This Limerick contains no dirt or smut
No pontification of breasts or butt
Just tryin' to keep it clean
Nothing bawdy ~ quite pristine
No flaccid male parts, not one jiggly nut
An oldish codger from Newfoundland
thought to pleasure himself with his hand;
but though he was bent on
achieving a hard-on,
things simply didn't go as he planned!
The old codger, upon circumspection,
knew t'was futile to get an e***tion.
With a dong so flaccid,
limp, flabby and vapid,
he knew he'd need a doctor's inspection.
They accuse me of cutting of my cock
Just to wear a frock
And hang about in bogs
When all I want
Is the peace to piss
Or to piss in peace
Just another of their
Disgusting spiels
Designed to turn me extreme
But hate is there language
Not mine I just rhyme
Im happy it’s gone
My meaty schlong
It just hung there all flaccid
It was always so wrong
But it never once said
Get this straight in your head
That off I should go
On the chance
A women to catch
In the stench of the lavs
I mean
Who’s idea was that
What warped mind
Full of hate could create
Such absurdist disgrace
Or maybe they reveal
A piece of them selves
All twisted and dark
So self loathing and reviled
Then push it out on the world
Rather than live with their shame
So as billionaires burn the world to the ground
And presidents and princes
Abuse kids with no charges
Of course they want you focused on me
Cos I’m the real threat
Cos I cut of my cock
Bazball fall.. still so livid
Nightmare is so so vivid
Like the day of the Triffid
In OZ were just so timid
On the ropes so so vapid
Dopes burnt hopes acrid
Defeat tropes so so rapid
Prime time to be candid
Cool fools just so flaccid
No bans ECB plans placid
Our also-rans.. so insipid
Pans Fans who are so avid
Fancy Dans woe so rancid
Badgers crow so so rabid
Hands hold tight to the loose ends of hope
As we toil and crack, night and day,
Hoeing up bits of earth and its fragile retributions.
Our crops and little beads of sweat drip to waste
On the ground’s boiling soils.
Eyeh is another name for a deceased generation.
The ones that sprout stubbornly through restive
Delays get re-greened, losing vibes of communal
Watering, ceremonial baptisms.
Birds build their nests in haste,
When bent cusp-blades sprout secretly at twilights,
Behind ethereal curtains of dawn falling
To the consternation of treacly, bitter syrups of time . . .
Is this continuous planting . . . and delirious season?
Has it come to that —when drunken war mongers
Form weapons from slats of pallid bamboo stationed
At the guard posts of violated yams and their flaccid
Tendrils?
I fear.
Such suzerainty over yellowing crops
Transcends the coats of black dust hiding from the disease
Of identity.
It is still planting season, brethren.
The deafening sounds of cannons shake the stalks yonder.
There's a smug dance of weevils on the graves of tubers.
At my yearly review, she hands me a recap of my performance.
After a year of working weekends
overtime on short notice-
going the x-tra yard
taking on x-tra projects
dodging H.R (for the most part).
I would be getting .73 cents an hour raise.
My face must've turned gargoyle
because the newbie supervisor
lowered her eyes and apologized.
Nervously adding that she had no hand in determining raises.
Her pimply head nodding toward the ceiling....
Implying the flaccid raise was concocted by the ones upstairs...
Where underworked blonde birds and plump business casual lived.
23 years of work .73 cents an hour raise...
The vending machine on the first floor has candy bars for a buck twenty-five.
I think I'll go celebrate
yeeha.
petals fall flaccid
without farewell requiem...
spring symphony waits
The surgeon
had successfully removed his libido
and fed it to the hospital cat.
Corridors became whispering tubes
for I.V. drip pushing wanderers,
their pale bottoms peering out
like beluga whales through the cracks
of gaping gowns.
He dreamed often,
the drugs swiped his mind,
he was a screen, that with flickering ease
erased and replaced his life
with crazily narrated electric poetry,
a hypersonic buzz
that pretzelled his thoughts.
