kingoflimericks - Hello Poetry

There’s an illness from history’s pages Which can even afflict the courageous Beware of the syndrome When visiting Stockholm I’m told that it’s mildly contagious There's a tome in the royal collection Behind triple-pane glass for protection If the legend is right It was penned overnight By a monk under Satan's direction

0

Jun 21, 2025

Jun 21, 2025 at 4:57 AM UTC

kingoflimericks

Limericks from Stockholm

There’s an illness from history’s pages Which can even afflict the courageous Beware of the syndrome When visiting Stockholm I’m told that it’s mildly contagious There's a tome in the royal collection Behind triple-pane glass for protection If the legend is right It was penned overnight By a monk under Satan's direction

10

Shrouded encountering everyday alchemy Wandering there where the mosses may talk to me Under and over the ivy’s low canopy Making my way in pursuit of some sanity Sunlight is thwarted on slopes leading north as I Silently savor the shadows that multiply Junipers stretch between neighbors deciduous Pine trees lie prostrate with limbs discontiguous Here in the graveyard where logs become mortified All forms of fungus will work up their appetite Turning cadavers of trees into sustenance Learning that death is a new source of succulence Labyrinths circle and twist like a tentacle Cloister-like pacing, profound-ecumenical Joyfully chirping like children on helium Life everlasting, give thanks to mycelium

0

Apr 8, 2025

Apr 8, 2025 at 5:03 PM UTC

kingoflimericks

The Uncarved Cloister

Shrouded encountering everyday alchemy Wandering there where the mosses may talk to me Under and over the ivy’s low canopy Making my way in pursuit of some sanity Sunlight is thwarted on slopes leading north as I Silently savor the shadows that multiply Junipers stretch between neighbors deciduous Pine trees lie prostrate with limbs discontiguous Here in the graveyard where logs become mortified All forms of fungus will work up their appetite Turning cadavers of trees into sustenance Learning that death is a new source of succulence Labyrinths circle and twist like a tentacle Cloister-like pacing, profound-ecumenical Joyfully chirping like children on helium Life everlasting, give thanks to mycelium

16

In the beginning was the worm, and the worm was with a clod. And the worm was Claude. He was with a clod in the beginning, and through them all things were made. Without the worms and the germs and the clods of dirt, nothing was made that is now of this earth. The dirt was without form, and void; and darkness was on the face of the heap. And Claude was hungering over the mud and the mire. And Claude said, “Let there be bite”; and then he took a bite. And seeing that it was good, he took another bite. And from the soil he divided the clay. And from the clay, he divided the nitrogen. So that was the first clay. Then Claude looked up at the clouds and down at the clods. And when Claude separated the clods from the clouds, he could see the heavens and the earth. And he saw that this was good. Then with the next clay, Claude created the mounds and the knolls. Then he called on the dirt and the soil to bring forth the grass, the herbs, and every tree and fruit. “Blessed are the seeds,” he said, “for the seeds shall inhabit the dirt.” And in due season, they would inhabit every heath and hillock. Then Claude planted a garden. That garden would flourish with every tree that was good for food, and Claude saw that it was good. But not every tree was meant for eating. Inside and outside of the garden, Claude crept. And in due season the garden was inhabited by humans, including but not necessarily limited to, both man and woman. And Claude wondered whether they were good. Man and woman ate freely from the garden, but many plates were left unfinished. Many articles were cast out of the garden. There were leftovers and there were forbidden fruits. There were residues and there were residuals, and Claude saw that they were all good. And so the worm dwelt among the garbage of eaten. It was a golden age for nematodes. All things were fruitful and all things multiplied. It was a time to be born and a time to plant. To everything there was a seasoning, and thyme for every purpose. Whatever could be seasoned was rendered with seasoning. And what needed no seasoning was rendered unto Claude. And what Claude had joined together, no man or woman could tear asunder. Then one day, Claude found himself in the valley of the shadow. Man and woman had stacked brick upon brick, building a tower whose top might reach the heavens. Until once again, darkness was on the face of the sheep. Claude opposed their pride, but man and woman had sacrificed their only true sun and the light of the world. In the darkness, the flowers wilted, the vines withered, and the gourds worked in mysterious ways. Forced to choose between the tree of life and the root of evil, every man woman and child decided for themselves. Even with twenty pieces of silverware, no man could serve two platters. The sun came up and the sun went down. The cycle repeated but the lightbulbs would not be diminished and the darkness would not be mollified. Some travelled west and some travelled east. Some put down roots and others were uprooted. Some encountered generosity while others met with animosity. Some saved their clods and others paved over them. And for many generations, Claude was nowhere to be seen. Then from the mist, a soft voice echoed. Those with the ears of corn could hear it, and those with the eyes of potatoes could see it. Until the cornucopia runneth over, with thanks and praises to the water and the sun and the whole compost. Lettuce pray.

