Best Wenches Poems
Robin treated his men down at the inn
To sexy wenches, food, mead and some gin
All got drunk on the mead
Then got high on the weed
Friar Tuck said “it’s not right it’s a sin.”
Robin’s outlaws were enjoying the night
And with the sheriffs men started a fight
The men ran for their lives
There was lots of high fives
The peasants cheered at this comical sight.
Written 31st January 2019
For limerick 3 contest
Sponsored by Joseph May.
The soft breeze whispered in a barely heard whiff.
Emptiness enveloped the lovely old park
Past life has been hard and now all are dead stiff.
Hot tears rolled down my cheeks as day became dark.
Emptiness enveloped the lovely old park
All six played around the opposing benches
Hot tears rolled down my cheeks as day became dark.
Young girls dreamed of becoming famous wenches
All six played around the opposing benches
Memories tumbled haphazardly in mind.
Young girls dreamed of becoming famous wenches
Knew instinctively we were loving and kind
Memories tumbled haphazardly in mind.
Not easy to forget those difficult years
Knew instinctively we were loving and kind
Recall all we said echoing in my ears
Not easy to forget those difficult years
Life had its plans for us as each departed
Recall all we said echoing in my ears
The lonely park we became broken-hearted
Life had its plans for us as each departed
Past life has been hard and now all are dead stiff.
The lonely park we became broken-hearted
The soft breeze whispered in a barely heard whiff.
FICTION
Maidens, bloody maidens, I had me six of ‘em wenches, ye knowest
Fullsome Catherine of Aragon wrought havoc ‘tween me and the Pope
Besought a divorce, split from the church whilst Anne Boleyn caught mine eye
'Twas beheaded whenst in ‘er capacity to produce a male heir I lost hope
Mine affection waxed for Jane Seymour; I beseeched ‘er t’ marry me
Anne’s body not yet cold in the ground whenst Jane became mine queen
But after giving me a son, Jane withered, twas gone in two weeks
For ‘er I mourned two years, afore proposing to Anne of Cleves
Ye knowest this “Flanders Mare” twas not suited for mine royal court
Nay, ‘er domestic skills tweren’t becoming of a stately king’s wife
At mine auld age of 49, I grew enamored of young Kathryn Howard
She but 19 when I divorced Anne and beseeched ‘er t’ share mine life
But Kathryn had eyes for other blokes, made me look like a pompous joke
"Thou dost not deserve thine title," I declared, had ‘er executed
Twice widowed at the age of 31, Katherine Parr I settled for
This wench cared for me as I grew ill, thus is undisputed
Prithee t’ see after six attempts, I finally met mine match
Katherine inherited mine throne once mine body twas laid t’ rest
From heaven I look back fondly at mine spirited days of yore
Knowing that in a regal sense mine first wife twas truly mine best
* For Lisa Cooper’s “I Want Some Old English Scandal” contest
The Sowing
Upon the wind feasted hillside
The jagged edges of used rocks swell
With the fatless skin of babes and wenches
Below a field of blood, no less a Flanders Field
A continuous swell of rape roll like waves
In the pallid squalor of leaking huts wooden tales tell
The scars ironed in the backs and inner thighs
The voices crying with no listening ear
Blood shines bright in moon's glow sons birth upon the fields
For eons it seems men stack rape like barley and wheat
Small ones soft ones and inexperienced virgins too
Daughters bled away dignity men their respect
Born work and ravished in the fields
Where is their medal of bravery
Today the summer sun washes over the fields
Each ray eclipses the dark memories of sin
As the sons and daughters rise
This poem was written for Joann Grisetti's Copycat contest through inspiration of Debbie Guzzi's The Sowing, one of the Greatest writers here on the Soup
i am a ye olde chastity belt maker and fitter
Fitting is free
I love my occupation
As I hold the key
For an emergency
Their men want them fitting
While they are away at war
And my services are required
More and more
Something I adore.
The women beg me to set them free
And I give them what they need
For a fee.
So need a chastity belt?
