My salt and pepper shakers were risqué
Shaking their booties night and day
I told my husband to put them away
It was his mother who thought they were gay
I brought my boss home for dinner last Tuesday
Those nasty shakers were dirty dancing away
I said to my husband please take them to Kay
That is his mother, who thought they were gay.
Loo humour it is my forte
Risqué rhymes, I’ll write night and day
I’ve finished next book
Will you dare to look
It’s naughty – that’s all I will say!
New farmer whose first name is Guy
Confesses he's using AI
His cows are sans bulls
But for lassies he pulls
He uses his todger - AYE AYE!
I had a dream, it was risqué
Read on if you dare
I was at a masquerade ball
And all there were bare.
Except for wearing masks of course
No one cared at all
Just got on with naked dancing
Bouncing round the hall.
The funny part was when they parked
Backsides on a pew
When they came to stand up again
The seats stood up too.
There was lots of piercing screaming
As seats were parted
And some very red rosy cheeks
On vision as folk partied.
At midnight came the final dance
The dream came to its close
I switched on the light, got such a fright
The floor was strewn with clothes.
Away with the fairies
No sense in my head
“Just feathers and sawdust,”
or so my mum said
With vacant expression
I stared into space
She said, “I won’t do much
For the human race.”
I told her, “I’m thinking.”
She said, “About what!”
And I said, “Your sister,
Aunt Maisie is HOT!”
I think I’m in danger
of a sore behind
My mum said, “She’s too old,
and you’re not her kind.”
I said, “Mum, just last week,
we went to the zoo.
She said she loves big snakes!
Well, what could I do?”
My mum screeched, “You pervert!
You’re still just a child
You’ve got nothing downstairs
to drive women wild.”
I said, “Keep your hair on.
Your sister likes lads.
And also, she told me…
mine’s bigger than Dad’s.”
Our dearest Betty White, whose credits are long
Her sharp wit was always like a risque' song
She warmed our hearts every step of the way.
Her final bow, we wish she could have stayed.
January 8, 2022
Santa was ‘breaking in’ new Reindeer, but done in his back
Doctors tried to repair, but it was well and truly cracked
Finished with presents and dolls
And no more busting his balls
He found a ‘great niche’ down the sperm bank, emptying his sack
I Need a Good Laugh:
XMAS LIMERICK CONTEST
Sponsored by: Andrea Dietrich
12/15/21
useless she goaded
his libido eroded
feeling outmoded
two blue pills locked and loaded
you beast ~ payload exploded
By
David Kavanagh
I would like to go to a “Show and Tell”
Where the children brought unusual things--
Things their moms said they absolutely could not
Take to school and show to their classmates.
The toy found under the bed in their parent’s room,
Or the balloon in the neat cellophane package?
Or a recording of bizarre sounds in the night
That kept them from going to sleep.
These are the things that would get attention
And, oh, the stories the kids could tell
If only they were allowed to be creative
And not stifled when they make discoveries.
written June 12, 2021
they closed the brothel
to open a bakery
tarts still lay around
black forests are on display
no fresh muffins ~ nothing’s changed
They Closed The Brothel Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
14/02/2021/ syllable counter PS 5/7/5/7/7
Merriment winds dapple bouncing
gleeful spots of energetic play
when they joy lift her thru
childhood perfumed leaves of yesterday.
Emotionally puckered steps
kick-slipping thru teenage ground arrays
wore angst sized woodsy shoes
during those years when leaves all smeared gray.
A girl who never said good-bye
disappeared down in sensual lays
when her heart first love sighed
awry in love crunched leaves spiced risque.
With aches not yet adult strong,
she smeared regrets where teared upsets lay -
on leaves that shamed her dreams
while fresh scents hid their bits that betray.
How high can it go
Before showing that’s low
How big of a scoop
Without showing too much
Cover it all up
In a layer of smoke
Wrap it so tight
That it all is in sight
Wasn’t for string
There wouldn’t be a thing
Put on layers
And show every one
If it is up high
Fill it with holes
And wear designs
That draws the eye
It’s all about
How much you can show
Not going too far
But coming really close
The redness that caused me agitation;
being cancerous was an aberration.
A letter stated it’s lipstick,
that smudged on my dipstick,
so deeply regret my amputation.
crimson stilettos
mini skirt, fishnet stockings
fantasy attire
Even in the saddest parts of her, she glowed.
She was standing still at a crossroad.
No one understood who she was at heart.
Her madness pulled her and others apart.
She was standing still at a crossroad.
A grin was something she always showed.
Her madness pulled her and others apart.
They saw her as a headstrong sweetheart.
A grin was something she always showed,
Known for regularly being in a sensual mode.
They saw her as a headstrong sweetheart.
Not knowing she will soon come apart.
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