0

Jan 25, 2025

Jan 25, 2025 at 11:46 AM UTC

kingoflimericks

In the beginning was the worm

In the beginning was the worm, and the worm was with a clod. And the worm was Claude. He was with a clod in the beginning, and through them all things were made. Without the worms and the germs and the clods of dirt, nothing was made that is now of this earth. The dirt was without form, and void; and darkness was on the face of the heap. And Claude was hungering over the mud and the mire. And Claude said, “Let there be bite”; and then he took a bite. And seeing that it was good, he took another bite. And from the soil he divided the clay. And from the clay, he divided the nitrogen. So that was the first clay. Then Claude looked up at the clouds and down at the clods. And when Claude separated the clods from the clouds, he could see the heavens and the earth. And he saw that this was good. Then with the next clay, Claude created the mounds and the knolls. Then he called on the dirt and the soil to bring forth the grass, the herbs, and every tree and fruit. “Blessed are the seeds,” he said, “for the seeds shall inhabit the dirt.” And in due season, they would inhabit every heath and hillock. Then Claude planted a garden. That garden would flourish with every tree that was good for food, and Claude saw that it was good. But not every tree was meant for eating. Inside and outside of the garden, Claude crept. And in due season the garden was inhabited by humans, including but not necessarily limited to, both man and woman. And Claude wondered whether they were good. Man and woman ate freely from the garden, but many plates were left unfinished. Many articles were cast out of the garden. There were leftovers and there were forbidden fruits. There were residues and there were residuals, and Claude saw that they were all good. And so the worm dwelt among the garbage of eaten. It was a golden age for nematodes. All things were fruitful and all things multiplied. It was a time to be born and a time to plant. To everything there was a seasoning, and thyme for every purpose. Whatever could be seasoned was rendered with seasoning. And what needed no seasoning was rendered unto Claude. And what Claude had joined together, no man or woman could tear asunder. Then one day, Claude found himself in the valley of the shadow. Man and woman had stacked brick upon brick, building a tower whose top might reach the heavens. Until once again, darkness was on the face of the sheep. Claude opposed their pride, but man and woman had sacrificed their only true sun and the light of the world. In the darkness, the flowers wilted, the vines withered, and the gourds worked in mysterious ways. Forced to choose between the tree of life and the root of evil, every man woman and child decided for themselves. Even with twenty pieces of silverware, no man could serve two platters. The sun came up and the sun went down. The cycle repeated but the lightbulbs would not be diminished and the darkness would not be mollified. Some travelled west and some travelled east. Some put down roots and others were uprooted. Some encountered generosity while others met with animosity. Some saved their clods and others paved over them. And for many generations, Claude was nowhere to be seen. Then from the mist, a soft voice echoed. Those with the ears of corn could hear it, and those with the eyes of potatoes could see it. Until the cornucopia runneth over, with thanks and praises to the water and the sun and the whole compost. Lettuce pray.

