A ramen bowl - the pained cheeks squeezing still
Above the porcelain throne, his thighs caressed
In great strain, his bowels seeking to un-fill,
Whereon the chilled white seat his buttocks pressed.

Will those cherished friends wait for him to push
This fiery feces from his loosening thighs?
And how can body, poised above that flush,
But feel the fat **** throbbing where it lies?

A shudder in the ***** expulses there
The burning ***, a plop, that lost half-hour,
And thick brown smear…
                                            Being so immense,
So swollen, in the thick stench of the air,
Did he envisage he would need a shower
Before the indifferent cheeks did let that drop?

Adam’s urination was obnoxious in duration
Misidentification of the peeing location
Caused initial complication, then a long deliberation
Yet upon his infiltration of the urinary station
We waited in frustration, with a growing perturbation
But soon anticipation, fell to demoralisation
Why this elongation of his bladder evacuation?
Is his stream without cessation in this lengthy expellation!?
We waited in vexation through lavatorial vacation…
Was it *** misapplication, needing re-sanitisation?
Or perhaps an altercation with the flush mechanisation?
Or maybe ******* for some cheap gratification?
Excuse the scandalisation of his prolonged defecation
This versification of constipation has a solid allegation
Tis not a fabrication, that a massive **** was taken!

Flamingos are creatures of beauty
they tread lightly on this world
because they are not truly of it
their origin is celestial
some distant oasis
far flung between the stars
this is apparent
when one looks at a flamingo
the beauty one sees
is no ordinary
kind of beauty
it is the beauty of wisdom
a pure wisdom
not tainted by life
for flamingos don’t live
in the ordinary sense
they are eternal.

sure
you can own a flamingo
possess it even
lay your hands lustily upon it
and ruffle some feathers
beneath a flaming moon
but you can never know its mind.

And from that tree that is the universe
that springs the universe
there’ll spring an apple
and when it falls
it falls forever
so that it can never be rotten
never be eaten
never be tainted by a world
in which it never is to enter
ever suspended
but never submitted
it will be the most beautiful
pristine apple
that ever was created
ever was alive
with its creation
this apple
will be the bliss untasted
long live that apple
that never will live
here it will stay
untouched
forever.            

-                              

i’ll eat that apple though…

i f*cking love apples!

Colonel Lingus was a cunning linguist,
He would slither, and slobber and dribble,
With his tongue he would stroke, with a push and poke,
and a wiggle about in the middle,
Though the talk of the town, when he had his head down,
Not a word ever could be distinguished.

Colonel Lingus was a gourmet lover,
He would travel the world for its flavours,
But his favourite dish, sort of tasted like fish,
And he’d eat out with quite odd behaviours,
When he tasted sweet slimes, he would quiver with rhymes,
If you met him you’d never recover.

Colonel Lingus had a special interest,
He had mastered a delicate motion,
When he put it within’er, and then gestured ‘come hither’,
It was said he could summon the ocean,
So the ladies spoke highly, although often quite shyly,
But he played himself down like the simplest.

When the guns fell silent in Levantine skies
Hast thou no missiles left for me?
Scarcely a drone within our airspace flies
As thousands now attempt to flee
You’ve heard from me, why I not thee?

Blitz me! Smother me with bombs!
Blast me! Strike me here, from there?
Let mortars fall like sugar plums!
Make ash clouds smoulder, sirens blare
This iron dome has got to give! -
All is fair, in love, and warfare 🚀

Last night a tree whispered on the breeze,
To a girl, half-dozed in wakeful dreams,
With the groaning darkness yet retreating,
The processing dawn was ever reaching,
She stumbled here - Beneath his bulge,
She crumbled here - In weeping deluge,
Half-drowned, half-famished, to seek refuge,
When she heard the tree sounds, murmuring,
Which pierced the darkness, murdering,
From that old Oak so bold and bright,
He whispered with his treely might,
Where she sat safeguarded from the night,
“I am a tree, hardly alive, but wakeful and ever watching”
“I’ve seen many creatures warm and keen,”
“Grow cold upon this muddy green.”
“Yet here you wandered, pure and serene”,
“Whilst here I wavered, tall and lean”,
“I thought this was your dying scene”
So the tree whispered words unseen,
To all but her, who at eighteen,
She sat beneath him wild and mean.
The tree spoke wise and tactfully,
With arboreal tonality,
“Don’t write this self-told tragedy!”
“Awake! And get gone happily!”
“I’ve seen the moons that mast and fade”
“And many creatures stalk the shade”
“You’ve languished here in moon-lit chill”
“Don’t linger for that cheaper thrill!”
“Your puke is soaking in my roots”
“Take off upon those shaking boots”
“This life is yours and yours to spill”
“Now leave me on my little hill”
She shivered on his wooded form,
His withered branches bowed forlorn.
He brushed her head with leaf and thorn,
“The world is yours, and yours to dream”
“But memories aren’t as they seem”
“The worst is best forgotten,
“The rest will soon be rotten”
“Your pain is so ill gotten”
“But not so grave. Walk on. Be brave!”
She staggered off, a drunken kook,
Then in one final last rebuke,
The tree spoke quiet, not to *****,
The girl who gave him one last look,
“So long, and Thanks, for all the puke.”