Can't believe I'm penning this mess,
but I must address the gifted poetess,
Jan Allison has a degree from the
distinguished Poot-Toot University,
she has a PhD in Fartology.
An expert she is,
and, gee whiz,
anyone who writes of farts
so funnily,
is the "Queen of Flatulence,"
a PoetrySoup decree!
And yes, I know some are offended
by potty humor,
but we need comic relief in
the literary til we laugh ourselves
into a stupor,
as this world has much strife,
even if it's gaseous,
laughter heals life. ~
I thought only in free verse many write confusing poems,
But, by rhyming also many confuse with verbosity,
That description may be liked by all the great poets,
But, layman may gain nothing as he won't grasp at all,
I mean even fellow poets will find it damn cumbersome,
A poem must have clarity and in a way not complicated,
When tough words are deployed, it loses its purpose,
It is like wearing a very costly makeup by spending
And then covering the face with full mask funnily,
If Shakespeare now is present, he will be baffled,
As thousands of words have been added to English,
It is left to the choice of the poet to choose words,
But, simplicity is like praying to God with deep faith
And it can be done without any ostentatious acts,
I have given it as a poem and never as a comment,
Commenting like this is wrong as it is immoral,
We mustn't even advice to give bitter feelings,
As Henry David Thoreau clearly said long back,
All are marching for the drums that they hear,
So, may God bless all with freedom to write
As per their choice and feel greatly hilarious!
All the folks in the district
Know that they should walks restrict
Or guards shall restrict their walks:
Make them suspend lengthened talks
Or with lengthened talk send down
To the valley of the town…
All the folks in the district
Like human lungs that constrict,
Because bronchitis is strict
And tormenting hour picked…
In an-too-strict district
No lips just funnily licked
No face with a funny streak
Or prison for a full week;
Legal redress to not seek
As lawyers have their harsh beak!
So, how like you such, free man!
Three months I’d live there and ran.
For the unusually bulging pockets,
Eyes pop out of their sockets:
You’d think their owners had been handed lockets
Or once again America remembered rockets!
A Mechanic whose wife floats a versatile saloon
Funnily welcoming customers with balloon;
Perhaps, the contents of his pockets
Are to end up in a handful sprockets
Or in his wife’s interest hats feathery
And bags or shoes leathery …
But can he have made all the money
Or a part of it the sweat of his Honey;
Fewer cars now willing to break down
For a paid servicing by Mechanic Brown.
Who can conceivably ignore
A Lion’s judgmental Roar
Or an approaching ferocious Boar
No qualms about disappearing Raw
One ten times or its double sure
That either would heed our Human Law
Or look on as one makes it to some door
To later funnily narrate what one saw?
Who would The Very Grotesque allow:
Oneself deliver up like a Cow
To Enemies’ Murderous Vow
Or to their Intrigue bow;
Today, This Hour, Now,
Hearers asking A Bamboozled “How?”
Imaging one under some spell
Or an hour one’s stupidity would swell?
She is about to disclose
What we reluctantly expose:
What in envelopes we enclose
And their display don’t suppose…
About to queerly propose
An idea other oppose:
What you wouldn’t on one impose,
Except it was what you wickedly chose
And could channels for complaints close:
A blonde asking that she nude pose
While funnily holding Thorny Rose
And a child bleed a foe’s toes
For the blood that evenly flows!
Who wouldn’t her tag ‘The Badly Uncaring
The weirdest of the thinkable baring?
If you have some points to prove,
You will have to your lips move,
You wish to another save,
Have to be The Brave,
You want your things grand,
Aim at Excellent Brand,
You don’t need your business to weep,
Not a swell time release to sleep,
You like the sound of Tick-Tock,
Try to acquire a speaking clock,
You funnily want electric to spark,
Also you want an onlooker to bark…
If display you can a potbelly,
Claim the tickets of watchable telly.
On some painted wall they pee,
Funnily straightening themselves like a tree:
The peremptory command of their finished evil tea
And now complete rejection of a toilet with key!
The guys keep doing their thing with utmost glee,
Diametrically feeling incomparably free
A bashing of Propriety, never to such agree
And daring of sanitation department or their frightening fee
It is pointblank, a sight to not see,
All too obscene a urinating spree
That stings worse than does a bee
And only last week scandalized Sensitive Lee
From just the scatterbrained Eliciting “A Gee!”.
The whole lot, Maladjusted Adults,
To be not spared calculated insults!
It wasn’t a green snake
That tried God’s enterprise to foil
Nor one of greenish make
That had man pushed into piteous toil.
The sun-loving green wouldn’t anything spoil,
As often it’s thinking of how to funnily coil,
This presuming to playfully act out on your very soil
While your odd animosities you oil
And not once, not twice, unnecessarily boil.
