A few silly words
Brian looked into his wife’s eyes and sighed.
“I’m so sorry it ended like this” he said “I wanted it to work but I realise we want different things.”
Carla said nothing, staring back expressionless.
“I know” Brian continued. “I know it’s my fault I just…”
Brian paused, he had hoped for something. Anything.
“Fine, just fine” he said picking up his shovel and tipping soil over Carla’s already stiffening body. “Silent treatment it is…”
It’s Monday where I am. Let us start the week with a special bit of meaty madness…
A butcher, too fond of his meat
Rubbed himself with pigs ears and cows feet
Would spend weekend a quiver
As he fondled lambs liver
Would explode at the sight of meats sweet
Just pop her into the recovery position, she’ll be reet
An epileptic lass called Theresa
During sex would squirt high like a geyser
If pleased ever so right
Eyes rolled back in delight
And then squeal and go into a seizure
Well it is Wednesday after all.
A betrayed french wife, Mademoiselle Eiffel
Went to jail, for she used Monsieur’s Rifle
Caught his with her next door
Eating puddings galore
Found him balls deep in her Sunday trifle
It’s just made up okay, for shits and giggles. Honest. Plus I get to use the dildo bike gif again.
Once a cyclist of note, name of Mike
Big old smile as he peddled his bike
Look of bliss on his face
For the seat he’d replaced
With a dildo, he really did like!
A tale as old as time…
Once a waiter from Greece, tanned and handsome
Held the hearts of the tourist quite ransom
How the ladies would swoon
And his tips would balloon
But was into dads, grandads and grandsons
Another from the drafts that I continue to clear out…
Here’s another from my drafts. This one is apparently from October 2019. I don’t remember it at all really. It was one of M’s prompts that I never quite finished (obviosly right). I liked the beginning but never really planned it out, and the end is a bit of a cop out. It’s hardly an original idea, I think it was just s stream of consciousness kind of thing. Oh well, it’s something I guess. Meh. *Presses ‘Publish’.
________________________
With what should have been his hands, Walter quite unsuccessfully reached for what ought to have been his head and found nothing.
After further exploration he quickly determined that neither his head, nor his hands were in the general vicinity of where one would expect to find them. In fact, without too much effort at all he was able to ascertain that he seemed to be missing rather a lot of assorted appendages and parts. And by a lot, he meant precisely everything.
His leg bone was not connected to his foot bone. And his neck bone was not connected to his back bone. In fact, none of his bones seemed to be connected to any other of his bones in any sort of way that would allow him to sing the song with the measure of confidence he was pretty certain he would have been able to earlier that morning.
In addition, and to compound his growing consternation, Walter also noted that he couldn’t see anything. Not his non existent hands, or his curiously absent feet. Nor any of his other absent body parts. Whether it was a deficiency of eyes that was causing the lack of everything else, or whether he indeed possessed eyes but there was simply nothing for them to see he could not tell, and the whole thing really left him feeling rather unwell.
“What the devil is going on?” He said mustering as best a sense of authority as he could, calling upon all he had learned during a two day seminar on ‘Meaningful Management’ in Brighton more years ago now than he could quite recall. “Is anybody there? Hello. HELLO!”
“Oh, good day,” replied a voice in the darkness. “I wasn’t expecting anybody, I am sorry.” The voice was warm and calm, not quite a man’s or a woman’s, just somewhere comfortingly in-between the two. “Did you have an appointment?”
“Appointment?” Replied Walter, confused.
“Yes, an appointment, everyone who comes here tends to have an appointment,” replied the voice. “However would we maintain order if we didn’t have appointments. It would be chaos and that really would not do. No, it would not do one jot.”
As far as he was aware, Walter didn’t have an appointment and he confirmed as much. He knew he needed to be somewhere, though doubted it was here. It was far more likely he needed to pop to the shops for milk or tea bags. That said, it was was all a little fuzzy and he couldn’t be absolutely certain.
Walter noted that he couldn’t feel his tongue or lips, and that made him wonder how he was managing to speak.
“It’s your consciousness” said the voice.
“What is?”
“You were wondering about where the words were coming from weren’t you.”
Walter managed little more than a mumble in response.
“I…well you see it is just that….” Walter’s voice trailed away and once more only darkness remained as he waited.
And Waited.
“Ahem,” Walter coughed politely.
“Oh yes yes, so sorry, now about that appointment. You say you don’t have one right? Most unusual I must say.”
“Sorry no, I don’t really know what is going on to be honest with you.”
“Best policy that” Replied the voice enthusiastically, “Can’t go wrong with a bit of honesty. Now let’s clear up this appointment business shall we.”
Walter would have shuffled on the spot had there been a spot to shuffle on. Or feet to shuffle.
“Yes, there’s definitely no appointment.” The voice said. “The book is never wrong and there is nobody due for another one point eight seconds.”