Don't buy a cheap imitation from Hong Kong.
They have sharp edges and not that strong.
Just send me a E- arrow
And I'll be there quicker than a falcon after a sparrow.
This weeks special offer hurry!
Buy two get one free
I aim to please
If I still have the energy.
I'm very popular you know
So come on wenches and ye olde maidens
Give me a go How else you gonna know?.
Peter Dome. copyright.2014. July.
Welcome to the Hogs head
The local ye olde pub
The ale tastes like urine
And there's maggots
In the grub.
There's straw on the floor
A pee bucket by the door
And rats scurry in groups of ten or more.
The busty wenches serve the ale
And over the centuries
There's been spoken
Many a tale
Gossip soon gets far
Tankards flow with ale.
There by the fireside
Is a secret door where
Dick Turpin often hides.
Over by the bar is Robin Hood
And his merry men
Their very merry
And drunk again.
The place is a den of iniquity
Pickpockets and theif's
You can always get a
Stolen purse
or sheep real cheap before you leave.
The regular drinkers often burst into song
In a drunken stuper their often out of tune
And the words come out wrong.
The place is really smelly
And you have to watch your step you do
Just in case you step on and get pig poo on your shoe.
The place never closes
And all the posh folk
Turn up their noses
at such a hovel.
But your always welcome
Why not come on down
And give it a go
Or you'll never know.
Peter Dome.copyright.2014.June.
Good tidings young maidens it is me
The chastity belt bespoke fitter
To all princess and queen
I could tell many a tale about the things I've seen
But alas the crusades are over
No need for chastity belts no more
I did good business when the men were at war.
I'm having a closing down sale
Many bargains I've made
It's ok your secrets with me
I still fit free
With pride and dignity.
Of course I might have to make a mould with my hands
To make a correct fit
But I've had plenty of practice and been about a bit.
So come on you wenches and fair maidens
Come lay on my couch
And I'll soon get around to fitting you out
Because there's talk of another war
The men will be fighting again away
My sizes range from small to extra large
With no extra charge
Free can opener if you lose the key
And I'm readily available in an emergency
What ever that emergency maybe.
See me advertise in ye olde Cosmo magazine
With a picture of a massive one I fitted for the queen
I also sell armoured breast belts
With lock and key of course I'll have to measure
And mould your wares on display
I do that for fun you don't have to pay.
Ok Ladies I'll stay open and not close down
A new crusade has started and I'm the only man left around
Send me a E arrow or a talkagram
And I travel to please you from olde Nottingham town.
Any offers?.
Peter Dome.copyright.2014. Aug.
Copyright 2014 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Poem By THOMAS LAM HSI
THERE IS ONLY ONE TRUE GOD...THE LORD GOD ALMIGHTY...WHO ALONE CAN
SAVE FROM Satan...who plays 'all' roles...the devil...the 'Lord Jesus'...
the 'Father'...the 'Holy Spirit'...all 'Other Gods'...and 'alien gods'...HE...THE
LORD JESUS CHRIST HIMSELF IS FULLY GOD AND MAN...AND HE ALONE...
IS THE ONLY WAY TO GOD THE FATHER...and to an Actual Heaven!
Oh, that crackling thunder, my ears torn asunder,
That folded mural in the sky-
It glistened and gleamed, like jewels on high,
I marvelled at my passage, until my victim drew neigh.
That fair-haired maiden, a youthful lass AT BEST,
I would de'er enter her vessel-
And lay my wizened body to rest,
Upon such sweet innocence, I'll leave her torn and regretful.
I've searched within my old sinful heart,
These many sweet wenches, I do now recall-
But my only regret, is one day will I die,
Oh, my crackling thunder, 'tis gone and lost for all.
I'm but a vapored cloud,
Drifting and planing night and day-
But now I'm an image lost,
My family so far away.
An ode to a witch, INDEED,
It could have been so hea-ven-ly-
But a stitch in time,
Ne'er leaves its rhyme, as I did so hap-pil-y!
