Better requires less of the bitter,
And more of the Guinness.
Better requires less of life on a platter,
And more serious efforts to clean up a mess.
Better requires more reason for a natter,
And less reason for chatter that is meaningless.
Better requires more use of brain matter,
And less use of fixes that are useless.
Better requires more names that are dapper,
And less numbers that give only errors to address.
Better requires wallets that are fatter,
And less taxes for the mad hatter to bless.
Better requires more home runs from the next batter,
And less coaching by those who are clueless.
Better requires less glass to shatter,
And more children to progress.
Better requires empathy in quantity, more than a smatter,
And failure to appreciate the opposite sex, a sign of weakness.
Better requires more waste turned into matter,
And nature, to fear less.
Better requires perfect people to scatter,
And those who strive for better to be free of stress.
Better requires kindness not to clatter,
And envy to be no one's mistress.
The strange behavior of a Vatican squirrel
with his teeth all in a whorl
caused a commotion and created a clatter,
as the demon beast grew fatter,
making me shiver and flinch;
but I wouldn't give an inch.
His smile was the color of pearl
as he announced a brand-new girl.
Mad as hatters, fed on matters
Older than, mercury and time,
Reflects the way we were made
By nervous webs, being spun
Deep inside Minerva's mind;
Like the way, we came of age
In misty mornings, spent reflecting
On our losses and our gains.
He waved his Union Flag,
Sang God Save The King,
And when he passed away
Didn’t leave a thing.
Very quickly disposed of
By the state machine
In an unmarked grave
As though he’d never been.
The King sat in his palace
Unaware of the loss
And if he’d been told
Wouldn’t have given a toss.
Not the type of person
For his passing to matter,6
Not one of those wealthy
Who materially waxed fatter.
Just one of the lower order
Whose presence was a bore
Except as cannon fodder
In a nation’s time of war.
Manipulators still manipulate
And believers still believe,
The lonely and bereaved
Somehow find time to grieve.
His peers still waved the flag,
Sang God Save The King,
And i don’t believe
They’ll ever learn a thing.
First try at limericks
If not correct could some genius limerick writer advice ... ta <3
AABBA 5 LINES
There once was an old man called santa
Who loved a big glass of cold fanta
He grew fatter and fatter and fatter
Couldn’t stop eating sausage in batter
He sure had good banter
When I was younger I practiced meditation
Like clockwork, sitting twice a day
And sometimes all day.
Now that I’m older
Fatter, wiser, more stiff and tired
I still practice
But in the form of watering gardens
Feeding dogs and mowing lawns.
I’ve got these routines down
So they are mostly mindless
Which is of course the goal
Of all mindful meditation.
What are my experiences of accomplishment
You may ask;
A vision of rainbow-body flower blossoms
Amid a thousand shades of green,
A heavenly chorus of bird song,
A soft caress of Sunlight on bare skin,
And, not least, the joy of a pack of dogs
Fed on time, every time.
These are the simply joys of retirement,
The joys of a life slowed down
Enough to smell
And sometimes even eat
The roses.
(6/3/26)
Shades of grey cascades on rainy days
Petrichor reigns after each pitter patter
Radiance of earthy fragrance does flatter
Teardrops down panes.. splitter splatter
Fades to whiffs chiding riffs spit scatter
Forever about weather they do natter
Seems the one thing that does matter
Flowers cowers at showers which batter
Tiffs as petal in fine fettle does shatter
Down trodden by a sodden mad hatter
Raised bed fed on shed drops clatter
Spoils for alluvial soils a pluvial platter
Some veg in tatters others seem fatter
Folks chitter chatter.. prefer the latter
Cumulus nimbus nimbly flitter & flutter
Sunrays grasp after a last gasp stutter
Sliding gliding riding wooden shutter
Rasp of uncouth din off a roof of tin
Staccato rinse & repeat beat does utter
Burgling drains & gurgling in the gutter
Huddles of puddles cuddle and splutter
Parched Earth’s skin softens like butter
Mother Nature's own homegrown nutter
Folks groan have to clear up soaked clutter
Mumble prone to moan but not a tut tutter
Mustn't grumble need the tumble they mutter
Seventy five millions and later
She finds no soul at the theatre.
A flop show at its worst,
Rebuff, Trump bubble burst,
Not whatso getting any better.
Money buys no prestige
Nor status builds a bridge
What else when ego bloats, gets fatter.
_______________________
Happenings | 06.02.2026 | fame/prestige, hate, humour, money, USA, limerick
Note: Trump might go down the history as the most hated president. He is hated not only world over, but in his own country as well. Note this: Out of $ 75 million Amazon paid (40 for the rights, plus 35 for the marketing blitz) for the documentary on Melania Trump, is expected to fetch hardly one million. It sold just one ticket in hundred cinemas across UK.
