Oh I would not eat a vegan

Just a little something before bed…

Kinda inspired by this if you’ve never read it. I think its one of my best…I even did an audio version.

There are things that pass my lips that I so willingly enjoy

A baby cow, a deer, some sheep, to them utensils I deploy

Fried , roasted, dipped in fondue cheese my preferences are wide

I know they’re cute on the outside, but I so crave the meat inside

Loin, flank, short rib, grass fed, food bid, to stop my clothes from spoiling

Oh whip me up wild roaming fowl, salted, spiced post boiling

These things I lust, my lips do quiver in anticipation

I realise it leaves some folk in the most sternest consternation

But they are safe, so rest assured, my menu rightly lacks their cut

For far too lean and scrawny I do find them, they don’t satisfy my gut

And even though you add some veg, add onions or some aubergine in

No thanks, fear not, I’ll have a salad, for I could never eat a vegan

It’s Monday where I am. Just. Limerick time.

Aah the things we deny ourselves…

Once a lady with grace, class and poise

Had a craving for both girls and boys

She would keep it well hidden

What she thought was forbidden

And so got through so many sex toys

LOVE

Another from the drafts that I cant really remember writing…I should refine it and make it rhyme properly…but I cannot be arsed.

I would kiss your lips a thousand times

But god, just imagine the chafing

and they’d get really scabby

and you’d get quite crabby

And you’d need lip creams and balm and look awful

___

So I’ll shout your name from the roof tops 

But not late, we have neighbours you know

Though I could likely fall

So perhaps I’ll just call

Out your name from the top bedroom window

___

Hey I could climb the worlds highest mountain

Swim deep oceans to declare our passion

But heights scare me to bits

And cold water is shit

Is there anything else that’s in fashion?

___

Ooh a poem would show my devotion

And some flowers and choccies and wine

But you’re quite fat already

And drink lots, take it steady

And your reading age is not much more than nine

___

Oh how I love thee, let me count the ways

Let me woo, swoon and bask in your beauty

(once you’ve put on your make up)

Then perhaps we can make up

Cos I quite like your tits and round booty

 

 

Inevitable

Found this in my drafts. Don’t have a clue what the devil it’s about. Random words mostly I think…

Do your think of him those days

Where dark thoughts senses suffocate

That joy I watched drain from your face

As life and lies cruel whispers told

Your many secrets slow, unfold

Fools promises and could have been’s

you would not keep them from your door

Instead with smile forced on your face

Arms wide you beckoned them inside

Embraced as they to you heart lied

Promises, so sickly sweet

Coarse noose of lies, soft velvet hopes

’till dangling feet dance all alone

Blinded, stumbling, on and on

And hope, and faith, bright eyes now gone

Limerick. Enjoy.

One about how to work out your manhood volume.

A perverse math’matician of note

to work out his cock volume, he wrote

“Times the length by the girth”

He reported with mirth

And then published with pics and did gloat.


Okay so I know that isn’t the calculation for working out the volume of one’s manhood. But no way am I googling that on the laptop the kids use from time to time. What sort of monster do you think I am.

Anyway, everyone knows you multiply the smallest radius of oval (minor axis) by its largest radius (major axis). Just not easy to get that into a limerick.

Though I did once read that it should be calculated using socks as a measure of volume. Ankle, sports, knee high. You get the general idea. Actually I once knew a chap who was an eye watering European size 12 Knee high. But that’s another limerick completely.

Happy Thursday !

This Great Field

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