A nurse appeared to him between
the sensual waves that spayed across
his surgically mauled mortality.
She was erotically enhanced,
her trance-dance of sexuality
poured into his flaccid organs
like a shot of ice-cold Taquilla.
Once she spoke to him - just once.
Her words were umber honey
between his parted lips.
He struggled to understand.
Clarity came upon him -
"You're my libido."
He had forgotten about the cat!
She purred softly
as she adjusted his pillows.
Many mountains, seas, women, and dollars made
But for you only was each moment played
As an aged wine flask, your decrepit skin cracks
As flaccid muscles bend your creaking back
Hard hammer toes hamper your stiff walking style
Toilet king, bilious bombard of bile
Fog obscures your mind, only to rise again
Wishing for many things which might have been
Stung as by tzetse flies you cannot forget
Fantasies won’t revive corpses of regret
Too late, with dreams drooling down your hoary chin
Awaken to the state you are now in -
A dream without legs, with all hope beyond reach -
A jellyfish sunbathing on a beach.
Jake was flabby flaccid and wimpy overall
He is not handsome, truthful, honorable or tall
Why do you date him asked her son Call
Because he taught you how to play baseball
Remembering this, he tried to like him after all
red rose price rises
faster than flaccid todgers ~
a blooming rip off!!!
The con man wears a greasy, porcelain grin.
Trumpets like a swan but has the soul of a raven.
From a paper mâché pulpit, he'll surely sling.
Thrice tainted blood drops passed off as gems.
His compliments are marbled with plastic.
Spray-painted over in fool's gold.
From your bones he whittles drumsticks.
His words are lukewarm, but the heart rattles cold.
Simply put, he's flaccid and fancies attention.
A little imp tugging at the locks of his fantasy.
Wait long enough and his porcelain cracks.
Leaking out a blackness and horrible stench.
When exposed, he'll suddenly slink away.
Rest assured, this vampish chameleon.
Will reinvent and sniff out a fresh vein.
Those flashbacks often
dance holding my heart's strings.
With their curvaceous move,
they usually lost their balance and
their obstinate move further
reduce the tension of those strings.
And then those memories fall,
releasing the tightly held strings
& then what happened next
have been confined only to myself.
These flaccid strings
stretched to such an extent
that they usually choke
my almost doddering heart.
People reveal the contents of their hearts.
Drip by painful drip.
It takes courage to tell the world what ails them.
What hurt them-stomped them down.
How they are in the process of healing.
Climbing back up that brutal mountain, called self-doubt.
Frayed hope-sliding back down -getting back on route.
A million questions slung in the face.
What is God anyway? Who are the demons?
What are all these strange forces in between?
Major decisions to be made, crossroads, if you will.
Which cells to nurture-which ones to kill.
Life is their brushfire; they must sprint straight into it.
Dodge around it and they'll slip over the edge.
So, while they drip vulnerable things from their heart into the cold world.
Some keyboard troll kneads the hurt into their plaything.
A flaccid attempt at humor, or to make themselves feel supreme?
All at the sufferer's expense.
These trolls are nothing but keyboard pigs.
Rooting for another truffle of their endless cowardice.
You are so quiet,
Your appetite doesn't clash with your sight,
Your wisdom doesn't match your boredom,
It is no longer your freedom.
Your absolutism is the snowball,
Your cross is searching for the remedy for your downfall,
The curse will be broken sooner,
The new life will be greener.
This life is nothing but built on your fragile memories,
Frailty peeps into the stiff tweets.
To live is to bear a double-edged sword,
To die is to fulfil the prophecy of the unknown Lord.
You are never nothing,
To predict your intent is always thought-provoking.
Words cannot always tell the tale,
Because words are flaccid.
For your mistakes to be undone,
For your profanity to be cleaned,
In between the vivid lines,
I will wait for your redemption,
And will look for you in your false solitude.
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