There once was a young man named Rig
his rectum two sizes too big
whenever he farted
his two cheeks they parted
expelling a fireworks fizgig
The fizgig it fizzled and hissed
as it came through out of the mist
we spluttered and we gagged
as on the fizgig dragged
and now we were thoroughly pissed
Rig laughed and muttered, “I’m sorry.
Passed as I stepped from the lorry.
The step was too high,”
he said with a sigh,
“of getting back in, I’m charry!”
C-oolness
H-as
A-bated
R-ain
R-elieving
Y-our
L-oneliness
Y-ou
N-icely
N-egate
E-very
M-orning
A-s
R-adiant
C-larity
I-s
A-bounding
Topic: Birthday of Charry Lynne D. Marcia (October 04)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
I long to write a silent song;
ringing resonant rising
round revolving reach,
risk relaxing riots,
quiet storming streams,
sentient string
waiting your
our
sharing story,
advent's adventure
deep despair diving
drifting
out beyond sonorous sea seasons
sweeping flight to gather might,
speaking slyly
down steaming volcanoed channels
reaching roots of listening
into Earth's core climate confluent-soul.
Speak, justly shout enchanting contention
churning charry content,
informating reasons
fine-purposed political meanings
boiling funnel tipping
turning spinning
spilling waves of Tao balance
revolving temperamental climatic cross,
straining yang from West to East
reversing yin from East to West
like longing lingering
loitering within belonging
becoming being
yin's right spins left
good's evil space
wrestling with voices
murmuring
pulsing
massaging rhythm's blood flows
flying frequencies
echoing past identities
of storms still-dancing
through memory's veins
and river swollen
spring's raucous roaring
songs singing silence
I long to write.
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