When cooking something hot,
The oven mitts you grab.
Pulling them on, you think,
“Am I a wanna-be crab?”
.
there'z no finer feeling
save
hern mitt's palm's
sweat
'side mine threshing duke's
chafed
'long
hern
cherry pick'n
pyknic
digits
entwined
mine
hern
racing pump
the
'side my
torso
Painfully puzzling to the tots -
Why gloves are made with silly slots?!
Pointless production of a man -
Nuisance to chilling winter fun.
They aren't designed for nimble skills:
Picking your nose or counting bills.
And totally not meant to scroll
On any gadget screens at all.
Gloves' extra pattern of ten-holed
Does not protect against the cold.
That begs the question of the tots -
Why bother fumbling for the slots?!
Put your mitts on, and off you go,
Frolicking freely in the snow.
Hope we don't fancy, apropos,
Boots with a slot for every toe!
December 16, 2022
Sponsor: John Lawless
Contest: Mitts Muse
I've grabbed a thousand bagels
and my oven mitts fell short
Of keeping me from burning self
and holding my own snort
And now I know that thickness better
and shop for what I like
When thickness means a lot of money
meant to spend on physce
Blue and pink pair with matted wrists,
Beautifully knitted with floral twists,
Silken interior so smooth to touch,
Gift from mum! Thank you very much!
My darling days of childhood games,
Friends and dreams, plans and aims,
Coming home to mum’s warm arms,
How I miss mum’s loving charms!
Those rainy days of walk to school,
Winter days in mum’s knitted wool,
Those story times and growing up,
Mum doing my hair and make up!
How heart yearns for those moments,
Seems so distant in life’s torrents,
Those moments came to me so swift,
When I kissed my mum’s Oven mitts!
Sponsor Craig Cornish
11th placement in
Pot holder poetry contest!
Written 06/05/2020
If you had a little glitz
You and I could do the splits,
In front of the Hotel Ritz
Did you just call me a ditz?
Come here and put up your mitts.
Do not care if Mom has fits.
Come and show me all your grits.
I will fight you with my wits.
Oh no, do not blame your blitz.
Up to you to do the splits.
Unless you want lots of hits
Meet me at the Hotel Ritz.
Cut me up in little bits?
Witnesses will laugh with spits.
Did you just call me a ditz?
Come here and put up your mitts.
Come on grandma, use your wits.
Kidding truly little ditz.
Cannot make Mom have such fits
And there is no Hotel Ritz