17

As I rotate without and within When I’ve died I’ll be born yet again I’ve come and I’ve gone Like the dusk and the dawn Can a cycle be said to begin?

0

Jan 22, 2025

Jan 22, 2025 at 5:15 PM UTC

kingoflimericks

In the loop

As I rotate without and within When I’ve died I’ll be born yet again I’ve come and I’ve gone Like the dusk and the dawn Can a cycle be said to begin?

5

Back in the days of our innocent youth With Christmas a strict institution The story was shared as indelible truth Enough to suppress evolution Remember the Wise Men who travelled To witness the birth of the King But mythology slowly unraveled Replaced by some bells on a string Remember the days of the shepherds When angels and elders conspired When prophets laid hands on the lepers But lately so few are inspired Back in the days of the loaves and the fishes A rabbi gave sight to the blind He’s not what we’d label ambitious But he suffered as he was designed Back in the times of the Goddess The giver of life and of grains We honor the cycles she taught us Those patterns survive in our brains Remember there’s seasons for living To harvest and seasons to sow For death and for birth and thanksgiving Just a handful of stages to know

0

Dec 23, 2024

Dec 23, 2024 at 2:53 AM UTC

kingoflimericks

The Meaning of Christmas

Back in the days of our innocent youth With Christmas a strict institution The story was shared as indelible truth Enough to suppress evolution Remember the Wise Men who travelled To witness the birth of the King But mythology slowly unraveled Replaced by some bells on a string Remember the days of the shepherds When angels and elders conspired When prophets laid hands on the lepers But lately so few are inspired Back in the days of the loaves and the fishes A rabbi gave sight to the blind He’s not what we’d label ambitious But he suffered as he was designed Back in the times of the Goddess The giver of life and of grains We honor the cycles she taught us Those patterns survive in our brains Remember there’s seasons for living To harvest and seasons to sow For death and for birth and thanksgiving Just a handful of stages to know

24

When negative thoughts are uprooted So sadness and fear are excluded Then shunning adversity Stifles diversity Leaving the landscape denuded

0

Dec 21, 2024

Dec 21, 2024 at 10:48 AM UTC

kingoflimericks

Toxic Positivity

When negative thoughts are uprooted So sadness and fear are excluded Then shunning adversity Stifles diversity Leaving the landscape denuded

5

There’s a mind that relentlessly rioted And honestly couldn’t be quieted Distraught by illusion It hungered for fusion Like Plato’s original dyad did

0

Dec 15, 2024

Dec 15, 2024 at 7:47 AM UTC

kingoflimericks

Save the Union

There’s a mind that relentlessly rioted And honestly couldn’t be quieted Distraught by illusion It hungered for fusion Like Plato’s original dyad did

5

There’s a novel in which I’ve been caught But my storyline’s tied in a knot Come villain or lover I’m drawn to discover The author who penciled my plot

0

Dec 14, 2024

Dec 14, 2024 at 4:58 AM UTC

kingoflimericks

Pulp Non-Fiction

There’s a novel in which I’ve been caught But my storyline’s tied in a knot Come villain or lover I’m drawn to discover The author who penciled my plot

5

There’s a state of profound integration But the ego demands separation So the mind flips about Like a panicky trout Who’s deprived of essential hydration

0

Dec 8, 2024

Dec 8, 2024 at 7:48 AM UTC

kingoflimericks

Fluid Dynamics

There’s a state of profound integration But the ego demands separation So the mind flips about Like a panicky trout Who’s deprived of essential hydration

5

Our crude imperfections they serve to remind Of the ****** limits by which we’re defined And so I surmise That you need not despise The ephemeral flaws of a natural kind

0

Nov 28, 2024

Nov 28, 2024 at 3:29 AM UTC

kingoflimericks

“The Birthmark”

Our crude imperfections they serve to remind Of the ****** limits by which we’re defined And so I surmise That you need not despise The ephemeral flaws of a natural kind

5