It’s been far too long, and sometimes anything will do…
I used to do these – 101 words only. This might be a bit longer. This is also using one of M’s prompts.
Rosa clasped the stem of the rose tight in her palm, its sharp barbs digging into her skin. The pain made her feel alive and she squeezed tighter, not wanting to let go.
“Why are you so upset?” Carlo asked, the cold wind blowing through him as he watched the tears roll down her cheeks. “You know it will be okay. It always is.”
Rosa shook her head and sighed deeply, pulling her dark coat tight about her as the rain began to fall.
“You said you wouldn’t leave me.” she whispered to herself.
“But I came back” Carlo replied trying to catch her eye as she stared at the ground. “I said I would and I did right? I promised. I kept my promise Rosa.”
Rosa shook her head and began to turn, the wind catching her hair as it did and blowing it across the soft pale features of her face.
Carlo reached for her, desperate to touch her, to wipe her tears and make everything better, but she slipped through his fingers and before he could stop her she walked slowly away.
“Rosa wait” he shouted, he tried to move but felt paralysed. “I’m back now Rosa.” His words trailed off as they were strangled by the wind. And then, for the briefest moment Rosa stopped and began to turn, but shaking her head once more she walked slowly away into the rain. He looked down at his feet and there was the rose, its dark red petals in sharp contrast with the fresh, rich dirt.
Carlo opened his mouth to scream but it was too late, soil began to rain down and cover him as the grey skies opened and the service drew to an end…
Cobwebs thick, paths overgrown with memories grey
and twisted boughs so old and gnarled
they lead the way and whispers call us on.
Shuffling slow through time as thick as mud
not looking back, accept our lot
And knowing, come to die.
For in that place I find you there
and one last time immersed in love
give all I have and know this race is run.
And on the wind and to the stars I’m lifted
To beyond and unto nothing I return
Well lived, well loved, content.
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’
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
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
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.”
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
As seasons turn and memories fadeonce vivid, love like mist gives wayto vistas new and fresh caresswhere once we lay in summer sun.
As seasons turn and memories fade
once vivid, love like mist gives way
to vistas new and fresh caress
where once we lay in summer sun.
Those vows, heartfelt, made evermore
so easily spilled from our lips
where kisses soft and sighs so sweet
such promises we swear to keep.
Such declarations sworn that I would be the first,
and last thought every day
and undertakings to not fail
loves lustre binding tarnished truths.
Through tests and trials and seperation
Face lined, time urges to recall
Let slip for blurred my recollection
will you, like me, forget at last…
Do your think of me those days
Where dark thoughts senses suffocate
That joy I watched drain from your face
As life and lies cruel whispers told
Fools promises and could have beens
I could not keep them from your door
Arms wide you beckoned them inside
Smiles melancholy, sickly sweet
Coarse noose of lies, soft velvet hopes
Blinded, stumbling, on and on
And to this end inevitable
But now alone where once we lay
Handsome chap who could not afford rent
Hired his bottom out ’till it was spent
He was battered and bruised
prolapsed sphincter quite used
Lost his home still, now lives in a tent.
Amazonian lass with a fetish
Would see dwarfs and become rather wettish
Pygmies gave such delight
Kept her moist through the night
Watching ‘Wizard of Oz’ left her peckish.
To help you through the day…
A sensual baker, filth thinker
She would quite often play with her sphincter.
But could not sell her cakes
‘cos suspicious brown flakes
and the smell, frankly none’s more distincter.
Once a fellow woke up scared n screamin’
as he thought that he’d ran out of semen
with a groan and a thrust
just a moan and some dust
double checked, such relief, only dreamin’
“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 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.
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
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
Once a crossdressing builder from Dorset
loved to squeeze himself into a corset
he would tape up his bits
wear a fake pair of tits
but still build you a wall, fix a fawcet
Not that I’d mind particularly
A hirsuite young woman called mary
dark thick armits of hair, rather scary
curly thick and full bush
and my goodness her toosh
hair as thick and as long as a prairie
Rather rude and inappropriate.
An adventurous fellow each friday
would eat cock, twas his sexual bi-day
through the rest of the week
mostly pussy he’d seek
though each wednesday was anus cream pie day
Before you say anything…It’s Thursday where I am.
A philandering chap from Belize
would bed women with greatest of ease
unprotected, no fear
now he has gonporrhoea
and it burns just like fire when he pees
Once a fellow, most poor, from Calcutta
ate his meals from the bins and the gutter
closed his eyes, fantasised
as ate leftover pies
vindaloo, mouldy bread, maggot butter
To help you through the day…
Once a woman from Abergavenny
took two lovers. Or four. Well so many.
that she simply lost count
of the chaps she would mount
just not choosy she’d take mostly any