We think the Don’s sort of brain dead
Trump morphs in his coffin-like bed
We wish he had heart
But he lacks that part
Just like Mister Potato Head
No vaccine for that which we dread?
Venereal ill he will spread
He loves a big stick
But without a dick
He is Mister Potato Head
The Adventurer
I don't know any famous people maybe I have met famous people who keep their fame hidden like Madonna who lives in Lisbon, near enough for me to say if someone who doesn't know the place, Madonna is my neighbor.
I know of a man who has been living in Laos and Vietnam for some time, he paints a wonderful picture of the people, wort's and all and he drinks beeraloo cold from the freezer
When I was young and a seaman, the problem was when
The ship birthed was to get time off from work to explore the hinterland and not sit in a down-at-heel bar
drinking with whores, waking up in a pink-painted room
worrying about venereal illness and if the dick is falling off. Going back onboard in the morning light feeling
absolutely pissed off facing another day of long hours and in the evening settling for a book, reading pages upon pages not concentrating, sighing, putting shoes on, and walk
back to the bar with garish colors and cheap perfume.
I swear, I will pack a bag with all my medicines, go to Laos and drink beerallo and eat real food, and be charmed by naturally gracious women
We were at the story-changing funeral
Of the Genocide-implicated General:
A drunk and mourners were all served mineral!
In the paid tributes linked with the ethereal,
Though his life had stressed pleasures ephemeral:
An ever-pitied sufferer of the venereal,
As a dying corporal
Surviving on referral
“Then, this is his repentance in grave
Or restrictions of mourners like a slave!”
“Please, if there isn’t any safe alcohol,
Ready I am for harsh ethanol…
In this rubbishy funeral of an accursed general
To drink not many but several.
A half hour ago they were eight,
For the attention of Adult Males Fighting;
Now, it is worrisomely late,
And not a credible single sighting!
No compromises with the venereal disease-parading,
As every loose Eve is sensibly upgrading …
But the clearly-bent-by-age,
Are as clearly out of it:
If one should with The Wizened open a page
One is in Satan’s personally dug pit
It not being all about receipt of asked bills,
But also about a man not supported with staff,
For no real Eve barricades herself from thrills,
Many going for it, not by a half …
Not quite the hour to start freeing tears
But some moment to entertain normal fears;
Customer – Starved Prostitutes,
Bent on not being mixed up with Destitute!
Beaverish, feverish
hot Mrs. Cleaver wished
that her affair had not
given her clap.
Fast Eddie Haskell, her
boy-toy, that rascal, his
transmissibility
claims were all crap.
“Tickle me, pickle me,
say it’s not true, for if
you have the clap then I
must have it too!”
Doctors prescribed her some
anti-microbials,
Ward soon found out that she
had been untrue.
Beaver was curious,
Ward was so furious,
fake news of Eddie’s lewd
films made him snap.
“June, you’re so sensible,
incomprehensible,
that you could fall for that
con-artist’s crap!”
Friskiness, riskiness,
ratings were rising, but
not so surprising they
cancelled the show.
Frightened by content too
radiological,
sponsors said “Beaver” was
not apropos.
Which Cereal While Watching A Serial
What we will wonder is which cereal,
When watching shows that are a serial
Trump had seen
While being mean
Ending up with disease that is venereal.
Jim Horn
So beautiful and dangerous
The Cecilia lion of the firestorm
Setting sexualized minds ablaze
A lioness with a gentle touch
What would you do to engage with this minx
Would you kneel, pleasure her on your knees
Playing a free spirit's tune
Inhaling the scent of jasmine and sex
Laying down in her domain, her humble abode
Burning deep within, melting in ecstasy
A living flame, hot to the touch
An incarnate of luring pulchritude
Serving to ignite this burning inclination
Cecilia Lion has been glazed in torridness
She wears her erotic tendencies gracefully, sexually, and beautifully
More stunning the more I hanker for her
Her assets full and bright
Canting to hear her soughing
Lioness bears her claws
She becomes undone
Not wanting to be silent
To make love under the gold of a crimson hue, that would be wondrous
Mained and copulated by this carnivora
Beastia of the venereal tropic plains
Aggressive, to snuff out my libidinous
Succumbing to the Cecilia Lion's design
The alternative Saga
Eric the brave Viking
could pillage a village all by himself
rape every woman regardless of age.
