Bothering a tired old woman is not smart
We can easily conjure up a belch or fart
At a certain age, we can bring a truly foul smell
By the time we finish with you, you are in hell
Tater's and beer
In another privileged day of excitement
Look at me, friend, a belch has the sense to appear
Like a spit in a tube, with a reason to rube, I know a foolish hickey to relent
Like a child of the stars, the poise of uncertainty
Has become ours, to let a swallow of many and might
Become the secret of misery no one is saying, publicly...?
What the hell rhymes with muscles and care, if I do it myself up right?
A mouse wanders by, daring us to catch itself in a trap
Wow, it says, the misery I notice and due, is a little vague...
Suppose the danger of me and reality is for any and all, a hosting crap
That seems to be taters and beers, having a good time at my imagination's rage?
Gold upon gold,
half-hidden upon the burning aisle of earth.
Sickle points raised heavenwards,
where mountains belch loudly from the grass
of spontaneous repasts...
Gold, subtle and cream, posted
for the illumination of half days,
when the moiety of stolen glare visits
the eye of the world.
O Gold,
shine on!
You increase my pulse with that gleam,
so breath-taking, like the birth of a mirror.
Sickle of gold, pierce this gloom of distress NOW!
Fall into my palms silently like a Darling’s lone trinket.
Sir Toby Belch
was an Englishman, not Irish or Scottish or Welsh!
He could be a notorious flirt
but, deep down, was just a fun-loving extrovert.
(William Shakespeare's famous comic character from The Merry Wives of Windsor and Twelfth Night)
dark clouds gather round
they rush and collide in sky
igniting fireworks~
wind howls, clouds fly past the sky
fast is the change of weather
wisps of rain dripping
dry land sucks it greedily
belch of steam rises~
heat waves abated for now
earth leaves a sigh of relief
soon the rain grows weak
and now its rattle is stilled
leaving waves of thrill~
like a sweet symphony stopped
making the hall fall silent
Every pirate west of the Caribbean had heard of Captain Gary Bee.
He was reputed to be way younger than the next captain at twenty-three.
We were anxious to meet him, so we invited him to tea.
He strutted in with short pants, that barely covered up a knee.
It is rude to ask pirate captains their age, so we did not.
But he could not have been a decade older than a tot.
He spoke with polish and finesse', was unassuming and not brassy.
After a lunch of bean curd and bean salad, he was a bit gassy.
Excuse me! He said after each burp, belch and break of wind.
We thought he was delightful; he became an instant friend.
Captain Gary Bee, the notorious pirate king of the seven Seas
I was glad he decided to stop in often for our cakes and teas.
He trundled his way up the three heavy steps
His mop of hair searching every direction
In the middle of the stage a brash spotlight
shone on a large drum kit
Behind a curtain dangled over a hand painted sign
The burgundy curtains partially
covering the letters making it look like alent sho
The boy now seated behind the kit dwarfed by its side.
He adjusted his seat slightly, closed his eyes and
took a breath
The crowds murmurs abruptly cut by some drunks
sloshed repartee -Hey.kid you, a belch breaking his sentence-forgot your sticks
With a tiiter of some of the onlookers
The young boy slowly opened his eyes
A tear slowly rolled down his pale cheeks
Swaying from his chin for a moment
before falling
It meandered along the cymbal's it’s tremor almost melodically before snapping upon the snare
Each tear falling in perfect formation
No beat missed a methodical beat
One after another
The silence of the audience
mesmerised by his music
He played with such sadness
The tears of those watching only adding to his symphony
Softly murmuring, the river’s raspy voice
Settles my soul with its rumbling choice,
Rustling quietly beneath a glowing moon,
Splattered by the sound of the river’s rejoice
Light trickles from stars who’re strewn
Across flirty skies where dreamers swoon,
Leaving the heart full, moaning its needs,
While witnesses tell tales much like cartoons
Roaring rapids reveal what the mind reads,
In stories of crashing winds with its dark deeds,
While the river gulps and hiccups on its course,
Promising to bring us its astounding proceeds.