SURF'S UP
It drug the beach sand making trenches
causing lightheaded fainting of wenches
the ocean was icy
he stood out quite nicely
even after allowing for shrinkage.
2/19/2016
submitted to – Limerick Contest II – for fun – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Jan Allison
Henry Morgan is my name
Being a pirate is my fame
A landlubber wasn't for me
Fortunes were made at sea
From port and starboard cannons roar
Through Spanish ships cannonballs tore
Strike your colors or face our scorn
Cutlass and pikes will make you regret being born
Merchant ships we looted, plundered and sank
Prisoners were ransomed or walked the plank
Raiding West Indies settlements was fun
Loved the pieces of eight, wenches, and rum
The Governor shivered at night in bed
His King put a price on my head
Buccaneers way were over or face harm
Keep on and you will swing from the yardarm
Poetry Contest: A storm on the Spanish Main
Sponsored by: Joe Maverick
Sir Henry Morgan,
Nickname "Barbadosed"
born 1635,
died 25 August 1688 (age 53)
The Pirate Who Invaaded Panama in 1671
Buccaneer and pirate, admiral and general, country gentleman and planter, custos and judge of the court of Vice-Admiralty, governor and knight ¬ all are titles he held
Cap'n & the Wench *part the fifth*
Says the Wench to the Cap'n " We'll dabble in Real Estate!"
So says the Cap'n to the Wench " 'Twould seem 'tis our Fate!
As Tales are often Told from Time to Time & Again~
So doth it go twixt Wenches & those very Bold Men~
This Great Saga of the Cap'n & that Wench so Very Dear~
Had been begun then to continue Year after ever Year~
But all Sailors well know if'n they've oft Smartly Tacked~
Yer in Irons fer certain if'n yer Royals are Backed~
Makin' speed astern would allow such One chance to Box~
Mindin' Gales gone a'lee creatin' Naught but Fear~
Only a keen SeaWolf might again Sail as would the Fox~
All surely believin' his Great Ship could naught but Wear~
'Twould be a course destined by Fate were the Helm hard a'Lee~
Maidens of the Depths gatherin' as Winds did'st now Howl~
Yet t'was a plot laid by SeaWolf as his heart Set him Free~
For Great Winds & Waves now did'st appear & Truly Growl~
From Deep Down under this Tormented Surface~
Came now to the ears of all Those now Enraged~
Softly with Empathy & Fanciful Purpose~
Silent Sounds heard well ~ all distinct Reason had Swayed~
Lee Rail's buried beneath Wind Torn Sea~
Gale a Howlin' thru the Riggin' & Spars~
From SeaWolf nary a word nor any Certain Plea~
His Eyes & that 'sprit a'fixed on Far Stars~
This Tale oft whispered in Taverns & Pits.......
Ye'll hear it fer certain Bit by little Bit.....
Pay Heed to Lessons Learned thus Herein.....
'Twere it to be Pleazure in life yer Truly to Win~
For Never Again Will Be Seen that Great Ship at Sea~
Only possibly for some who truly Set themselves Free~
In Dream Foggy Nights fiesty with Calm Swells~
Listen Well off in the distance for that Great Ships Bell!
SeaWolf
©
Written: January 10, 2025
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wenches of Whimsy and Woe
In the world of the fiddled gruntingly,
where micturitions dance,
and arty yawning plurdled gabbleblotchits,
lurgid bees buzz with mordacious glee.
Eardges justle and grumble,
festering infectious organ squealers,
gnawing at the edges excruciatingly,
Intergalactic highways scream,
echoing in their lavish friars.
Gandersalps gleam in the grim groggy gloom
graceful gliding gallant swarupincrafts majestically soar
whoop, wail, wassail wondrous rowan wood
cormulent chitchat flickers like flames
Elevate the mundane,
let foolishness dissolve into the ether,
In the charm of nostalgia, we find the replevy abyss,
Paraprosdokian twists lift us higher.
Triskaidekaphobia slumbers wrapped in jest.
Schadenfreude influences us as
katabatic whispers from the abyss fade away
callipygian figures emerge,
bringing moments of unexpected joy.
