Tag: poetry

A Limerick. Because it’s…actually I have no idea what day it is…

Ooh Brian you dirty, dirty little imp…

A virginal fellow called Brian

To get laid, he was tryin’ and tryin’

Efforts all came to nought

Then “eureka!”, a thought

Now each week, big boobed hooker’s he’s buyin’

June

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

A Get Well Soon Limerick…

Maybe someone out there needs to hear this. Maybe it’s you. Maybe youre a dirty little monkey indeed!

Hope this finds you somewhat on the mend

Hear it’s swollen quite close to the end

Feels like it may fall off

If you move fast or cough

And you near shit your pants when you bend

 

 

Did you know I wrote a book?

Seems I wrote one…

4th of April last year I posted this.  I actually forgot about it mostly.  I sold quite a few copies and had some good reviews and am rather quite proud of it.  I’m currently working on some other things right now…but below is the original post…It is wholly inappropriate by the way.  In a good way!

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I have written before about why I started my blog.  For those who missed it one of the main reasons was due to a friend who’s wife, an aspiring writer and a vile human being, insisting that anyone that self publishes does so as an act of vanity which is probably why she had never been published and for the most part refused to work.  Writers retreats she enjoyed a plenty I believe.

Anyway, perhaps I ended up proving her point, but I suggested to my friend that I would from that day forth take up writing and publish a book before she did just to prove the point that surely it isn’t that hard and perhaps if she wasn’t such a horrible cow she might have achieved more.

Anyway, the result of that rant can now be found on Amazon in the form of my first book ‘A Collection of Inappropriate Limericks.  Its only 300 or so of my limericks but it’s something I guess.  Something I made that perhaps my grandkids will hold one day and ask “What the fuck was wrong with Grandad?”

Paperback out now with the E-book to follow on the twelfth mostly because I made a mistake setting it up and couldn’t work out how to remedy it.’

Oh and I dedicated it to her too.  Seemed only right.

Paperback in the UK is here

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1916089011

And in the US here

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1916089011

–

UK E-Book can be preordered here for delivery on the 12th of April.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07QF58TYM

The US E-Book is here

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07QF58TYM

Who’d have thought it eh…

Thursday’s filthy limerick

One about a ladies cavernous front bum

A voluptuous temptress from Cuba

A vagina shaped quite like a tuba

And she would not delay

To allow you to play

Her, so wide was she, no need to lube her

Just work on the speed of that last line…it works I assure you .

Turning

Read the word ‘Fluctuate’ somewhere on my reader and it triggered this…

Between the tides he fluctuates

The stir of dreams, the love and hate

seems far too late a pause he takes

And break the silence, then to wait

But echo’s are all that returns

While soul it yearns and passion burns

Like fire, fierce, consumes and turns

Man into cinders, so he learns

To quell the cravings, quiet the hate

Embrace the now, love out of reach

And leaves but footsteps on the beach

Sunset

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

Forgetting

Blah blah Blah words

The brightness of the things that were

Like summer sun warm on the skin

Now shadows cast, and blind her gaze

And endless days to night give way

Until they set, horizons crimson

Set ablaze just one last time

No more remembers, dawn will come

Follows the embers, She remembers him no more

And light once more reveals her beauty

Safe in the warmth, new days embrace

A Limerick. On a Sunday. It is Sunday right?

February had 29 days, March 200 and April has 625. I have no idea what day or month it is to be honest…

This poor lad I know, self isolated

Spent his days watching porn, masturbated

Till his bits were quite raw

And his arms were real sore

And his balls were all red and inflated

Walls

Blah blah Blah words

I scratched your name into these walls

Of discontent, and love’s betrayal

And red raw, blood drips, slowly pools

Reflected, crimson, stained teeth bared

Wild eyes, I see your laughing face

These knuckles white, your cackles sharp

Like razors cut, pink flesh, clean through

Skin, muscles, sinew, fat and bone

Spilled violently with no regard

Your words, dark deeds, most ill intent

Until a shadow’s all that’s left

Which fades as light tries to caress

’till dark returns scars to embrace

Whisper

Blah blah Blah words

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.