Waters boom and belch, such a mighty force,
Revealing God’s strength, the only true source,
Mighty waters rip out a path like a racehorse,
One that most gamblers would surely indorse.
In the silence of the night, there comes a slam,
A door swings wide, a sudden splash of rain,
The thunder echoes with a mighty bam,
While rivers babble tales of joy and pain.
The birds awake and start to warble tunes,
As streams begin to gurgle in their flow,
The wind begins to softly mumble runes,
And trees release a gentle, leafy belch below.
A distant clang rings out, the night alive,
As branches crackle underfoot, they thrive.
NOISE ANNOYS
Externally it might emerge as a belch
Especially as the seltzer may just fizz
But inside, one may just hear the stomach squelch
Maybe a hiccup, well you know how it is
A grunt is quite the opposite, so they say
But no-one should cackle in a TV quiz
A silly giggle might just escape one day
Yet a howl might just be judged a bit too loud
But a laugh, not a bellow, that is Okay
Such sounds may amuse an audience or crowd
In a studio setting, rules can apply
But deafening silence is rarely allowed
Bodily functions can often go awry
And can surprise anyone, yet few know why
Brick, grit smeared towers,
crank-out smears for heavy smokers.
Under every stacked chimney
goblins belch, coughing up,
cancer into a riddled sky.
Workers wade through
ankle pulling tar,
grab at the soothing puffs,
as a smoldering sky glows
red
in every clouded yellow eye.
Reindeer at Christmas will often eat carrots
Though Santa once had one who liked to eat parrots
But parrots at Christmas can be hard to find
He wasn’t too fussy so he didn’t mind
He never complained that he felt out of luck
When push came to shove he would also eat duck
With Christmas upon them there’s no time to eat
But he wouldn’t grumble and he wouldn’t bleat
He’d fly through the skies with his mouth gaping wide
A mallard would soon sate his hunger inside
“Don’t swallow ducks whole,” that was Santa’s suggestion
“You'll belch through the night due to dodgy digestion.”
A nine year old lad hid behind the settee
And woke mum and dad at a quarter to three
He told them he’d waited since late Christmas Eve
And then he said something they couldn’t believe
“The presents are under the tree neatly stacked
I swear they were left by a reindeer that quacked.”
Close up, on the smooth couth
meretricious pod, vibrantly
violating my optics violently,
even through the microscope.
Its swarthy stare is maliciously
resplendent and evoked from
parsimony.
Nature's beauty is suicidal.
pulchritude through lens,
but a spike to the neck.
Even in risk, identified ignorance is ignored.
veracity is a voodoo doll,
if you toss it out it re-emerges like
a comet
relentlessly.
the microscope aggrandize on its perilous magnificent shock.
like an arboreal boat it is shielded but
pops in agitation, adjudicating what
personality to adorn.
It feels like a placid charade,
for toxicity comes with respect
and beliefs, adherence.
just like a horse belch loyalty
and a den of destruction
her seeds swell calmly in hot dosage bean.
opulently lethal.
I see her dancing high on the bed of pleasure
through the microscope, with feets enveloped in predicament and her lips covered in crimson ichor.
A queen, so clean, a routine as green.
P Propelled into the war after tora, tora, tora.
E Escalation arrives in Oahu, paradise explodes.
A Amorous and hula skirts set aflame at once.
R Reveal of a takeover plan, pot shots extreme.
L Lucid nightmare lit with oil and screams.
H Hear it! Smell the scent that still reminds us
A About the cost of freedom; the belch of deep
R Roustabouts who have settled into their sleep.
B Bust out! Ring the knell until it comes alive.
O Odor lingers! We must bring it to the surface.
R Round up the freedom fighters of the deep!
Froggy bottom chorus line was jazzy and smart
They obeyed with rhythm, they bogeyed with heart
They brought their dance routine to a whole new art
Choreography of their steps, courtesy of leader, McLart
This boggy chorus line danced nearly off the chart
Every one of them, even smart little missy Tart.
I was mesmerized said my dour cousin Bill Bart.
Best of all was when the whole line began to belch and fart.
Scaring flies who did not know which way to dart
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