Another Tttttuesday limerick.

Cavernous!

“Check your prostate” my friend’s wife insisted

so he went pants, dropped face red and twisted

he enjoyed it so much

and went home and begged such

that each night he’s oiled up, roughly fisted

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A limerick for you

A quickie for you if you’re in the mood…

A buxom young barwench or olde

had a knack of securing men’s gold.

Of her assets quite proud

she’d stand out in a crowd

end even more so when it’s cold.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Never alone

More Sunday word vomit

One final sleep

‘neath blankets cold

of eath and clay and stone.

 

And to my end I walk at last

no evermore, or well lived past

and to the darkness wide and vast

I enter all alone.

 

And you shall be my final thought

my life, my hopes, my joy

remember me, the things I wrought,

my kind and loving boy.

 

 

 

 

 

A limerick collection

Actually, it’s just gone Monday…

I am finally getting around to putting my limericks into a book. Or some at least.  There are about 600 on here so I have plenty to choose from.  I think I will call the book “Inappropriate”.

It’s funny going through them because mostly I do not remember them at all…Here are a few I did that I think tell you where I am heading with this.


African crisis I never
have seen such despair, no not ever.
Drought, pain, loss, civil war,
HIV, death and more.
But hey, least they’ve got lovely weather.

 

I fellow I know, a romancer.

Lovely wife, healthy kids and great dancer.

Had it all so he thought

but it all came to nought

when he died really young of bowel cancer.

 

 

A fellow joined up and no doubt

A true patriot so he shipped out.

Lost his legs to a mine,

had some made now he’s fine,

and he always gets parked when he’s out

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Sunday limerick for you

Actually, it’s just gone Monday…

Once a hairy young lady called Betty

When aroused became musty and sweaty

she’d be down on all fours

as it oozed from her pores

wet and matted, hair hung like spaghetti

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I turn

More Sunday word vomit

Were I to hear you call my name

and turn, to see you one more time,

a souvenir, momento of what was.

A keepsake of sweet memories

I would commit to not forget

or reckless scant attention pay

for fear of losing priceless gift.

No holding back, no front’s, no walls

this truth I’ve kept for far too long

and though again you walk away

unburdened watch you leave…

In the end

More word vomit

When old and grey still close I keep

those memories dear to my heart

and ‘fore I walk to final sleep

and lonely paths to then depart

A final time I will relive and tender recollect

each smile you gifted though I often sadly did neglect

your light by which I found my way and through the dark did chart.

Love generous and without cost

so freely gave and not repaid

and eager how I ate my fill

as sunset sank beyond that hill

were dreams way back were made.

And so at last, though late I know

you lie as pale and cold as snow

and how I wish I had the time

of days were you were always mine

 

Grumpy old bastards

The picture has no relation to anything.

Thsi is one I sent to Linda for Guest in Jest.  Please head over to her site and take a look.


I am not sure that we ever truly feel our age, I know I certainly don’t though I am fast approaching fifty.  I am perhaps a little slower, broader and less inclined to carrying unfeasibly heavy things unaided than I once was but mostly still feel somewhere in my early thirties.  My eldest was just born and energy was in abundance and I was perhaps a touch more excitable than I am now.

I did however feel my age somewhat on Friday evening.  For 12 years now the same half a dozen chaps from work have been coming over each month (with some periods of inactivity) to play poker.  We all worked together once but have since moved on so it is great to eat, drink and be merry.

It was much to my horror though that a few of the lads seem to be exhibiting classic old man syndrome (which I will refer to as OMS for the remainder of this piece).  One chap, I shall call him Paul, because that is his name, expressed the sort of fear of gadgetry that only someone with OMS can display.  As we discussed the merits of the commected home he was covinced that the risk of wifi enabled light bulbs far outweighed any benefit they might offer.

Apparenly they can be hacked and people can then take over your computer and your life and all manner of beastly things can happen.  I am pretty certain that he was convinced that my Roomba (you know those automated vacuum cleaner things) was eying him up and that should he perhaps trip and fall and bang his head he would come to only to find that the Roomba had taken off his trousers and was rubbing itself against his exposed anus in a most sexual manner.

Simon was next to exhibit symptoms.  Simon is a bright lad, a great coder and hardly someone that should be fearful of technology.  I have seen him impliment some quite fantastic data solutions over the years but when it came to my Amazon Alexa it was beyond him.  He could not simply shout across the room for her to play a selection of songs from the nineties.  No.  He had to leave the table, wander across in the nervous way one might approach an attractive woman in a pub, and with all of the confidence of that man who knows full wel that she is out of league mumbled something about Oasis.

Alexa ignored him.