Vessels overflowing with dreams,
countehsee the orbs and clusters
while Guinevere gazes, sly and wise,
clipshank the past, whitebootz to come
Here as we meander in whimsical unfolding
Copyright 2014 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Poetic Lyrics By Thomas Lam Hsi
THERE IS ONLY ONE TRUE GOD...THE LORD GOD ALMIGHTY...WHO ALONE CAN
SAVE FROM Satan...who plays 'all' roles...the devil...the 'Lord Jesus'...
the 'Father'...the 'Holy Spirit'...all 'Other Gods'...and 'alien gods'...HE...THE
LORD JESUS CHRIST HIMSELF IS FULLY GOD AND MAN...AND HE ALONE...
IS THE ONLY WAY TO GOD THE FATHER...and to an Actual Heaven!
In the greatest love stories,
A royal princess is lost forever,
And though the warring fields are bloodied,
A stallion of white has broken through,
The prince who wins her heart,
Is he who challenged the evilness of heart.
In the dark pitch of night,
Through the howling of the blackened forest,
He has terrorized the terrorer,
Till he has conquered the evilness,
OF HIS OWN HEART.
CHORUS:
A woman's heart is like a flower,
And a prince will never take her heart,
He will fight every war,
He will slay every evil dragon,
He will even war against OLYMPUS,
JUST TO WIN HER HEART.
The real Blackbeard was a fantasy of art,
His wenches of rose, pink, and gold,
Rose in eternal shame,
A true prince fires across the evilness of heart,
And captures the wicked bony fingers,
Till he blazes as golden victory against the rising sun.
To a prince, every petal of a flower,
Has its own delicate fabric of mysteries and dreams,
And a true prince places each petal of her heart,
In a symphony,
OF A DESTINED HEART.
EPILOUGE:
And words whispered into her tender young ears,
Blossom into butterflies and candied hearts,
And a destiny reflected into a shattered crystal glass,
Are birthed through the bitter trials of a dragoned past,
UNTIL THE EVILNESS OF MAN...ENDS AT LAST!
Upon the wind feasted hillside
The jagged edges of used rocks swell
With the fatless skin of babes and wenches
Below a field of blood, no less a Flanders Field
A continuous swell of rape roll like waves
In the pallid squalor of leaking huts wooden tales tell
The scars ironed in the backs and inner thighs
The voices crying with no listening ear
Blood shines bright in moon's glow sons birth upon the fields
For eons it seems men stack rape like barley and wheat
Small ones soft ones and inexperienced virgins too
Daughters bled away dignity men their respect
Born work and ravished in the fields
Where is their medal of bravery
Today the summer sun washes over the fields
Each rays eclipses the dark memories of sin
As the sons and daughters rise
This poem was written for Joann Grisetti's Copycat contest through inspiration of Debbie Guzzi's The Sowing, one of the Greatest writers here on the Soup
Copyright 2014 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
BY LINDA JOBS (IN HONOR OF STEVE JOBS...
A GENIUS OF ALL TIME!)
In the greatest love stories,
A royal princess is lost forever,
And though the warring fields are bloodied,
A stallion of white has broken through,
The prince who wins her heart,
Is he who challenged the evilness of heart.
In the dark pitch of night,
Through the howling of the blackened forest,
He has terrorized the terrorer,
Till he has conquered the evilness,
OF HIS OWN HEART.
CHORUS:
A woman's heart is like a flower,
And a prince will never take her heart,
He will fight every war,
He will slay every evil dragon,
He will even war against OLYMPUS,
JUST TO WIN HER HEART.
The real Blackbeard was a fantasy of art,
His wenches of rose, pink, and gold,
Rose in eternal shame,
A true prince fires across the evilness of heart,
And captures the wicked bony fingers,
Till he blazes as golden victory against the rising sun.
To a prince, every petal of a flower,
Has its own delicate fabric of mysteries and dreams,
And a true prince places each petal of her heart,
In a symphony,
OF A DESTINED HEART.