Poems by Cynthia C. Naspinski

I need to lose weight, just a pound or twenty.
If I could lose fifty, well that would be plenty.
I could join a gym, but I don't have the gumption.
My legging clad legs aren't for public consumption.

My exercise bike is succumbing to rust
And only gets touched when I really must dust.
And much like a pet in need of attention,
It made me feel guilty (and slack not to mention).

The solution, of course, was such a no brainer.
I bought it a mate...an elliptical trainer!
This is quite easy! Or so I reckoned
When I tried it in store for a whole fifteen seconds.

But once it was home and I tried it for longer,
The pain in my side was all that got stronger.
I puffed and I gasped, till I couldn't breathe.
Kicked off at nine, it was now nine oh three.

Of course! The resistance must be way too high
But no, it read zero; I thought I might cry.
The six on the dial sat silently mocking,
My level of fitness was really quite shocking.

Motivation was all that I saw myself losing,
And my self-esteem was taking a bruising.
I tried it to music but all that achieved 
It drowned out the sound of my poor creaking knees.

This instrument of torture could go take a hike.
I glanced now with longing at my trusty bike.
I couldn't recall why we had parted ways.
Climbed up on the seat and thought, Happy days!

I pedalled with gusto, but soon I remembered...
It felt like my buttocks were being dismembered.
The padding on my derrière is quite thick,
So why does it feel like I'm perched on a brick?

It was just all too hard; I gave up in disgust.
My plan to lose weight was clearly a bust.
Oh well...at least I can say that I tried it.
I mean, really, I can't be expected to diet!

We love our dog with all our hearts,
But not so much her stinky farts.
Her doggy breath is less than fresh,
Yet we hug her nonetheless.

From barking she will not refrain.
The house and yard are her domain.
Park on the street or walk on past,
And you will likely cop a blast.

Meter readers, couriers,
Serve to make her furious.
Possums, lizards, neighbour's cat,
Will not be shown the welcome mat.

In the name of crime prevention,
Airspace gets the same attention.
We feel safe, it must be said,
From birds that dare fly overhead.

She wages war with the lawn mower,
Outdoor sweeper and leaf blower.
And switching on the vacuum cleaner
Won't bring out her best demeanour.

This causes some embarrassment,
This doggy form of harassment,
But she does provide protection,
And for that we feel affection.

Once introductions make the rounds,
Her friendliness, it knows no bounds.
Though not all guests are fully rapt
With thirty kilos on their lap.

Should you leave your nice warm chair,
On your return you'll find her there.
And when she's urged to please vacate,
She'll turn into a limp, dead weight.

To baths she has a strong aversion,
Desperate to avoid immersion.
Yet she'll display her dive technique
In any muddy pond or creek!

We give her scratches, make her smile.
Give an inch, she'll take a mile.
Stop and she'll demand still more,
Prodding you with paw and claw.

"She's got character!" we all say.
At times it's just a nicer way
Of saying she's our problem child,
Kinda crazy, kinda wild.

For all her faults we love her dearly
And in turn she loves us clearly.
She's our funny, gorgeous girl.
We wouldn't trade for all the world.

I tried to write a poem
But I couldn't find the words.
They've taken a vacation
So my poem's been deferred.

They gave no indication
That they wouldn't be around.
No, they just up and left me
And they're nowhere to be found.

This is not the first time
That they've left me in the lurch.
They'll show up when they're ready
So I'm calling off the search.

Perhaps they felt mistreated
And this time they've gone for good,
To find someone who'll craft them
In a way I never could.

I hope they come back to me
And put to rest my fears,
But I think that they've absconded
And made off with my ideas.

Oh, I wish that I had a green thumb.
All my houseplants are looking quite glum.
I never can tell
Why they're looking unwell
Or why so many succumb.

Have I failed to give enough water?
Have I watered them more than I oughta?
Are they getting too hot?
Is this not the right spot?
It's like sending poor lambs to the slaughter.

The hard, undeniable fact is
Many succulents, ferns and a cactus,
A begonia, a fig,
Many palms, small and big,
Have been victims of my malpractice.

I confess I'm a serial killer.
Many end up as mulch or land filler.
I kill far more plants
Than snails, thrips or ants.
Or an army of green caterpillar!

Though houseplants are deemed beneficial,
Should these perish, then it is official:
I'll waste no more dough
Just to watch 'em die slow,
For my next plants will be artificial!

Our TV set was black and white
And on its spindly legs it stood;
More deep than wide with dials that clicked,
All curved glass screen and grain of wood.