Walter mouthed a silent nothing. He would very much have liked to have something constructive to say, anything, but he had precisely nothing.
“Well,” continued the voice, “this really is a pickle isn’t it. What are we going to do with you. It’s not like we can just send you back now, is it.”
It wasn’t as much a question as a statement, Walter thought.
“Are you sure?” He mustered. “I am pretty sure there is somewhere that I need to be.”
“Oh no, no chance of that. You’re here now. We can’t just stuff you back in now can we. Whatever would those upstairs say if we just went stuffing things where they ought not to be stuffed. It would be chaos. No, no, you’re here now.”
“You can’t?” Said Walter, remembering where it was that he was supposed to be. “I was supposed to have a job interview this afternoon. In Wimbledon. Could you maybe not just drop me off there?”
Whether he was being ignored, or the voice had drifted off somewhere to do whatever it is disembodied voices do when people don’t have appointments, Walter did not know, but for what seemed an immeasurable length of time, he waited. And paced. In as much as you can pace without anywhere to pace to or anything to pace with.
“Good news,” came the voice in the darkness. “We have an opening. I had a word with the boys in lost property and we think we have something that might fit. “It’s not exactly your size but should do the trick.”
Walter did an about turn and then faced back to where he had been originally. “What do you mean by ‘fit’, he asked. “I need to be in Wimbledon. I have an interview. I really cannot be late.”
“Oh no, terribly sorry, but you won’t be going to Wimbledon,” the voice said. “That ship has sailed. Afraid you’re just going to have to settle for whatever we have. Clerical cock up I’m afraid.”
“Sailed? You mean I missed it?” Walter asked. “But it had wonderful benefits and a parking space and….”
“Just step back a little will you,” said the voice.
Without thinking, Walter shuffled backwards.
“That’s it, just there. Now hold still.”
“But I…now listen here, what do you mean by cock up,” Walter protested, “I want to speak to someone in charge. I have right s you know. This is all very…”
Walter never finished explaining what exactly it was, and he never got to speak to whoever was in charge. The quiet darkness was replaced by a roaring gush of sound and there was an ear piercing scream. All about him he felt a warm wetness, and his chest was tight as his lungs burned.
“Just a little more,” came a voice as the darkness gave way to soft warm light. It was a woman’s voice. “Her head is nearly out…”
Ouchy…
A much betrayed woman called Brenda
Her hub banged her sister and friend yeah
Now locked up, doing time
But she really don’t mind
Put his cock and his balls in a blender
words. mostly…
I remember it quite clearly
Pale sun painting frosted fields
And you at peace, to sadness yields
So many, loved so dearly
…
Butterscotch sweets in kilner jars
Full house, late nights, your Sunday roast
Full ashtrays I recall the most
What was, now framed like painted flowers
…
And years go by, the memories stronger
Each twisted branch still skyward growing
The things you handed down not knowing
That they would linger, loving, longer
…
And so the sequels spring to life
A library of stories new
And every one because of you
Mother, grandma, sister, wife
words. mostly…
When silver threads creak with first frost
And summer thought in mists are lost
I wonder if you’ll count the cost
Or blindly hide from reason
When nights bleed into shortened days
And stars no longer light your way
So willingly you choose to stray
and blindly protest treason
No one to watch, no one to keep
Your candle burning while you sleep
And memories sink into the deep
Lost in the cold, dark freezing
Your stories ink washed from the page
And meekly without pain or rage
The curtain falls on empty stage
At closing of your season
Dirty. But if you read it out loud in a posh english voice it could almost be poetic I guess…
What once were endless summer days, and tender nights not counted
Sweetest whispers, love unbridled, days drift by embraced
And 69 more ways your soft pink flesh was nightly mounted
And your skin glowed with the blush of love’s seed spilled upon your face
The heart quickened, loins wet, thickened, hair pulled, lost souls intertwined
Gimp mask, red room, 12 inch pseudo love meat, I am yours and you are mine.
So spent, we lay in sheets soiled with the remnants of our love
we fit like trains into a tunnel, like large hand into small glove
And when no lube can dampen, when blue pills can not revive
Will we shuffle from this mortal coil, our passions still alive
Somewhere far beyond these night time stars that we once watched together,
Shall our memories drift slowly into inky black forever
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Oh come on, it’s saturday, why not do something a little different.
The first 2 lines and the last two are kind of sweet I think.
Happy weekend you cheeky monkeys!
Because it’s Sunday
A Christian chap from Seahouses
Who’s girlfriend with fine ass arouses
For his Lord he resists
Peach bum, perky tits
And exploded all over his trousers
All a bit rhymey but meh, it’ll do
He watches from his window, rain like tears runs down it’s face
Petals fall as summer fades, once golden face now stark and bare
To this cold earth, beneath the sun, they seep into the earth
Beauty lost, like memories, life’s end to once bright birth
From green to gold and amber his life turns with passing seasons
All alone, he waits for something lost, his mind forgets the reasons
Of what was and is no more, faces blur as time slips by
And in a blink like flowers turn to dust, and skies do cry
They mourn for him, the things he once held dear, like him are lost
Like petals, cold, beneath the earth, embraced by winter’s frost
He slips away and fades from thought like breath in winter’s air
When flowers bloom once more nobody knows he is not there.
