Oh! My dear inamoratos
Enrapture and enamour one another
With jest and mirth
In a jiffy of joie de vivre
In heebie-jeebies
Soothe and love soothingly
In lividness and agonies
In our succinctly
As bona fide lovers
And as we are tyros
The amour betwixt swains and wenches
Should be with respect and tryst
But not breaking the virgin-knot
Till matrimony we can quest
The right to live and explore in fancy
To enjoy is to own
The right to open and welcome
In the palace of fantasy
To the kingdom of ecstasy
With merry and cheery.
The wench was eagerly thrown overboard
Why did you do that? I asked Captain McCord
That dolly said a pumpkin is an overgrown gourd
The wench sprang from the sea carrying a sword
Became the new pirate queen after slaying McCord
w o r d s
wondrously wielded
warm wenches
wise with witless wet with woe
w i c k e d
weaselly wolves
w i z a r d s
warping wills
watering wishing wells
waylaying wishful
w o m e n
who wanted worshipful watchmen
when winters would wrest wealth
!
Written: January 10, 2025
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wenches of Whimsy and Woe
In the world of the fiddled gruntingly,
where micturitions dance,
and arty yawning plurdled gabbleblotchits,
lurgid bees buzz with mordacious glee.
Eardges justle and grumble,
festering infectious organ squealers,
gnawing at the edges excruciatingly,
Intergalactic highways scream,
echoing in their lavish friars.
Gandersalps gleam in the grim groggy gloom
graceful gliding gallant swarupincrafts majestically soar
whoop, wail, wassail wondrous rowan wood
cormulent chitchat flickers like flames
Elevate the mundane,
let foolishness dissolve into the ether,
In the charm of nostalgia, we find the replevy abyss,
Paraprosdokian twists lift us higher.
Triskaidekaphobia slumbers wrapped in jest.
Schadenfreude influences us as
katabatic whispers from the abyss fade away
callipygian figures emerge,
bringing moments of unexpected joy.
Vessels overflowing with dreams,
countehsee the orbs and clusters
while Guinevere gazes, sly and wise,
clipshank the past, whitebootz to come
Here as we meander in whimsical unfolding
.
mine dukes bare the
scar and callous
yet her frame
complains
not
mine clumsy oak
disturbs her
not
her slumber 'pon
mine
I feel hern
not
*Maryland’s annual renaissance fair is nine weekends
of medieval celebrations, welcoming rogues, monks,
maidens and *wenches ,) to step back to a time when
owning a sword was cool.
The soft breeze whispered in a barely heard whiff.
Emptiness enveloped the lovely old park
Past life has been hard and now all are dead stiff.
Hot tears rolled down my cheeks as day became dark.
Emptiness enveloped the lovely old park
All six played around the opposing benches
Hot tears rolled down my cheeks as day became dark.
Young girls dreamed of becoming famous wenches
All six played around the opposing benches
Memories tumbled haphazardly in mind.
Young girls dreamed of becoming famous wenches
Knew instinctively we were loving and kind
Memories tumbled haphazardly in mind.
Not easy to forget those difficult years
Knew instinctively we were loving and kind
Recall all we said echoing in my ears
Not easy to forget those difficult years
Life had its plans for us as each departed
Recall all we said echoing in my ears
The lonely park we became broken-hearted
Life had its plans for us as each departed
Past life has been hard and now all are dead stiff.
The lonely park we became broken-hearted
The soft breeze whispered in a barely heard whiff.
FICTION
Lord Labrador was so dapper and debonair,
When the wenches saw him, they put their legs in the air.
He could have his sniff of whatever female he fancied.
None of them ran off or avoided him. They prance-ied.
Lord Labrador was used to having things his way.
He could whistle and have a steak and ale at end of each day.
He had a harem of women who loved everything about him for sure.
They sang his praises, and wrote songs in his honor, most not pure.
Lord Labrador was not popular among the other lords or men.
They hated the way he was the center of attention from beginning to end.
Their wives pictured him when they were in the throes of passion.
Which made these men’s hopes go pretty much crash’n.
Lord Labrador did not care that he was only popular among shes, not hes.
He had enough money, that he did not have to care about pleasing any of those fleas.
He would enter the room and the women would sigh and drop in subjugation.
In a way it gave him a sense of hopeful jubilation.
Robin treated his men down at the inn
To sexy wenches, food, mead and some gin
All got drunk on the mead
Then got high on the weed
Friar Tuck said “it’s not right it’s a sin.”
Robin’s outlaws were enjoying the night
And with the sheriffs men started a fight
The men ran for their lives
There was lots of high fives
The peasants cheered at this comical sight.
Written 31st January 2019
For limerick 3 contest
Sponsored by Joseph May.
At every birth is God, by whom
each lifespan is decided,
and when One spends another year,
a cherubim will then appear
to note the age, lest one spend more
than what the Lord's provided...