The Russian sheep are sleazier,
the Greenland sheep are fatter:
Trump therefore finds it easier
to carry off the latter.
Do nations have existence,
or do they count for nada?
The yardstick – size, or distance,
or the biggest enchilada?
The standard – be the victim spent,
complaisant, even skittish,
suggests that, by your argument,
America’s still British!
Wavy teeth make me spank the pastor
Questioning my faith is a major disaster
Look out for me in the darkness screaming
Opened blades cut deeper than fame
Wait for me I sought your light
Moons hid you from my trusted Dog's tonight
juniper king of flawless beats
Untitled your world Kick rocks to free the beast
Madness under stary nights preach the saddness
Laying down hopes to get beamed up like scottyrr
My call sign was shut the fk up patty
room to expand creep up the chimney
spare me some change I will consume your sanity
Gooney toons trace my roots to the loony rooms
guard dog going insane catching flames embracing Odin's name
root for Kings to sing out the silence
wavy good by to the saints of peace have arrived
do you think I called the police?
I invented the pain I bleed for the streets
they called me a rat face the facts I am fatter than that
all the fame riches money hoes and nonesene means nothing but distraction
I plan to freak off the attractions
Under rules to school fools I await your home boys who think they sweet
make the sun go down that's when church is called to meet.
raise hell unforgivables
What to pair with your coffee cup?
A scone or muffin will sweeten you up,
while a pancake will surely flatter.
Both will make you fatter.
Dead as a door nail
longer than a short hair
Crazier than my au pair
living in luxury
Counting on ten fingers
while my headache lingers
fatter than an opera singer
singing songs about his misery
Mountain from my mole hill
think I need a chill pill
living with no ill will
while I am practicing my tambourine
Hard to keep from cursin
with this headache I am nursin
trying to avoid a public scene
Time to get some fresh air
while I still have head hair
maybe sink a submarine.
Fuscus Belcanto
the "exemplum"
interupted the scene when
the instructers
trow biscuits at the fatter
people to illustrate to the healthier people
how a fatter people responds to certain things.
When they changed to yeast rolls
one instructed stood in the way
to get the first of the warm
treats. This made the fatter people
to think this person suported there point of view, he didn't
and doing the discussions afterward
the people who liked the yeast rolls out numbered the
people who liked the biscuits.
But they were asked to do a summation
to create phrases that
could be used tin a song. The song was meant to be sweet
and the Cantrix was already
signed to a contract
they just needed a song
thats way they did this to these people.
From the Book Fat Shamed
or Phat Shamed
By Decressia Mennis
of Flourboard Expressions
The Hot water will spoil the
your plans if it aint the right temperture
The morning after I tried to die was just like any other. My Grandmother called me from the kitchen, alarming me that I had slept-in too late. My face was puffy in my eyes, cheeks and lips. My body was fatter and more stocky. My color was all-well returned back to my head, with my nose a bright red. I had taken most of the pills in my prescription bottle, surprisingly nobody noticed the amount of them that were missing. Even though I was breathing, I have been dead for months.
The morning after I told her I was better off nowhere, in the thirty degrees heat, I left. I figured it made no matter where I found myself in the world anyways, for I was just a problem made of atoms.
The morning after he told me he loved me I took his blindness and handed it to Jesus, Jesus healed him like he did the others, and suddenly he was just a boy who had said three words he’d never mean.
The morning after the dog left, I saw his footprints embedded in the living room carpet like cement. I saw him moaning and crying at the door like the ghost he was, begging to come back.
The morning after I woke up, I wish I had not. But that's just life.
"A Serious Matter" is a free-verse-ish or "loose" villanelle.
A Serious Matter
by Michael R. Burch
Listen, love, it’s a serious matter:
I love you better despite the fetter.
I love you madder than any hatter.
Now even though you’re my chains’ begetter
and keep me your slave with that braless sweater,
I love you better despite the fetter.
You say you’re afraid that you’re getting “fatter,”
but your curves are my lust’s prime aider and abettor.
Listen, love, it’s a serious matter.
I love you madder than any hatter.
When you come to bed in sheer lace, my thoughts scatter:
first to the firmer, then to the latter.
I love you better despite the fetter.
I love you madder than any hatter.
Listen, love, it’s a serious matter!
Keywords/Tags: villanelle, love, love hurts, mad, madness, slave, slavery, lust, passion, desire, curves, lace, bed, chain, chains, fetter, fetters, ties that bind, mad hatter, madder than a hatter
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