there’s enough if each pays her fair share.

And then: just a call to a “friend of a friend”
Who does “favors” for those with the means to an end.

For you see, I’m NOT suggesting we hate her
when it’s easier by far just to….eliminate her.

©2011 Carlotta Eike Stankiewicz