Boko haram terrorists
Times without number
A neighbourhood unsettling with a bomber,
Their grabbed territories
Zones of a thousand worries!
A people in panic
Piteously plan their escapes route,
Their pursuers, a manic,
Who must them funnily shoot!
It’s a horizon of unthinkable sleep
And the digging of graves not decently deep:
It’s a constant brandishing of a superior weapon
That precious lives make a lottery coupon.
North-East Nigeria to forever a story tell
That Borno was once a plain cell,
Each is increasingly a militant
Not convinced that innocent lives are important.
Excellent kidnappers they’ve got
And Suicide Bombers a lot:
It’s a pant welcoming an explosive,
Whose impact is a monster:
It’s wearer, an unbelievable youngster,
Obsessed with destructions, extensive.
Crazily, every Boko Haram
Takes non-adherent for a ram,
To readily his daughter
Slaughter and quarter
For a voiced and heard “Blood of Jesus”
What an Islamization of Nigeria
That should True Muslims anger in Algeria …
fishing finds
I’m foolishly fishing in the frost
freshwater follows fondly
foreign fishing forgets funnily
finest fishing feels furiously
fair fishing falls freely
fresh fishing flies fabulously
Yet it’s so cold
In mid-November
funny fishing fails fortnightly
fat fishing finishes fatly
fast fishing flows frozen forcefully
full fishing fills finally
fine fishing finds foolishly far
9/25/20
WRITTEN WORDS BY JAMES EDWARD LEE SR. © 2020
The day the internet stopped working, I opened the door and let my face embrace the breeze of cold air,
I looked around to find dainty plants for which I never cared.
After a long time, I stepped out of my house and strolled through the park for a while,
Funnily, I felt as if I had walked a mile!
I stopped and was astonished at the sight that beheld my eyes,
'Oh dear!' people are conversing with each other and being nice!
I sat on a huge rock at the corner of the park,
Soon I realized it was getting dark.
After ages, I looked up at the sky contrary to my daily routine of looking down at my mobile screen,
'So that's what they call sunset!' I happily scream.
For a moment I felt my life was a lie,
I guiltily looked at the Earth, for which I never batted an eye.
A familiar sound shook me out of my thoughts,
I was notified that the internet connection was back and I was pulled back into the same knot.
ROLL! , let it roll!
because we are getting busted
of the time we wasted.
the memories of the days are
getting, even turning loosed,
as the mind is just too busy,
idling away the sorrows,
it has stored in its guts.
Ma! help me Pa! help me but non
seem alert! ah d days are rolling pass like
Cyclone cycling a refuse dumped
we ve mended our ways now.
its funnily sad how we fooled ourselves,
while we were still young as kids.
we are ready to dance to the beats
of time now so let it play an enchanting melody,
roll on dancing to the cyclone of life
some are gone, while we are still out here.
but some are dead, while we are graced
to still be alive.
we are ready to pay the piper
to detect the tune of ages
of time so we can dance to the
Rhythm of the ages of time unplugged!!
Rolling on 4rm tracks 2 track as d beat goes on
By Gideon Idudje
Trying to sleep
I will lie down make no fuzz think of nothing
And relax, the past is a foreign country no need
To go there, it is like raking yesteryears leaves.
So, you feel hungry too late to get up now anyway
No food will not kill you have diabetes shut up go
Sleep, and before you know it a nice girl will serve
Breakfast…oh yeah!
Try not to remember any jokes you brother told
it was thirty years ago back then you laughed
At things that are not funny now.
Can you think of an example, (shut up and sleep!)
We found older adults funny the way they walked,
And you think that was funny?
No, not know that I’m old and walk funnily too.
Well, I don’t think much of your sense of humour.
Are you upsetting to me now? No, shut up, sleep!
“tell me a story, tell me a story before I go to bed
You promised me you said you would…”
A bit of a song I heard.
A mediocre mealworm was sat on a hill eating a sandwich and drinking some tea when along came an elongated machine with a red face and elastic eel ears which pinged and ponged. The mealworm was confused. Surely not here he thought. It only occurs elsewhere. But elsewhere is neither even, exact or existential. It is to be said that the tunnel the meal worm then dug spread out under ground for several acres. No screws were needed. Just dig dig dig. In fog in sun in snow in hail basically all weathers. Now safe to sip homemade barcadi which had steeped in preparation for this day. Turboprop opera drowned out the booming from above. And the little dove sang sweetly as he supped his well deserved beverage. Feral fragrance frankly feels funnily fished. And after such a hard days work of sitting on that hill the mealworm could laugh and laugh at the chaos above safe in his chambers and surrounded by female earthworms in their bikinis. No ha no x and no z. Representational
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