Never gone is my mom, her words and her spirit will always live on, through her children she cherished and loved, now she guides us from above, her energy will be here long after were gone, cause her wisdom was only matched by her quick wit and her magic mommy charm, she put up with alot from her daughter and her four sons, she was my mother, teacher, and best friend, all rolled into one, this hurt is to much to real, this is a pain that just wont heal, because my guardian angel God had to steal, I miss you mom and it won't go away, just wish for one more day, one more chance to hear you say, I love you son it will be okay, I'm lost and so alone, loosing myself as I sit out in front of your home, I know your never truly gone, your energy and memories will always live on, but it dosnt help to fade this pain, whenever I hear someone say your name, love and miss you mom to the very end, thank you for being my mom and my best friend.
There was a quick wit who needed a gig
When his jokes fell flat, he danced Irish jigs
But one night he was so drunk
He kicked up a breeze that stunk
It seems 'quick-wit' zagged when he should have zigged
In past elections I’ve heard told
Voters adding an extra box and throwing old Bugs into the fold
How bad does it really have to be?
Could Bugs Bunny maybe help set us free?
Poor Elmer Fudd would definitely be of no assist
They took away his gun, no proper reach around and no kiss
Daffy Duck has also taken his leave and gone south
He was just no match for Bidens quick wit or Trumps loose mouth
But seriously folks I think we are all screwed
We’re damned if we don’t and damned if we do
Some say the Donald is a little bit touched
But what’s left of Joes faculties, not much
As we get closer to election day, reality will surely bend
Beware of fake news my friends and this apocalyptic end
I know who I’m voting for, me and my toot toot
Bugs Bunny for president, now wouldn’t that be a hoot
Energetic and enthusiastic
She is fifteen
Joy oozes out of her
He is seventeen
Set in his ways,
Glued to his chair In a subliminal fog of nothingness
Her quick wit and sudden movements
Make him feel tired and depressed
He does what he can to discourage her
She cannot be dissuaded
Her tittering laughter and positivity astounds him
He does his best to not smile.
I live by the mouth
quick wit is my bullet
the trigger no doubt
my impulses pull it
You could say on the hole
it does me no good
but I haven’t control
would stop if I could
The day my mouth runs witless
I’ll stand a prat to witness
*hole - play on words, on the whole/ on my mouth hole
If they have to point out it is banter
cus you didn’t realise it as banter
As they left no clue it was banter
The simple fact is it’s not banter
Banter’s quick wit the sort with charm
not blunt brain dead comments which harm
banters apparent with its own alarm
you know to reply with words not arms
Some will insult you then say what it is
banter they say but the humour's a miss
the standard they bant to tells you just this
have they a brain or a head full of piss
One reason banter is something some hate
Many don’t get it run their lip like an ape
after an insult “it’s just banter mate”
pointing it out then banter it ain’t
Acting a prat is a different thing too
don’t justify actions stupid you do
a prat you are and stupid are you
It’s not banter not close I tell you true
Banter only works against a near IQ
you can’t banter with someone much dumber than you
Banter is something the dumb do different
They are not canny or clever they’re just a blunt
Enter the Everest that devastates
as he never ever rests and demonstrates
his quick wit picnic of traits that place
with lickety split flicks on the page
the tricks of a contortionist wrist that emits embers at pace
as he commits and performs on the centre stage
with the impact of a storm from the biblical age
the act of an adorned prolific rampage.
Irresistible talent abundantly apparent
you thought you'd witnessed
ability but until now you hadn't
when the rest in the business
appear to be unskilled
and transparent
as their best rhymes diminish
right here to be unfulfilled
and redundant
thus divested of finesse
while it's clear to see you're thrilled
in this moment.
Who whispers to me from behind my door?
If it's you my dear then please do talk talk.
I'll listen and think, I will pace this floor,
More steps, small steps, more steps to walk.
My mind is old, long gone is my quick wit,
But my ear is true, I do tell you so.
I will listen and think, now I must sit,
Still straining to hear what I cannot know.