A kinda poem thingy but not about anything wholly inappropriate
I made for you a garden
From the stars I stole from cloudless skies
And deep within earth’s warm embrace
Sprung forth as tears streamed down your face
And quiet you sat in this place
And waited patiently
Each passing day under the skies
With hope, new shoots turned into bloom
And brightly shine when sunset falls
Until the light like beacon calls
These shards of nightfall, heart enthrals
From shadows setting free
And with the seasons turning, living
Pass full circle, gold to green
Hearts warmed by light unwavering
And beauty bright, sweet savouring
Sweet tears of heaven favouring
Forever comforts thee
It’s something I guess…
A purveyor of decadence, Lionel
Would oft dress in a gimp mask and vinyl
Found it tricky to pick
For he so adored dick
But also loved all things vaginal
Think this could have been better but I need to get the eldest out of bed and go to the tip…Happy Monday!
I tore the pages from the book
that holds the story of our lives
of darker times that might have been
and in their place I wrote these words
my promises to you.
Not to forget each day to live
and love and laugh and treasures mine
to hold most dear and know their worth
and thanks with grateful heart I give
all that I have to you.
When sunset paints with flames of red
the words we wrote on pristine page
We loved though time will pass us by
as stories gather dust upon
life’s shelf where now we lay.
Words and more words and more words still…
Silver wisps of memories
The things that once so brightly shone
Now gone but one alone remains
Which fight the pull of time, refrains
From slipping through soft fingers
Clasped in prayer, in silence lingers
On that vision of her beauty, sweet
Her countenance so kind and meek
And one last time her forehead kisses
Always misses all they were and sunset burns
Like furnace flames
He smiles
And says goodbye
One about ‘tucking’. I write mostly from a place of ignorance. Sorry.
There was a trans fellow called Betty
Who when ‘tucked’ would get sticky and sweaty
What a frightful affair
When at last it got air
Pale and sickly like day old spaghetti
Words and more words and more words still…
Time steals the sweetest memories
Those moments where we wished that she’d
Halt in her tracks and carve emotions into stone
Forever monuments to love
Where, in later days we’d celebrate
That which was and now still is
But cruel she marches unrelenting
And halo slips, becomes a noose around the neck
As envy’s eye looks greedily on summers long ago
These barren lands, unfertile soil where only sadness grow
And dreams they whither on the vine as winter steals
The very breath that spoke you name
These lips once red now bare the pale of death’s caress
Eyes closed I fall to his embrace
and beg he take these memories
And cast them into the abyss
Not sure what I was going for here. I started something, inspired by a song, then painted the bathroom so lost my train of thought…
In the dark stripped bare and cold
Drowning in things handed down
These rags, the curses, bloodied lips
Sins of the father, chains that bind
And shadows in the doorway watch.
Each blow, each bruise and words that cut
far deeper into sun bleached bone
than sharpened blade could ever do.
Dark lullaby and icy kiss goodnight
The hooded shame chokes, burns and blinds
But from outside wide smiles deceive
And shackled, shuffle silent by
Oh it will do. Hardly great but these are tough times…;)
Once a chap who was self isolated
Day and night himself hard violated
He developed a cough
And his penis fell off
And his sphincter was annihalated
Words and more words and more words still…
Memories in monochrome, sweet youth now seems so far away
and slowly memories ebb and flow, sandcastles crumbling in the tide
And walls fall down she cannot hide
Heart’s windows closed, doors locked, inside
She waits, so frail, her mind to long lost days does stray
Remembering, those rainbow days
Grey swept away, bright lights so shine
And lovers limbs do sweet entwine
Once more taste embrace divine
And hand in hand he finds her there in summer’s perfumed haze.
And so he leads her, barefoot, laughing, youth restored
Down paths familiar painted through the years
In love and joy, devoid of fears
And through the door, there no more tears
At last she rests, home, much loved and adored
Go on, treat yourself
An oft aroused lass from Aruba
Had a vagina shaped like a tuba
Should the wind blow just right
It would play silent night
And in bed there was no need to lube her.
It’s Friday. Why not.
A food fetish fan from Bermuda
Had a wife but he wanted one ruder
Who’d rub guac on his nips
Place asparagus tips
Deep inside him then smear him in gouda.
And yet another lost in drafts…
Once a fine undertaker named Pete
Had a secret, though kept it discrete
Until caught late one night
Cleaner shaken, the sight
Of him rubbing himself on dead feet.
Afterwards 