Robert Gorelick's a limerick artist
And he's certainly one of the smartest
Specializes in cities
Writes hilarious ditties
The best of which I think are the tartest
From afar your shining mien
I have espied with Ero’s awe;
And though I’ve with wobbles
Your fine shores trodden raw,
That testing main I now must
Tour with unhesitating resolve;
And feast on your tartest crust.
As peregrinating king of the sky
His regal gyre at last completes,
And as old voyage yields to new,
Your lone disciple cedes deceits
And throbs that blest sages slew.
With naught but puerile allegiance
And steeliest zeal for salient ways,
He pledges every unflagging loyalty
Till the close of his meliorating days.
I fought one piggish Titan and I won
As if that devious Leech existed not;
Sealing the very firy nose of his gun
With ball-like rags to sap every shot.
A long-lionized mogul of giant name
Slew my low fists by a magic stroke;
Vilest Judas glossing in pesty fame,
I his two-timing fang spookily broke.
I know not if such a scheming villain
Fickle arms dim for want of glut gain,
Ever shall by Time's rare marvel floor,
And ink selfsame serendipities more.
May the Highest Star your ochre clip,
And pelt plagues and fates your ship;
Until Hades her filthiest minion finds
Sulfurous frying betwixt fallen minds.
May your fiendish bow of foxy veneer
Snap mid-hunt as looms hugest deer,
And life's fave tooth turn fatal sore;
Your daintiest morsel tartest grow!
Words Can Be
A Barricade Or Bridge
Written: by Miracle Man
5/13/2020
Words become as brushstrokes on a painters palette,
spread as paint, at the volition of the artist.
Whether smooth, colored, sincere, or acerbic,
Those intended to hurt are always the tartest.
All words have power to be barricade or bridge,
we dispense words in anger, then oft question choice?
As days grow old, we attempt, our tongue to bridle,
Inhibiting words once spewed, from an active voice.
Tall and tan, velvet skin aglow
His smile, a film star's photo
Sure of himself, he walked with a swagger
A lady's man, his smooth tongue a dagger
Talented too, a budding young artist
Painting portraits, positively the tartest
Portrayals of la forma femme you ever did see
A lady's man, footloose and carefree
He'd ply them with wine, lure them with words
inviting them to his studio with clichés so absurd
But they fell for him hard, he played the game well
as he dragged them to bed for a night of lovemaking in Hell...
They awakened the next morning to an empty bed
Their fast-talking artist had conned them and fled
A lady's man to the end, footloose and carefree
His life ever-lonelier, an empty sex-spree
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