Wherever you go,
Let your money show...
Don't brag but try grow,
For bragging brings woe.
Wherever you stand,
Let your shoe shines brand...
Don't eye cum its grand-
For eye ruins command.
Wherever you sit,
Let your buttock hit...
Don't drag to look fit;
For dragging tests wit.
Wherever you drink,
Watch your glass; each blink.
Yam that got a permanent prick
Yam in contention with its harvest
Got it fat; removed with a flick
But diet is the concern of an agriculturalist
Consumer sees beyond
While naming its price
Got to examining its structure and bond
Which communicates enough raunchy
Yam that got a Chelsea buttock
Yam of false human attribute
A large buttock a stomach so paunchy
Rejected by no means a devise
Woman sees nothing
While peeling
Just to hurry
Not to make dinner goes well with sorry
Those yams grow in a fertile soil
With no or little toil
Such are in no time boiled
Better serve oiled
The pace setter
The home of agriculture
If i would ever be a bettor
Ibadan stands out in horticulture
SUBSTANCE FIRED TRIGGERED OUT TAIL MAN BUTTOCK MOVES- A Grook
I lit the substance it fired not
I pulled the trigger something shot out
I shake my buttock, yet don’t have a tail
Like a dog we both move…WELL>
2/1/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2024©
a curvaceous lady from Lubbock
was distraught at the loss of her duck
her search was in vain
poor duck was in pain
found wedged in the cleft of her buttock.
Written: May 12, 2023
Checked by: HMS.COM/ 9-9-5-5-9
Funny, Bawdy or Humorous Limerick Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
strippers reported that customers:
Grabbed them by the arm (88%)
Grabbed their breast (73%)
Grabbed their buttock (91%)
Pulled their hair (27%)
Pinched them (58%)
Slapped them (24%)
Bit them (36%)
Note.Supari injection?
Igbo Sex Words I have observed
Are High-Low Tone steady bearers:
To ‘High-Low’ markedly reserved,
Save in ears of tone-deaf hearers…
All her words for Male Genital
Picked by ears not from hospital
And Females’ one’s ears digital;
To Proof subject in Capital
As though her sex words tactical
Even word for Scrotal Hernia
When pronounced and one’s ears are near:
The word in question her ‘ibi,’
In tone a rhyme with farm’s ‘Ubi’;
Also, her word for ‘The Hip,’
When it drops from one’s testing lip;
The word for “Buttock’ included,
Just her word for ‘Breast’ excluded...
I dare say “Wonderful language,
Since her Sex Words The Sex Act stage,
Before Sex human strength quite high
Like their First Syllables are high
And Ali Baba killed goes low
Just as their Seconds are all low.
In the Confines of a Dream
By Sy Roth
Their skin touches mine
Hair on end in the cold, tickling,
Vibrating with amoebic fear on an endless loop.
I could not look.
They braved separation from each other,
Buttock to buttock, fearful of the trap
Where shame brays an insulting reality
Nascent scents buried in their catacomb.
Then a quiet and God’s name echoes in their canyon
Hear me. Hear me!
And the eye above peers, a blue orb.
If it could smile, it did.
The dream is long, an arduous journey,
Skins now cling to other skins
And long grooves are etched in it
Hieroglyphs of people predisposed to perish.
In the darkness, they find Jacob’s ladder
And the angel offers no consolation, wrestling with words
Hear me! Hear me! He hears not
And the screams are a balm to the others.
The azure eye above seals fate in their catafalque--
In brief remembrance of the host and their parsec of loss,
The conclusion, an electric denouement, a splash of exhalation,
A remote offering to the gods of fire.
I saw them, the cleansing men.
I parked above the heap
In sordid indifference to their bestiality
Clinging to the apex of our nightmare.