In Franken land, he got a venereal disease
Which he spread wide and far?
But hi, he was a Viking and couldn`t care less.
He led several Viking ships and headed
for the Med, but he met Arabs fighter and lost
Later converted to Islam. After many years
He reached Jerusalem where he met others from his country
and joined them on the way home, but when they heard
he was a Muslim they threw him overboard
in the straight between Morocco and Spain,
and so ended the life of a brave Viking.
Sports, sports,
I love sports
About as much
As venereal warts.
Her voice resides skyward
Are avail is never sleazing
Are conscience prays the bequest
I touch her neck, swaying down her spine
Her breath has never been so sharp
Just begging for more
We are seamed
Harvesting the serenade
Hitching the melodies
Bacchus lightens the moment
I see the beauty of grace shall fall
Internal medium gone ethical
Eternally it is a tone of pricelessness
The corpus of body and mind
Stimulating salvation
This is venereal eve
As the curtains blow in the breeze
So warm, so hot, melting away
Is this your love device?
You’ve threaded me with poisonous lips against my senses
Like cinnamon trill
It’s burning within me
It’s runnin’ in your veins
We can’t shear away
This is an affectionate declaration
To build a better human use a robot
Genetics are overrated and outdated
Androids make the perfect man
With nuts and bolts who needs a soul
Love your machines
They come with metallic hands
With instructions to construct
Transgender bathrooms built to last
Humans make great pets
When inoculated they are the best
Venereal diseases are a breeze
Hmm.... Are they really needed?
Bots speak bot languages
Abstract thoughts are optional
Don't need visas to get about
Robots work non stop for free
No clocks to punch or dirty thoughts
Void of affection and infections
They follow the instructions of God's plan
To build a better man
VENEREAL VIRGIN
Inviolable virgin so fair, pure - pomp and circumstance.
Flexible ballerina doll, toes always pointed - free lance.
Sparkle and shine from your Rapunzle-tower.
Your courageous father makes tendrils* cower.
He abates, as he’s taught you to hate common snakes.
He licks his venomous lips, offering sacrificial fakes.
Your dance card rolls out the red carpet, lust kisses
each sanctimonious step you take. The bait hisses.
You smile he faints.
You faint he smiles.
Your charms outwit.
He’s spinning on a spit.
Spit hits your high, and mighty eye, penetrating.
Eye wash only spreads the disease - degenerating.
4/25/2017
Word Play Images, Dense & Pithy - Poetry Contest
*Potential suitors
O! Sunnier than the sun is my love’s shine,
Her radiance gives birth to jocund mirth.
More lunatic in prowess fixed to pine,
Her aspect crazes more than pale moon’s dearth.
More martial in her count’nanced iron will,
Her courage braves the fields of warring doubts.
More swift, mercurial quick my thoughts are still,
Her face in them has ruling cardinal clout.
More jovial crowned, in manners utmost royal,
Her seat of influence has kingly stead.
More saturnine are those whose love’s most loyal,
Her absence grave as weighted bullet’s lead.
My love does bend the thieving gods’ weak knees,
Devoted strongly with venereal ease.
Neighborhood rapists look at you from a distance
Twisted degenerates filled with poison in the mind
Drooling from the mouth, big and fat and limping
A cast on the ugly leg, fornicators, scratching private parts
They want to take trees by the trunk and love them
Holding the branches back to offend
To seduce their roots too
If a knot is not available they will drill a hole
They don't wear prophylactics
As they are not subject to venereal disease
We can only pray for a tree infection
When neighborhood rapists are through with trees
They move on to shrubbery
Some bushes fight back with thistles and thorns
Be forewarned, perverts come in all shapes and forms
An abomination to nature
* Authors note: (My apologies to anyone who is offended or sensitive to this subject in any way shape or form. Rape is not a joke. It is a brutal crime and the worst of all crimes against humanity.) I hope you enjoy the poem for its silliness and entertainment intent.
Below the stars and silver moon,
Abounds the coruscation of silhouetted curves.
Sinusoidal and voluptuous,
Seismic undulating and venereal.
Your mind synaptically aglow under the light,
Evokes ethereal perspicacity within my soul.
A torrent tsunami of desire thrusts my body.
Leaves me wanting to make love to you:
Make love to your mind,
Make love to your body,
Make love to your heart,
Make love to your soul.
All under the emanating fragrance of the horticultural moon.
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