...and in the wood, behind the thick,
Medieval wenches, ravenous
for skin that clings to flesh like silk,
and in light shimmers, pale as milk,
have a special, ghastly trick
for keeping health like maidens:
Bring a victim to your palms
and hold It to your lips,
purse them, then consume the soul
(slowly; never take it whole,
or leave It even partly full—
waste not a bit!) in sips.
Mind the age of every one;
the rest of what's allotted
upon ingestion of a soul
will be reckoned with your own
longevity, it should be know—
by children, be besotted!
Stay you healthy, young and fine,
for ever uneclipsed,
and them stay humanly resigned,
until they separate, in time,
as we're each to eternity
eternally affixed!
Old men sit on city benches,
Young girls pass, ALL future wenches,
Bought and sold, wrapped up like candy
Human slaves to feelings randy,
Seniors find their skin's now forest,
Sunshine's grown a Mormon chorus.
Churches members? Cut Black faces,
Uptight segregate by races.
"Black and White?" Such simple answer!
Too bad it's just one more cancer!
Colors merged (like rainbows bending)?
Rich and poor must parse gov. spending!
All men scarred by those excluded,
Poverty is life denuded!
Excess is the spice of living,
Only winners are the giving!
Long Tooth
March 27, 2018
Haywire ghetto, lingering corpses, malingering sunshine,
Malignant malediction, staccato with disseminating stench,
Portending: ichor, insipid blood and wenches.
Juxtaposition of aphotic with aphotic; incognizant iniquity.
Noxious oxygen, attenuated jasper, jejune jardiniere:
Zion.
Smoke: implicative cornice,
Sherry or vitriol?
Ours, a world, that feigns polo in alcohol!!
-Pin Dew (30/04/2017)
SURF'S UP
It drug the beach sand making trenches
causing lightheaded fainting of wenches
the ocean was icy
he stood out quite nicely
even after allowing for shrinkage.
2/19/2016
submitted to – Limerick Contest II – for fun – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Jan Allison
Henry Morgan is my name
Being a pirate is my fame
A landlubber wasn't for me
Fortunes were made at sea
From port and starboard cannons roar
Through Spanish ships cannonballs tore
Strike your colors or face our scorn
Cutlass and pikes will make you regret being born
Merchant ships we looted, plundered and sank
Prisoners were ransomed or walked the plank
Raiding West Indies settlements was fun
Loved the pieces of eight, wenches, and rum
The Governor shivered at night in bed
His King put a price on my head
Buccaneers way were over or face harm
Keep on and you will swing from the yardarm
Poetry Contest: A storm on the Spanish Main
Sponsored by: Joe Maverick
Sir Henry Morgan,
Nickname "Barbadosed"
born 1635,
died 25 August 1688 (age 53)
The Pirate Who Invaaded Panama in 1671
Buccaneer and pirate, admiral and general, country gentleman and planter, custos and judge of the court of Vice-Admiralty, governor and knight ¬ all are titles he held
No Love Lyrics
No resting arms
Nor bosom smitten,
Where conflict harms
Once shy, twice bitten,
A virgin riled
Soon does goad
The wrath of a child
As cannons reload.
Hidden in history,
A languid heart,
Conflicts in mystery
As lover's depart,
Two hearts betwixt
With regrets intrusion,
Midst stones and sticks
The finale, an illusion.
Not lovelorn rage
Nor wailing wenches
Can pay death's wage
In silenced trenches,
A king's shilling,
A christmas box
'tis woefully willing,
Unspent, since lost.
No love lyrics
Nor smiling song,
In peace war mimicks
A poppies throng,
Medals for the brave
Sway too grim,
Lacklustre to the grave
Eyes flutter dim.
Impoverished souls
Forlorn and lost,
In bullet holes
Shall count the cost,
Survivors dwindle
One by one,
Perchance to rekindle
The song of the sun.
No loves missed
Nor heroes unsung
For widows kissed
And tyrants hung,
A dead man's shame
Is no greater loss
Than the unknown name
On yet another cross.
Let us go to certain half-desserted restaurant
Where cheese is spread on the table like an elkmilksheet
Steaks are burnt, curries are bland, puddings are mulberry mist
Let us go to certain half-deserted street
Where women come and go like milkrunners
Wenches in hand the spanners span the Einstein's space
( Here I am dizzy,I am confused, should it be my space?)
They are savvy nuts pulling legs of navvies
They are all dancing quirks and frizzling squidface
I am Nero, I am nerd, I like to fly like a booming bird
But hey see all ******** I am bamboozled in a brown pit
I am cheated, I am a cheat
I am timid, I browbeat
Let us go to certain half-deserted street
Kiss her kill her miss her mess her give Sue a treat
I am not fit.
I have heard bunkers singing
Weapons roar, F-16 kinking
Tattered cops and freaks swinging
Cows are mooing churchbells ringing.
Children laughing, couples blinking
Midsummer snow snowstars twinkling.
Churchbells ringing........................
Shanti Shanti Shanti.
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