A Chair
I am a chair
opalescent as a Constructed of wood or metal
I allow your buttock and back to rest
I allow you rested freedom
I am a form of relaxation
I have one back, four legs a seat
I am a chair
10/27/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
Mask poem verse
Whatever has come can't say
the fear and tense arouse terror
the tongues of fire on the way
the ogre has come to prey me
Every dusk they dig deeper
in a religious shrine for evil
yours I quest where to run?
the ogre has come to prey me
The youth day and night they pick
With cheats on their toungue surface
the onslaught of entire humanity
the ogre has come to prey me
The youths enough to unmask
the matchstick unmasked
reveal the mourning firms
the ogre has come to prey me
Brotherly yearn to distinguish
the best ally your foes
the monster knows not a kin
the ogre has come to prey me
sit on one buttock dear a kith
together hold your religious palms
and the wisdom written in the psalms
the ogre has come to prey me
My cry I land on the maiden stages
for the satirical life come unbecome
though to cry I cant for no might
yours I quest where to run?
You hit my buttock like a tom drum
Remember hasira mwisho hasara
Better love not violent mama
yours I quest where to run?
My loins you torch I ate coins
my body incinerate I came late
and burn my seaters the wet bed
yours I quest where to run?
loneliness I harness my banned allies
food prestigious stone for mine
early to school on a shrunk tummy
yours I quest where to run?
like a donkey from school I toil
no work no eat my prompt pay
my routine teardrop a painful cry
yours I quest where to run?
People feign adamant for my plight
my defiling hear you bang the eyes
behind your laughter my bitter weap
yours I quest where to run?
As I coil to foil the world I toil
my plight I denounce the turmoil
the tender-hearted welcome to cushion
yours I quest where to run?
WHERE IS GRANDMA AND GRANDPA NOW
Mama ma ma yah!
Where is grandma,
Where is she now?
And is she in heaven…
Papa pa pa now!
Where is grandpa,
Where is he now?
And is he in heaven…
Grandma used to brush my hair give me baths;
She would say son dun ya make the wrong choice,
Or next time I am going to beat yo buttock…
Just a short of being beat like Christ on the cross…
Grandpa used to show me how to whittle;
He would teach me how to skip rocks…
He would show me how to play a fiddle;
Take me fishin, show me his inner visions…
Where is grandma,
Where is she now?
And is she in heaven…
But where is grand ma and grand pa now;
Mama ma ma yah!
There’re be in tha coffin
Look at that smile, is it real
Or is it something the mortician done did, is it real
Mama, papa where are they now
And will I see them again?
7/24/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
Written for project North Omaha Writer’s Group assignment 2019© and also
From forth coming anthology "Old Gospel Songs Sung"
We cannot step into the same stream twice
but we have stepped. Oh, deep and mighty river
of bliss that runs between the paradise
and the inferno. Our reflections quiver
with cold, with yearning, with the future tense
which is indefinite... It will be over
as soon as we recover the old sense
of water depth. Oh, let this leaf of clover
glued to your buttock be a pledge of love
which first, a wild, a furious, a foamy,
rapidly rushes, jumping from above
into the chasm and then, a calm, a homey,
quenches a valley’s thirst…
Once we will see
this mighty river flow into the sea.
My memory is obsolete in fashion:
the short blue skirt I saw you in that day
is out of date eons ago. My passion
has cicatrized from when you went away,
but thrifty memory still stores your grey
T-shirt with spots of oil paint, your beret
of modern artist that you used to wear
coquettishly aslant, the bag across
your chest, the thuya needle in your hair,
the band-aid on your knee, the minty gloss
on your sweet cherry lips, the silky moss
under your pliant back, the sassy moth
around my stupid head, the distant laughter,
the flash of bliss, the willow’s leaf embossed
on your left buttock and the most sought after
remembrance of the panties that you lost
in ferns in haste… One day I will exhaust
my recollections but at any cost
I save this one, unclouded and precise,
as my permission to the paradise.
22.04.2019
Urban Sonnet Poetry Contest
Emile Pinet
Relax my friends, if you feel life's an empty cup
Could be a squirrel who forgot where he buried his nuts
There's always a bright side
Don't run away and hide
When you wake, look for a girly's buttock to touch
Maurice was crammed full of buttock-clenching humors
One day in the month of May he poked Jannie's tumors
'Oh they are real groovy'
'Must taste like anchovy'
"How can you be so sure?' 'they are under my bloomers'.
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