To complicate matters the Alexa is connected to a Sonos speaker…

I eventually had to step in when he was shouting at the top of his voice insisting that Alexa was a dick head with ‘Dont look back in anger’ blaring out of the Sonos and the Alexa playing ‘Wonder Wall’ equally loud.  Apparently he also managed to  play ‘Champagne Supernova’ in my youngest’s bedroom at full volume which nearly made him shit the bed.

Oh and two of them were drinking Becks Blue non alcoholic beer because they had to be up to play golf in the morning.

Next stop the nursing home and pissing myself as I watch Diagnosis Murder reruns.

Might I suggest – Part 2

Stupid, childish, purile and ridiculous. Meh, least I’m not fiddlign with kids or beatign my wife or listenign to K-Pop.

Hey week, yeah you, yes over here

it’s over now and how I fear

I need to let you know you suck

and right now I don’t give a fuck

about how monday made me blue

Tuesday, wednesday, Thursday too

cos Friday my balls oft caress

and leaves my trousers quite the mess

and saturday, well that’s hard core

my skimpy clad foul mouthed hot whore

Sunday will spoon me, there’s no lack

I feel it’s love pressed to my back

You did your best and hey that’s fine

something something 69!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This once

Word vomit

Those moments where you cross my mind

and fondly I recall just how

we filled our days with blissful laughter

nights I felt such warm embrace.

 

And as I linger, holding tight

to thoughts I know will soon drift off

like smoke upon the summer breeze

I live again just one more time.

 

That once, that chance, that single glimpse

that slipped away and from my grasp

relived and dearly held once more

until again or never more.

Broken

Borrowed some emotions from someone far deeper than me.

If cut then I should surely bleed

were I not drained, face cold and white,

and curled beneath your naked branches

fade for lack of love and light.

 

Roots of dismay my heart entangle

moss grows thick upon my chest

and to the earth I am returned

at last, in peace, to sleep, to rest

 

 

 

 

 

Might I suggest

Long day…just let it out I reckon.

Might I suggest if you don’t mind

you place your lips on my behind

and there remain and tender linger

and oh look, a middle finger

just for you, in fact there’s more

you offspring of a rancid whore

and siphilitic hobo dad

in fact I would be rather glad

if you succumbed to aids, grew frail

and had your mouth abused in jail

by strapping chaps called Whale and Moose

who’d leave your anus gaping loose

 

Happy Tuesday!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Forever Night

More wordy words

Eyes closed

pretending sleep

Under blankets as heavy as church roof lead

held down by the weight of the world.

Cigarette breath, yellowed teeth, finger to the lips

and harshest repercussions.

Not a word.

Don’t cry.

In the morning smile and say it’s just a dream.

A nightmare born in velvet plush and gold adorned

and echoes batter on the doors

and innocense do steal away.

No shame

No guilt

And ever more to pay.

 

Happy Never After – Room 101

Just a quick 101 words

I haven’t done this for a while.  101 words.  Sometimes a beginning, sometimes an end.  Or even a frustratingly pointless middle.


With rain running down her face Maria smiled as she remembered that first meeting.    Mother said that she’d know when she met the one.  Mother was right.

She loved his charm, that assured way he walked over and god that confidence. Her pulse still raced at the thought, the way he looked at her with those dark eyes and the things she felt when he placed his hand unexpectedly on her arm.  He was intoxicating and too delicious to resist.

“I wonder if he has a brother?” She thought tipping the final shovel of soil over his face and walking away…

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hey look a limerick on a Sunday.

And with a religious theme

Once a fellow most holy and pious

who’s wife like a desert was dry as

till she found masturbation

with the male congregation

For the larger of girth, had a bias

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Horrid

Oops that just slipped out

In simple terms I will admit

that I can be a total shit

I’ll gladly steal your parking space

and leave the bathroom a disgrace

wont tip, will steal your secret treats

your cookies, chocolates, bags of sweets

and blame it on the kids no less

and shout at them until they mess

their pants and need some therapy

and no one will suspect it’s me

at work steal credit for your work

and be a bastard, dick and jerk

off thinking of your wife or worse

your sister dressed up as a nurse

and wish disease on you and yours

and puss comes leaking from your pores

while home I sit and read the news

take drugs and smoke and drink cheap booze

and eat endangered meats for tea

koala, whale and chimpanzee

and all the while I smile and nod

on sunday I go pray to God

for he Forgives so I can test

his patience as things I molest

and charities support with time

while I commit white collar crime

and then it’s home in time for tea

I bet you’re all a bit like me

 

 

 

Hey look a limerick on a Thursday.

It’s better than a punch in the tit I guess…Just about.

Once a chap, a big fan of fake boobs

fake vaginas, dildos and fruit lubes

would stay home every night

enjoy solo delight

placing things inside all of his tubes