Devout young chap met each Thursday
Buxom wench who would service the clergy
She would take off her nickers
For Priests, Imams and Vicars
And enable arousing liturgy
Why the devil not eh.
Devout young chap met each Thursday
Buxom wench who would service the clergy
She would take off her nickers
For Priests, Imams and Vicars
And enable arousing liturgy
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
Bloody hell that’s nasty
A drug loving hooker, Petunia
For five bucks, with a strap on, would ruin ya’
But worse, her Sister Beth
Would gave hand jobs for meth
Take a dump on your chest and then spoon ya
Sorry. Hope youre not having breakfast…
A horny young lad from Korea
69ing, though had diahhorea
In the midst of the fun
Felt a stir in his bum
Filled his partners mouth, nose, eyes and ear
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
One about butt hair
A hirsuite young temptress from Dover
You would see each time she was bent over
Not only her thong
But butt hair, thick and log
Which she styled in a fancy comb over
One about leaking boobs
Breast feeding mum, Julie pickles
Had huge boobs but quite lopsided nipples
Left one gushed like a geyser
Gave her baby a seizure
But the right, rather small, only trickles
Bad Michael!
A fellow that I know who sweats
quite profusely as he has tourettes
does not know where he’ll be
when it escapes him you see
and will shout out quite loud “SHITTWATFUCKCOCKEATMYBUMBOOBSLICKMESPANKMECALLMEJULIEFRONTBUMJIZZTITS”
.
.
.
Okay I know, ity doesn’t rhyme 😉
Happy Monday!
Count your blessings!
Hygienically challenged from Lincoln
was a lass who’s front bottom was stinkin’
She neglected to wash
men would try, but oh gosh
she would only get laid if they’re drinkin’
Well it has been a while I guess, I’m a tad rusty
A faecal historian from Goole
Fascinated by fine bygone stool
How he took such delight
In a large corpalite
And if corn filled it made him quite drool
Well it’s Friday here…
A lewd husband, bum obsessed, inventive
Begged his wife for love, back door, incentive
Of her beauty he’d gush
For a crack at her tush
She’d not budge, no way, anal retentive
Shall we? It involves body parts and a selection of greases
A stammering tart from Calcutta
Rubbed her bottom with handfuls of butter
Smeared oils on her tum
Grease upon her front bum
“Ch-Ch-Cheaper than lube”, she would stutter
Well it’s Friday here…
Loose bowelled Hermaphrodite from Nantucket
Had a penis so yeah, she would suck it
He would caress her clit
Explode cum, squirt, n shit
Near the bed kept a mop and a bucket
Okay so I realise that that first line hardly flows and is somewhat jarring but how often will I ever get to use the phrase “Loose bowelled hermaphrodite”. And I wanted to combine with the limerick classic location of Nantucket which I seldom use. Just let me have my moment okay 😊
Just to get things started again
Hot curry fan who too loved basmati
Rice, samosas and tasty chapati
He’d add chili’s galore
Declared “Please, please add some more”
Left his anus on fire and quite tatty
Really rather vile
Nasty mortician hailed from Brasilia
Spent his nights sweating hard, necrophilia
When suggested instead
Go for live not the dead
He protested “Ive not heard a thing sillier.”
Another day another one of these…
Well off fat lad from New York called Vinny
hookers nightly would rent and wherein he
placed himself , getting laid
but alas he got aids
on the plus side at least now he’s skinny
Because why the devil not eh 🙂
Friend of mine met this lass, not realising
That her bum was quite uncompromising
During candle lit sex
Massive fart, and then next
thing her sphincter’s on fire, unsurprising
it’s somethign I guess…well actually not really…meh…
It seems that there are those that will, and I think it’s a farce,
but people (per the internet) do hide things in their arse.
I’m told (though not seen it myself for I share my PC
with kids) so cant research it but if I did I would see
Ripe marrows place in darkest holes, and veges by the barrow
inserted, lubed and with great force, pushed into bottoms narrow.
Digits, midgets, varied widgets placed where sun shines not
a friend of mine vanished a vase when on it she did squat.