The screen was all of twenty inches,
Far away, way over there.
But you dared not creep up closer,
Lest your eyes would soon turn square.

A whole four channels from which to choose
Until they bid goodnight and closed;
From late night until mid-morning,
Static noise and screen of snow.

If you wished to change the channel,
Across the room you had to trek.
Then risk the loss of decent picture,
Rabbit ears were not high tech.

An exercise in mad frustration,
Swiveling, angling to and fro.
Yes! Stop there! The picture's "perfect,"
Right until you let them go.

If your show aired once a week,
Then one whole week you had to wait;
No binge watching or recording.
If you missed it, bad luck mate!

At times your programs overlapped
And that dilemma left you vexed -
Miss the end of the one you're watching
Or the beginning of the next?

All those ads with corny jingles,
Some of them were hard to take;
No fast forward and no pausing,
Just enough time for a bathroom break.

Or maybe not!...it was a gamble,
So it really must be said,
Though black and white it might have been,
At times it had me seeing red!

A cow and a rooster went dancing
One night by the light of the moon.
They'd arranged to meet in the barnyard
With the crickets providing the tune.

They started off slow with a waltz
And then danced a foxtrot and tango.
They swayed and dipped to the music,
Then went on to do the fandango.

The barn owls enjoying the show,
Soon added some excited hooting.
And to this new beat and rhythm,
They worked in a bit of boot scootin'.

The rooster nailed the chicken dance
And then he moonwalked like a pro.
The cow's belly dance was entrancing
As she shimmied her hips to and fro.

The pace of their dances grew faster.
They were really hitting their grooves.
They battled it out with some krumping,
Then busted some breakdancing moves.

They did the twist and the jitterbug.
They shook, gyrated and jumped.
Dust clouds were rising and feathers were flying.
They wiggled and jiggled and bumped.

The cow and the rooster grew tired
But agreed that they'd had so much fun.
The rooster said he should turn in for the night
Since he had to be up with the sun.

Next morning the farmer was puzzled,
For the rooster was still not awake.
Then he went to the shed to milk all his cows
And one of them gave a milkshake!

You betrayed me.

While I went about my days,
Blithely oblivious,
You kept your dark secret.
It festered, insidious.

Had I missed any signs
Of your covert activity;
Too smug in my assumptions
And foolish naivety?

Once the truth was revealed,
I was left reeling.
Didn't know how to process
All that I was feeling.

Your treachery was exposed,
Examined, excised.
Though tough times ensued,
I got on with my life.

Now I keep watch for signs,
Another smoking gun.
This breakdown in trust
Can't be undone.

I want to go back
to being carefree,
But cancer has stolen
That innocence from me.

I can't look at you the same,
There are scars that remain.
You betrayed me once,
Will you do it again?

Have you noticed that your husband suffers from a strange affliction
That will most often affect him in the bedroom or the kitchen?
Though you must try hard to treat him with compassion and with kindness,
It is really quite the challenge dealing with Domestic Blindness.

At the fridge, has he stood grumbling that there isn't any cheese,
Then you've reached around to pluck it out as easy as you please?
And perhaps you've walked away and then overheard him mutter -
"How am I meant to find something that's hid behind the butter?"

Does he stare into his sock drawer and cast his eyes about
As if waiting for the pair he seeks to levitate right out?
You see, this weird condition may not just affect his eyes,
For his arms and hands will often dangle useless at his sides.

Have you asked him to please fetch you something from the pantry shelf,
To have him take so long that you must go look for yourself?
Have you stood beside him wond'ring how he hasn't yet caught sight
Of the item, front and centre, on the shelf at his eye height?

Does the can opener elude him, or the clippers for his nails?
Does his gaze slide past the shirt he seeks hanging on the rail?
Much like when he's half listening but you know he isn't hearing,
His eyes seem to be looking but he isn't really seeing.

Does he lay the blame with you for giving faulty information,
If you're off by several inches when you gave him the location?
Or your painstaking description doesn't mesh with what he's seen,
'Cause he insists that grey is blue, what you call blue is green.

We vowed to have and hold our men for better and for worse,
So we try not to belittle them, or chide or mock or curse.
We attempt to bite our tongues and to stifle any sighs
But, of course, we're only human so we'll always roll our eyes.

You don't get to judge me
Till you've walked in my shoes,
Till you've carried my burdens
And paid all my dues,
Till you've lived with my pain,
My regrets and self-doubts,
Till you have all the facts,
All the ins and the outs.
So your judgements aren't valid,
But I guarantee,
You could never be more critical
Than I am of me.