Back from China when Trump feels all but bust,
‘Lousy jet lag, would my body adjust?’
Yes sir, it no doubt will,
His yes men did so feel,
‘And confidence? Would it regain old trust?’
So saying, deep he sank
Unto desk feeling lank…
His MAGA dream gathering further rust.
______________________________
Happenings | 18.05.2026 | America, humour, political, Limerick
With lank longish hair, of virtue most spare
Hollow cheeked, with joints that creak..An elderly evil proponent of deaths i see there is a reek a pungence of cadavers in such abundance, he knows not where he has buried children a'plenty Grandfathers their
Wives, but then for satan he strives.' He must at least rank as a liutennant skull and
Cross bones on his pennant, a trace of accord..He has trodden the boards floors he is invisible on the black squares.' And will never give up his share.' He mooted for
Guvenor of Gaza, no other i dare could
Show such brass neck.' Of tony blair, who will
Be, no doubt? flexing his ropey old pecs.'
Her eyes are laden with drunken sleep,
Silhouetted by lank, tired hair flimsier
Than the spine of an elderly, broken night.
Tattered, it buries the horrors of night;
Braided, it creases the rows of black corn,
Sweeping swiftly south and downwards;
Ponytail ties the umbilical linking life
And skyline light.
Lissome, she traipses with no lamp,
Even when darkness confidently pitches its nightingale’s romance
To district judges seated on the kerb of the apothecary’s creed . . .
With her the night loses its potency,
Its sacredness,
Expelling flies that die out on their own willpower,
Like winged dinosaurs,
Through the age of decomposing summer.
It's all been analysed before?
The oneiric spell cast upon slow, difficult nights
When the breath smells like the anus of hell.
By the way, I drivel.
Not saliva.
Oh, no!
I drivel on about hissing nights that ought to be lonesome,
Stretched out, dark, and without rays borrowed
Earlier from a twerking twilight.
Restless nights, worn like silky cloaks, diaphanous,
Seeing through the naked veins of her sweet eyes.
At the age often, Aztec boys back in the day
Had all their hair cut except one lank, out of the way
They could not get that one cut off until their mission was complete.
Bring home a prisoner from battle, isn’t that sweet?
Cinnabar remittance ailerons squall federal cobblestones. Lank alpine squint modest. Nectarine grimace, cloys toothsome.
Coiffure chain rod composure anemic, primogeniture Swedish cotton murk optics
Rodeo riding maiden broadcaster network metaverse falconry. Boreal voyages legalese.
Simper treacle blanched anecdotally. Goofy balm, beardless tease, healthy as a horse, real bee knees.
. HARK the heralding angels sing.
DARK night, born, Christ the King.
DART across the skies, a star.
PART to signal Christ's birth afar.
PARK their camels, three wise men.
LARK and nightingale warble Amen.
LANK shepherds pray on high.
SANK and descended, the star is nigh.
Rubberneckin’ Double D’s
Some men seem to live for these
Pack a rack and watch the eyes
Summing up a super size
Curvy cutie’s leggy lank
Shoring up a well built tank
Catches glances everywhere
Take a seat and watch them stare
Rubberneckin’ Double D’s
Such a gift that aims to please
Silly boys, now don’t you know
One is more than what’s on show
Be it planktons ye feed on or small fish
Afloat in sea on pair of fins as feet,
Whatso waters may have fancied your wish,
Perhaps it was lake as your safe retreat
From fishermen or anglers indiscreet.
Perchance as Cod, your oil livers did cure,
A gourmet chose you for a choicest treat
And picked ye up from a shop floor secure.
O Beauty, fit to be in a fish tank,
What pity, you’re on a kitchen platform,
What travesty of destiny’s fair norm
That you were looked at just as lifeless lank.
Yet, O departed fish, we find you fine,
A fair dish if consumed with table wine.
______________________________________
Sonnet |05.06.2024| fish
When the sun had melted straw
to gold
and dawn had shimmered,
out of its platinum dream-mask,
then the lank kneed heron
allowed itself to blink once,
however,
the darting minnows
were too small to care much -
they knew the tall still bird,
had no use for scraps of silver foil.
