Short Risqué Poems

A limerick ought to be bawdy
A little bit nasty and naughty
So if one should write
Write ones that bite
A little risqué and gaudy...

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One time I was drinking whiskey
When the wife was feeling Frisky
But Frisky cut loose
The wife got a goose
Can't say no more cuz its risqué...

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On Christmas Eve, Oh Carol!
Put on risqué apparel -
Santa and elves in eyeball thwack, 
A little drummer boy in shock! 

December 26, 2021...

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From Manchester came a bloke
who thought himself quite bespoke.
	His risqué pick up lines
	were made in monorhymes.
He proved to be all mirrors, no smoke....

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Your paper plane while I slept in my window flew.
It’s exhaust mad me gag and made me turn blue.
On its fuselage I painted a risqué picture of you. 


By Robb A. Kopp...

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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!
...

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I was induced,
At your feet
Hooded look in those hues,
In this slow risqué beat.

Flickering lights,
Fills your low whimpers of discontent
Most are still up for drinks,
While we share an odd taste of lament......

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An amoral appetite
Promiscuous at play
Hot, horny, heavy
Romantic and risqué
Obscene unto obsession
Dirty with desire
Indecorous indulgence
Shamelessly salacious
Immoral and impure
Anxiously addictive
Carnal with no cure...

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Those glorious, glamorous, gutsy girls that dance cross the stage
Baring their long legs, wearing costumes risqué for that time and place
The music plays, times change and so does the expression of dance


For the Rick's contest...

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Antics  dealer

I dealt  in antiques as well as antics
Once chased a  sterling  ‘bronze’,  very  unique
It  stood  its ground and just blushed
Till, by and by, I felt  bushed
And chastised,  quit things risqué and of  risk.


03 jun 12...

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Chipmunks tease us after we bloom
we're clueless as to why
the words of the birds and bees loom
we're small we don't deny

Grow low, we'll be out of the way
lowly we grew to be
thought our colors a bit risqué
butterflies shout, PANSIES!...

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There once was a couple so gay
Who liked to get down and to play
Their giggles so naughty
At thoughts that were smutty
Loved flaunting their conduct risqué



Submitted on December 27, 2018 for contest BAWDY LIMERICK sponsored by TANIA KITCHIN  -  RANKED 3RD...

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Etching your thoughts with a pen to paper
Telling in detail, page after page, your latest caper
A pal of yours, you may never meet, doing the same
Both know all there is to know from risqué to tame
Each of you eagerly anticipating each day’s mail
To enjoy the stories that happened awaiting the snail



**My wife's hobby...

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fluffy delight
left by grateful spirit
found sometimes on  headdresses
or risqué fan dancers 
or Bob Mackie’s Cher costumes 
decorative in all ways
especially if you are a bird
owls are short changed though
White ones, blue ones, red ones
I feel honored as I find them
Male peacocks though, oh, my!
Nothing better!...

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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....

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When I was young, I loved to see
The Carry On films on TV.
Their humour risqué, slapstick, fun, 
And every line a clever pun.
With Kenneth Williams, Sid James,
And Hattie Jacques: all household names.
In hospital, a camp or fort,
The Carry On team looked for sport.
I think of them and start to smile;
I miss their zany madcap style.

Jack Horne
The Carry On films for Michael’s contest...

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Truthless,
I was searching the self, 
in truth of life.

It leaves many
questions, unanswered.
There was import-

of risqué. The generated
heat would kill
ordinary answers.

You can tear up,
a mountain to release
the particles,

although invisible.
You stretch out your hands
to collect black currants.

For a kick-start
you start shouting.
I am the truth !


Satish Verma...

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Depression can ruin your day
so keep it at bay
being risqué can help

Depression can drive your soul away
but joy can give your life sway
If you’re not too far gone

Depression is not your friend
let it bend
to your will

Depression is not healthy
it cannot make you wealthy
or wise

Help yourself
to the top shelf 
and pick the best of your brain 

But if it were that simple
I’d a done it a long time ago
Yo...

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I desire an audience with you;
The man whose eyes once held a blue flame,
that old version before the time flew; 

When you gave me a silly nickname,
I’d speak you’d hear what I had to say;
Moments that did not feel like a game;

My heart you’d always let me display 
hanging on to every dream I whispered;
More then happy with a bit risqué;

Then emotions grew and made you dread,
let’s rewind to when we talked naked....

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The limerick form IS risqué
It’s bawdy and contains word play
I won’t be put off
By critics who scoff
And shoot off about foul play

I’m gobsmacked, I think it quite fickle
That someone’s upset by a pickle
Although some deem it ‘nawdy’
Limericks can be bawdy
My humour won’t slow to a trickle

I will not be deterred from trying to bring a little humour to people's life and bring a much needed smile. 


01/12/21...

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Lady T is a wildly acclaimed peacock dancer, in gay Paree’
Most of us whistle and stamp as she writhes with glee
She is risqué and unique, and shows us lots of beautiful skin
It is 1923, so this tells you the kind of times we are in.

We love seeing this woman, she makes our blood rise.
Everyone is clamoring to get tickets, no big surprise.
Wait a second! One guy yells. I think I know Lady T.
It is his little sister, so he rushes the stage to cover thee....

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His name is John Albert Cummings,
born 1878 died..... well we are not sure,
the stone is much worn.

Up we hop on the green mound,
dance the frantic dance.
The sacrilegious sex
adds risqué flavors,
drives us into an underworld
where flesh struggles
atop old bones.

Laid out spent on the turf;
panting like sheepdogs,
we giggle a prayer of thanks.

The stars are so clear --- they glitter
like prismatic ice.
John Albert Cummings born 1878
was nice....

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Naked Truth

N~ascent truth resides at the heart of wisdom thus

A~story conjects still naked waits for refutation

T~he emperor’s clothes devoid of the latest chique  

I~ntimately risqué when average normality beckons

V~ie for veracity rescued from the scrap heaps of time

I~n candour modesty disentangles sexy sound bites

T~o be naked or not for whom where how and when

Y-aup those who lie in winning words instead of reason

11th November 2016...

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His name is John Albert Cummings, 
born 1878 died..... well we are not sure,
the stone is much worn.

Up we hop on the green mound,
dance the frantic dance.
The sacrilegious sex
adds risqué flavors,
drives us into an underworld
where flesh struggles
atop old bones.

Laid out spent on the turf;
panting like sheepdogs,
we giggle a prayer of thanks.

The stars are so clear --- they glitter 
like prismatic ice.
John Albert Cummings born 1878
was nice....

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