Can one ever have too much of a good thing?
Can I squeeze out an answer, my brain to wring?
Some folks will tell you I think too much,
with little to show, 'cuz I'm out of touch.
Good food and drink should be taken in moderation.
So, I'll stop trying to eat everything in creation.
Can one have too much sex? Should it be my goal
to find out, or should I not touch that with a pole?
Can there be too much love? Who'd be so hard-boiled
to say that? My grandma, who says I'm spoiled.
Can one laugh too much or go over the top?
If you're laughing at someone else, you should stop.
I can't say what's too much! Who am I to judge?
Time for my tenth piece of chocolate fudge.
I've yammered on and said "too much" too much.
So, I'll shut my mouth, but let's keep in touch.
Constant thunder, but no blubbering - the clouds are dry,
dark, sultry; and the soil is crying out for alcohol -
A little drink of pink champagne or whisky sour cocktail.
No umbrella!
Squeeze out the plenipotentiary sopped-up water
and let the thunderclouds rip, and roar with delightful glee.
Birds and insects, in hideaway, humming softly, resting.
Woman is a hole,
Soft with spongey walls,
Press the button, make her howl,
Crash through her virgin halls.
A newborn baby, little girl,
Fresh kitchen rag to store,
Waiting ignorant of the day,
When she too will be soiled.
Decades later, kitchen rags,
Sit discarded in a bin,
A loony bin for hags to talk,
And squeeze out salty drips.
Streaming semen pulling tears,
Out of ragged women,
In a circle all but holes,
Men uninvited saunter in.
A new morning, bright, not in its light, but in its brilliant composure.
—quote by poet
God Orchestrates a Momentous Morning
As the sun provides a scintilla of light
at dawn, and the clouds squeeze out
slight sprinkling, atmosphere tweets
along with the daybirds and hoots
with the owl. S u d d e n downpour -
delightful the serendipitous chorus.
We secured the dogs in a chain link fenced pen
I was gobsmacked to see the puppy ten minutes later
How had he gotten out?
Like a convict he had tunneled out
In ten minutes making a hole under the gate
Big enough to squeeze out his eighty-two-pound body
A space ship could have fit into this hole!
What is he doing now?
I turned to see; he was tearing up the driveway.
This is a black asphalt driveway!
We called a company to fix it;
They were gobsmacked that a puppy had done this!
love is a biscuit –
spread with jam or dunked in tea
according to mood//
love is a hairnet
catches stray strands to hold them
gently, and softly//
love is a mirror
reflected affinity
in each other’s eyes//
love is a window;
look inside; you see your soul –
look out, see the world//
love is an apple
make apple pies or cider –
it’s your decision//
love is an orange;
squeeze out the last single drop
then make candied peel//
love’s a banana –
yellow outside, white inside
feisty yet tender//
love’s a bicycle
two wheels moving in tandem
like kindred spirits//
love’s a tangerine –
easy-peel, many segments
fragrant smell lingers//
I hope every minute you think, a flower of guilt blooms. I pray your garden of guilt goes on forever.
Your living is a privilege you shouldn't get to have.
Does your harm have no boundaries?
When you look into a mirror do you cry?
Every one of those tears you squeeze out of your eyes are just the tears of those you have harmed.
If you cried for every minute of every day it couldn't compare to the billions of tears you have created.
A monster in the making since birth.
No one could even fathom how you got on earth.
Do you ever walk through your mental garden of guilt?
I wonder..are all the flowers white?
Do you fail to recognise that all these flowers are blooming thoughts of the ones we had lost.
And all you see are inanimate, dull flowers?
Flowers that may never bloom because they had fallen ill to your hands.
Splattering dried soil upon my face
Lying on that bed for a space
Space for stars, rainbows, and the moon I plunged my eyes; the sky took me into a room
An inch of fumes and smoke filled my lungs
Drown in how they pierced their fangs
Space by space, acre by acre—work as a trade
My skin, eyes, and hair were cascading.
Treasures like golden quicksand,
Provider at most, even in their command
Midst of the haze, everything seems fine to me
Died at most, thou poorest tree
Let them cultivate their land and squeeze out my skin
Everything looks fine to me; I have no kin
Let them pulp my eyes and scorch my feet
Does not matter when I live in a threat
The gift of their deeds is the scaly land
Uncage the air and mutate the hand.
Living in hell or living in a raging tie
Raging storms, zapping lightning, polluted realm, and it looks fine to thine eyes
Stood a strong soldier with all those mishaps
Hiding my scar and fertilizing all my stuff
When you are all broke and I’m here to embrace you
Complaining is not my cup of tea
In the field my eyes both upon her lay,
delicious sight for which I yearn and pray.
A heart that beats and grows from the earth,
from a stem like flower’s morning birth.
Oh, such majesty must be from beauty’s crown,
Her body draped within the light’s molded gown.
Bleating aloud the song of her living boon,
with its truth veiled behind a sweet secret tune.