Another day, another way
Another year, another tear
Another place, different space
Old book, new look
Old fears, new tears
Look back, different tack
Loose ends, old friends
Say goodbye, heavy sigh
Another pickle, life's fickle
Must fight, no light
Money spent, anger pent
New sun, nothing done
Seeds sown, food grown
Another hour, pretty flower
Birds tweet, so sweet
Cold frost, plants lost
Bent over, search clover
No luck, still stuck
Blue sky, can't fly
Soul bare, I care
Drugged nutter, dirty gutter
Back lane, insane
Hair lank, face blank
Empty mind, chose blind
Find peace, wars cease
Old world, flag furled
Modern world, Brain curled
No room, such gloom
Brain flop, full stop.
Pretty Lady
Pretty lady may I sit by you,
I want to watch the sparkle in your eye
and how your svelte hips sway.
I'd like to see how candlelight reflects, from your golden hair,
hear your bright clear crystal laughter,
and the warmth of your voice.
It would be my pleasure,
to watch your lank legs walk,
as long as it was not away.
I like it best
when I hear you talk,
and want to know what interests you.
I'd like to pit the sparkle of your wit,
against mine.
Lady, I love you,
when your soul shines,
Pretty lady, I Love your vibrant youth,
the sway of your body as you stride.
I love you now, full and complete,
as I prepare to emote these things,
By love all consumed,
I prepare to rise and speak,
You turn to see the lines etched on my ancient face,
smile softly and warmly, rise and walk away.
Ignorance is bliss said the uneducated Miss
Take the tiger by the tail, and then give a hiss.
A snake in the grass thought outside of the box
You can’t judge a book by its cover, said the ox.
Like a kid in the proverbial candy store
Good things come to those who wait said Moore.
In the nick of time there was a loose cannon swarm.
All together it became the perfect storm.
Cliques are like cans of worm said a tiny newborn.
But like all God’s favorite things, every rose has a thorn.
Grandma said, “The apple does not fall far from a tree.”
She was referring of course, to that arrogant baby, Little Lee.
What goes around comes around, Daddy interjected.
That’s the pot calling the kettle black, Mom said, feeling rejected.
No sense in beating a horse to death, said the uneducated Miss.
The grass is always greener on the other side. She blew them a kiss.
There are plenty of fish in the sea, they told Uncle Hank.
But now he felt dead as a doornail, he was sweet on Miss Lank.
He must have gotten up on the wrong side of the bed someone said.
If only walls could talk! Hank lamented. His face was quite red.
Getting ready for a New Years chin dig
I purchased a new fancy schmancy wig
and bubbly for chilling;
I'm ready and willing
to pare, next year I'll be lank as a twig
Santa needs a break from the Holiday
the left overs echo in the fridge, oh Hey!
the turkey is wasted
his eye balls are basted
Merry Eggnog to all now get out of my way
Pop goes the bottle and in goes the booze
its time to party don't snooze or you lose
fetch me a drink
fast as a blink
bubble me up, please don't sing me the blues
Jopple Jim slim feeling kind of perplexed
he wasn't invited and now he is vexed
crack open a bottle
go to full throttle
send him his invite by crook or by text
Once upon an outhouse dreary, while I strained there, lank and leery
of creatures scary down beneath the privy floor--
As my veins were close to popping, suddenly there came a whopping
rush of air, but nothing dropping, dropping from my nethers sore,
“'Tis but a sputter", I then mutter, “popping like the thunder's roar--
only this and nothing more!”
Ah, succinctly I remember - a distinctly warm September;
for bath tissue I dismember - an issue from the hardware store.
Eagerly I wish for passing - that which had been amassing
in my numbles far surpassing - any grumbles heretofore
A gassing foul and shameless to deplore
Nameless here for evermore
Then, methought the air grew smelly, perfumed from my askew belly
The fumes of fish stew from the deli, like the breath of Balthazor
“Wretch,” I cried, “as God hath bent me—by what devils hath he sent thee?
Respite – respite! No more! Some forthright output, I implore!
Purge, oh purge this burning urge I'm yearning for!”
Shall I potty... Nevermore?
With apologies to EAP.
There was once a man from a cool clime,
He had an unhurried sense of time,
Cool and content, no let,
Leisure his treasured pet,
Enough time his pet moments to chime,
A poet, his verse blank,
And diction lean and lank,
Who, believed: words in right space-time rhyme.
________________________________________
Tongue-in-cheek | 06.06.2018 |limericks
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