My lady wife does strange things with the lavatory brush
She stands it in the loo and then she activates the flush
But she’s my girl and not someone that I would want to chasten
Except she leaves the brush there like it’s Guardian of the Basin
I know she pours in loads of bleach in which the brush can soak
I don’t know why she does this for alas I'm just a bloke
So when I walk into the loo that brush is standing proud
Protruding from the lavvy pan as I proclaim out loud…
My darling, I’m so happy that you keep our home hygienic
But that there plastic poker in our loo is hardly scenic
So I don’t have a Labrador but what if I were blind…
You’d find me running out of here while clutching my behind
I swear tout de suite,
that...
My noddle ain't petabyte
But just a condign floppy disk.
So I could swiftly flush out some memories,
And retain only what's necessary.
I swear I wanna draft some boundries.
As much as I need a reclying bin, and depositary
In my head.
His tongue might work well in commodes
Trump's flapper lets loose toxic loads
Spewing crap from the can
This Hitleresque man
Shows how constipation explodes
Author's note: Why does DT need fans?
As the day ends, the sun bids its last adieu.
Spreading paint across the sky with ruddy hue.
An emblazon show of crimson, fierce and bright,
Melds into orange-yellow, a warm delight.
Then the hues fade to a pink and purple blend,
As the day's final performance nears its end.
The sky echoes reflection on lake and sea,
Sky as conductor, makes retrospection plea,
That hushes you and me, the birds, lands, wildlife.
To calm the mood, hush all the turmoil and strife.
To prepare the world for sleep and renewal,
To revive the spirit, recharge, refuel.
FROLIC FLUSH
On dusky evening you appeared unexpected . I offered you posy of lily shining in crimson glaze of my mind , instantly plucked from garden. That was the first and last chance to express my love.
Our lingering urge melted in ebullient mutual crave. Romantic glow of your
emerald eyes shimmered , glimmered in placid blinks. Glory of your
amorous glance reflected to get reciprocated, resounded through my looks.
Me flooded in frolic flush of my feelings. I soared high above seven heavens. I felt tender touch of your fingers while you took blossoms from my hesitant hand. Ardent ardour of that pearly passion transmitted tremor in lust.
I yearned for capturing that auspicious moment crossing boundary of space time. I prayed to float ever and ever making pause on time flow.
I wished to continue time - bound happenstances on extension ignoring
restriction of reality which is also relative.
Designed by the creator, the seasons revolve,
the scorching heat of summer is long gone.
Outside the window open on the pale lawn,
the music of the rustling leaves mesmerize me.
As the autumn scene slowly fades away
within the freezing fold of the northern wind,
the sky sparkles with seamless sapphire shine,
satin cloud streaks drift with contours of silver.
Thinned out thickets trap the gold of dawn,
the hued web on them won’t last for long.
The aureate leaves have begun to fall and float
in the garden path turning into golden garland.
Bronze grass blades on the auburn meadow
glow as they’re suffused with scarlet sunrays,
that would soon disappear at winter’s call,
conveyed by the whispering wind of chill.
The pristine pearls of dew make a crown
for the sun-soaked lawn at dawn.
Its chromatic brilliance radiates
the luring luster of divine magnificence.
The touch of November’s last warm flush
I will absorb to the full, and treasure
as the gracious gift of God, a candle of hope,
to light up the despondent darkness of my winter.
______________
November 3, 2022
Contest : November
Sponsored by : Regina McIntosh
Dolly Parton sports a large bust
Which fills many men with pure lust
Well, maybe not "pure"
But one thing is sure:
They're bound to make mud out of dust!
Humanity so loved the poppy
That it made a chemical copy
But God knows what we need
And it isn't more weed
Which seems to make everyone sloppy!
Smelling the clothes rinsed,
Easily he winced
Then, freed a waiting sigh
For the ones not dry …
Now, quite The Helpless-Tired,
He shall have a launderer hired
The Heart he needs that of A Lion
To The Settled Ones iron …
Clothes keep waiting to be washed,
Even asking that this be rushed
But in reply a face is just flushed,
Because Tap Water still gushed.
the sun rose lemon
wildflowers speckled the grass
marigold gardens
the skies were orange
with touches of red and mauve
the wind burst with sound
colorful birds sang
their mystery treetop songs
green days of summer
He sat on the seat
nor too plain nor too plush
And when he had finished
he gave it a flush
Down the well went ideas and thoughts
on the ruination society had wrought...
Then he flushed one more time to silence the rant
that he felt like unleashing for soiling his pants
The Prairies Flush
David J Walker
The colors flowed from his own brush
The prairie flush in scented and sacred hues
The earth tones framed in the deepest blues
Of an unrelenting evening sky
Always changing
Nonchalantly rearranging
Always in the eye
of the artist
Limericks I posted on Soup
"Stunk like an old chicken coop"
Critics asked for more
I wondered what for
But now you have the latest poop . . . . .
Johnny went to see his girl on the bus
Forgetting he'd eaten asparagus
Johnny's gusher did gush
Then he forgot to flush
She said, 'Your wee will never become us'
13.04.2020
You're in a rush
To take us all in a flush
Without taking a break
That's your take
To wipe us
All just because you're a virus
Since you appear
I live in fear
Now I'm quarantined
To be screened
And if I'm not infected
I'm definitely affected
A pandemic
Once an epidemic
The economy is still
But not according to our will
A contagious infection
Asking for God's intervention
For as long as I live I remain optimistic
Though nowhere to hide I won't be pessimistic
But wait for a vaccine because I know
it's not far from tomorrow
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