This bloke from Scotland, cavernous, spread wide, bent to receive
the contents of Old Nick’s full sack when drunk on Christmas eve.
And I did read a tale of woe of one lad who took pleasure
dressed as a pirate placed gold coins inside like hidden treasure.
A story told of one young chap one night when feeling fruity
filed down a tooth bruch, electric type, to place inside his booty.
But not outdone a lass invited several chaps to sample
her gaping hole but it turned out that just the two were ample…
Things stuck inside, spread open wide, or isides falling out
each to their own, and when at home, I really have no doubt
that there are those who cant recall, have lost things, or forgotten
I might suggest they might just be lodged inside your bottom.
These battles played out on the streets….
These battles played out on the streets
For heart and soul, beneath the sheets
And words they spill, lips full of rage
And like blood spill onto the page.
My now
Your then
Our what might be
And blinded, clambering to see
The path not taken, setting free
And time will tell, and roads will wind
As shrouded pasts are left behind
This evermore
That what could be
Those sweetest of tomorrow’s
Like stars beyond my reach …
Like stars beyond my reach those thoughts of you
slip through my fingers to my feet
head bowed faintest recollections blown like sand
I’m left here on this precipice.
Here in the darkness looking out
and fire burns on horizon distant
blood red, golden on my face
One last time wind whispers your name
One of these?
At night he whispers sweet reminders
of how it felt, quite swept along.
Returning tides compelled, jump in,
strong currents have their way.
And beaches red at sunset burn
as she returns to land once more
and on her lips his promise lingers
salt stained on her skin.
Until tides turn and whispers fade,
sepia tinged her longing rests
and deep she sighs, sea at her back
and smiling turns away.
Okay so perhaps a work in progress title but it got your attention I am sure. Just in one of those moods 🙂 Sorry. Kinda.
Were I at last to recognise the thing that we became
The thorny, bristling, spite filled rage
That spews from me onto the page
And like so many through the age,
At last I give it name.
My not again, my what the fuck, my who the hell was I
Quite compromised, unrecognised
And like those fools, philosophised
That I was there, just drowned by lies
And watched as life passed by.
And then, unshackled, this my thought
Regret no more, not turning back
And craving not the things I lack
now place your lips upon my sack
And kiss them like you ought.
Come on, were all a bit too serious sometimes
In sleep I kiss your lips now cold
and miss the hand I used to hold
but god you made me feel so old
I’m kind of glad you’re dead
Heart’s drift apart when rent asunder
but can you blame you blame me there’s no wonder
from day one it was quite a blunder
should have listened to what friends said.
Mouth full of lies and legs oft parted
and that time you shit when farted
Inside I smiled when you were carted
to final slumber’s bed.
On and on such endless droning
pretty mouth but so much moaning
okay so I quite liked you groaning
when you were giving head.
But time moves on and people change
yeah yeah I know I may be strange
but jesus you were most deranged
and filled us all with dread.
So fare thee well, you did expire
now consumed with roaring fire
toast marshmellow on funeral pyre
I’m glad you’re gone, ’nuff said.
Just one of these things.
This cliff top wreckage of the place that once our hope protected
I stand and feel the chill of night as shadows slowly lengthen
And as my thoughts are drawn to betrayed memory of promise
Those icy fingers of regret squeeze tight and leave me gasping.
No night, no stars, no restless slumber
Horizon sparks and crackles
Into this tempest I will run
And scream your name one final time.
Lungs bursting, eyes red as the blood
That thunders through these veins
The words are lost as rising waters
Drag your ghost to inky depths.
And on that beach as morning comes and calm creeps with the sun
I turn , soft waves lap at my feet, and look back one last time
There in that place where love once blossomed nothing now remains
Your name now lost upon the breeze that blows upon my face.
Just one of these things.
When skies turn grey, horizon’s shrouded
Compass bearing wayward, lost
I find my comfort wrapped in you
and threads that bind, knit tight.
Drawing close such warmth I find
life’s colours woven through this cloth
though mended, frayed, it’s patched with love
and never out of reach.
This love, this life, our ever more
through storms that roar and rage,
my shelter until morning comes
and sun shines on my face.