Blood streams like water flowing down young thorny chest,
I cry from thirst and feed upon her bulging breast.
My feet dig deep, piercing molten dirt’s scolding core,
Yet, her warmth is so much hotter; I BEG FOR MORE.
Lusting and loving both together live in muddled ground,
No moment I resist, as my heart like hers is bound.
The roots tangle my body and squeeze out choking breath,
And I finally realize as I’m dragged below;
such love be my death.
I think of those legions who would suffer,
those people who have had lots less than me.
You think your life couldn't be tougher
until through their eyes, you finally see.
Squeeze out one tiny drop of compassion
to then see surely how far it could spread.
Actually not knowing in what fashion
it will brighten the dim lit road ahead.
We all sit so high, judging on our stools
prideful we know all about life, the game -
till thunderstruck wide awake by blind fools
to the truth that we all are made the same.
Unravel your ego, wipe your mind clear;
put to inner rest all your selfish fear.
110 words sonnet 6/22/23
I have to admit I’ve got a confession
About my unhealthy obsession
Other kids love pop stars with all their heart
For me it’s the Bristol Stool chart
There’s seven different types of poo
With pictures that give me a clue
to how long the poo’s been in my bowel
Poos that’s both fresh and some that’s foul
Each morning once I get out of bed
For breakfast I’ll have brown bread
The chart is a handy tool
To identify your type of stool
Now I’ve decided to tell
You about the different poos that smell
Cos it’s clear that the Bristol stool chart
Can also indicate your type of fart
Type 1 is as hard as a nut
And stays longest in the gut
Type 2 is a sausagy lump
That’s hard to squeeze out your rump
Then there’s types 3 and type 4
These are the poos I adore
These are the poos I prefer to make
A cracked sausage or smooth like a snake
Types 5 and 6 are easier to pass
Blobby or fluffy ones from your ass
Type 7 is the worst of all
It gushes like a waterfall
So now you’ve got all the scoop
On all the different types of poop
I love identifying my poo and type of fart
The Bristol Stool chart fills my heart
Not the best option at the battlefield!
One need not guess what it might at last yield.
For The Lucky bullets that missed targets,
For the less so Take-Away for maggots...
You dream not of daring a real war front,
Save you can humans and animals hunt:
For those who can trains with long coaches shunt:
The severest swipes or blames take their brunt.
A different picture:The Front of Halls!
The Caroline there center of cat calls;
Honest shows of one being pushed to the wall,
Until one has succumbed to an asked ball...
Prelude to lucky dates for the singles:
In the front one first gets the shared pringles,
Wherefore clubbing friend Kathleen would grunt,
Upon being asked to vacate her prized front;
Every front taking for Lord God's Grant
And eased out, from her lips squeeze out a rant
Host of heaven, be in war; rescue my peace, please!
Look at the map, locate the field and battle on...
Till my all is free from the thwarting tease.
Don't listen to any form of plea dealing to appease,
Until the last minute by which the battle be won.
Host of heaven, be in war; rescue my peace, please!
Fight, fight beyond what their strategies can cease.
Destroy them to such extent that dream not to rerun...
Till my all is free from the thwarting tease.
Gain the background checking to make ease,
The atmosphere you have successfully outrun...
Host of heaven, be in war; rescue my peace, please!
How much are the charges deposited in decrees?
Squeeze out the juice of their mouths; their words, abandon!
Till my all is free from the thwarting tease.
Weaken the weak yet strong enough to freeze
And make sure sets are forever left undone.
Host of heaven, be in war; rescue my peace, please!
Till my all is free from the thwarting tease.
I can't help but tip my hat to those who,
By their own little equation,
Surround themselves in facades by the masses of litigation.
To think that the world likes you,
Perhaps it does give a wave of glee,
Up in the silver clouds with nothing to flee.
Often i find myself looking up, be it out a window or outside,
here standing alone on the plain,
Facades but a myth for they only drain.
Drain i tell you as we wander, lost of ourselves
Squeeze out every ounce of perfection and grace
Almost as if the fragile tearing of lace.
Though i can't help but admit,
That temptation of happiness and wonder
It leaves me standing yonder,
Just a little bit longer in the hopes of something,
Anything this world has to give,
So i can finally live,
breath freely among the many flocks of birds,
And take it all in, this world i'm in.
Can we ever possess too much love
Can it ever possibly be true
That as the years fly relentlessly by
And the remaining years are few
We try to squeeze out every last ounce
Of love till that ultimate day
Till we actually burst at the very seams
And our emotions are out on display
When I was a very much younger man
And life felt like a forever thing
Never questioned it, gonna live forever
Life was one big happy fling
Then the realization that as we grow older
Love is more important to us
The one thing that drives us human beings
Love is much more than lust
Too much love? It's never ever enough
Spread your feelings far and wide
Until you take that penultimate breath
Don't keep love wrapped up inside
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