I’m nervous, I fidget, what must it be?
Relentless the scratch that tugs at my ear
What words might they be that hold onto me?
I try, I listen, who causes such fear?
Committed, destined to days like before,
Ever to listen behind my closed door.
Sexy knows what sexy is:
Beauty with a touch of bliss.
Sexy humours charm and grace:
Touching face in sacred space.
Sexy shows what sexy knows:
Sure impulse as glimpses grow.
Sexy hints and mints fond quest:
Quick wit and fit fondles fest.
Sexy shows what sexy blooms:
Deep touching visual high booms.
Sexy trades in pleasure grand:
Ample rapture hurls my friend.
Leon Enriquez
03 September 2018
Singapore
There was a girl in seventh grade
Who let the top show on her hose
I was just fascinated to see
I didn't even know I liked those!
About that time was when I heard
"Is that right Pat?", from my teacher
I tore away my gaze to see
I had become, the main feature!
Out of the corner of my eye
"Legs" moved, a new bearing to assume
Great! Why now when...."PAT IS THAT RIGHT?",
Boomed loudly across the big room!
All eyes on me I had to think quick
It felt like my face was on fire
"Yes?", I said, being with quick wit
Could my mouth, be any drier?
Amazingly, he just moved on
From "legs" I got a cold hard stare
It was a very long hour
Before I could get out of there!
This poem is about an artist
Wilson is the name that he goes by
He draws from daily experience
His medium is life
The streets, the gallery where he exhibits
That my friend is Wilson's style
With his quick wit and compliments
He paints on his subjects...smiles
Wilson feels that strong artistic pull
To take the palate of life
Sweeping brush strokes of inspiration
In an effort to paint things right
Wilson is a true artist
One of a dying breed
Takes those whose path he crosses
And draws upon their needs
He was bleak and unpretentious as he mingled in the crowd...
But he walked with his shoulders squared and he always looked so proud.
He was beaten and wrinkled and thin by the blast of time...
But he had been on his own since he was nine.
His smile was contagious and his laughter was always loud...
But his quick wit made him proud.
Life had been hard, there is no denying that...
And he walked wit a cane and always wore an old baseball hat.
He shared his memories every now and then...
And every Wednesday he had lunch with all the old men.
He used to sit and rock when the day was warm...
And he used to stand in front of a mirror to work on his form.
He was old and gray...
And he died today.
TK<
You've graduated with honors, you're over the hump,
with not many hoops left through which to jump.
You've left behind all that you hold dear
and stepped forward blind, but never fear.
We've set no traps for you to fall into.
We're harmless, benign, kindhearted and true.
We like your style, we love your quick wit,
but we're keeping track, we freely admit.
We're writing it all down for a future roast
and if ever we share, your name'll be toast.
But we promise you not to draw blood,
just want you to know, your name'll be mud.
Jacky Jack Satin
a cute little chap
a complexion of red
on the face of a cat
When waking one day
he jumped out of bed
quite startled and frightend
his face was quite scared
He dreamed that his son
would fall from a log
and then end up drowning
in some muddy bog
now being a father
of quick wit and strong
he determined to stop it
he'd stop what was wrong
Believing his dream
a predition of truth
he build up a fortress
he'd protect his son's youth
He filled it with games
and plenty of toy's
but still as a building
a prison remains
His son hated living
trapped like a rat
climbed over the wall
ran off with the cat
You can not let fear
rule the days of your life
you'll end up both lonely
and broken with strife
Loose cannon fires a sure salvo;
Aim for quick wit to spring wild jest;
Urge can fashion as pun demos;
Grip humour's fit in silly fest;
Hurl a new joy with banter mild;
Throw a joke there with metaphor;
Embrace fond ploy to roar most wild;
Reach a somewhere beyond before.
Hide your sad gloom in laughter's sway;
Emote and purge your tension fast;
Restore your room with happy stay;
Enjoy pure surge of wit that lasts;
Invite good cheer to settle here;
Numb your old fears as humour steers.
Leon Enriquez
24 June 2014
Singapore
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