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I need a naughty granny
with a cougar in her *******.

A cougar in her ******* and
cookies in her pocket
to feed my old man belly
and please my old man rocket.

I need a naughty granny
who knows how to shake that thing,

Who's just as **** in her autumn
as she was back in her spring.

I need a naughty granny
to make my old *** feel alive.

Who will still want to do me, when I'm 95.
Not my usual thing but just having a bit of fun
A.I. Poet pounding at keys,
a lifetime of memories in
Chat GPT.

Punch up a sunset hues of
crimson and gold,

Throw in some birds,
Hit generate,
watch it unfold.

Selecting a font,
I couldn't
hazard a guess,

I'll just select an emotion
let A.I. do the rest.

Funny, this Insta-poetry is starting
to all sound the same,

Can't get any views,
I'm going insane.

Gotta find some new prompts
to up my game.

This Stupid AI ****,
is getting pretty lame!
Hey Roger this ones for You let me know what you think.

Just posted a video for this on my you tube channel
hope you all will check it out.

www.youtube.com/@tsummerspoetry
Thanks.
dead poet Dec 2024
i’m forcing myself to write this.
i hope it’s worth something…

..
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.
.
.
.
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for God’s sake,
someone shut the ******* dog up!
TR3F1LD Dec 2024
LOTP vo[ɑ]miting verses; a strikingly formi—
[life of the party]
—dable, non-stop rising reserve in
terms of thrills & bliss-providing emotions
a megamart of endorphins in bo[ɑ]dily form, b#tch
an ultimate source of blast, like a bunch of explosives (kaboom!)
you're gonna need an ophthalmo[ɑ]logist service
in the wake of getting an eyeful of A̲[ɔ]ll this
inner li̲ght that I glO̲w with
like a ****** pI̲ne box that's furnished
with LEDs; I̲'ve got a story; it's co[ɑ]mic but... morbid
[consider yourself warned]
[blast, explosives, gunner ("go[ʌ]nna"), (a) wake, ****** pine box]
[get the picture?]
————————————————————————————————
awakened early, go[ɑ]t
out of bed, did some daily morning stuff
wet my somewhat dehydrated gorge with squa[ɑ]sh
then decided to take a morning wa[ɑ]lk
strolling through some great, sun-glowing spo[ɑ]ts
I notice twain alluring gals perambulating shoulder ta
shoulder, all murked out: make-up, clothing, lo[ɑ]cks
[murdered out]
and with their faces dolorous
think: "why are they so jO̲Y̲-bankrupt?"
after taking notice o[ʌ]f
the twosome, like a well-proportioned bo[ɑ]d
["toothsome"]
I put on a Ledger Joker mug
["mug" in the sense of "face"]
mask, outflank 'em, then make my way toward these go[ɑ]th-
-reminding lasses from behind in a sly-a## fashion
just li̲ke those dashing cowl-disguised assassins
[assassins from the "Assassin's Creed" franchise]
O̲nce I'm close enough, like self-sacrificing soldiers o[ʌ]f
islam, I explode releasing the co[ɑ]ntent noted 'bove
bawl: "LIT MORNING, QUIT MOURNING!"
so ear-piercing-lY̲ as thO̲U̲gh my nuts
were being twisted, hI̲t, then blown apart
they seemed to bE̲ in total sho[ɑ]ck
had these two squealing so **** hard
you'd think it's a visual-glory-o[ɑ]b—sessed princess woken up
and seen herself in a mirror old with rucked
skin; the ground's pretty firm & rough
with some edgy stones sticking
out behind 'em; while backwards-stepping, both trI̲p on
those freaking stones, then dro[ɑ]p
like a high-schooler's jaw when he gE̲ts a clO̲se view o[ʌ]f
a centerfoldesque fo[ɑ]x occupied wI̲th her yoga stuff
in the wake of tripping, bO̲th end up
with the backs of their bE̲A̲ns split open, blood
streaming, like getting stuff shown by li̲vestream
stand next to their figures frozen up
like a software piece, while both lie dying
find a lipstick in one of the dismal gI̲rls' pants' front
pocket, then make it look like both died smiling
awaken in the bedroom quarters o[ʌ]f
mine, it's dark, night; I̲ hit
the lamp's switch, then hear: "YOU JOKER SCHMUCK!"
said in a loud, low-pitched, fiend-like tone; my mI̲nd in
that moment's still in the sleeping mO̲de somewha[ʌ]t
which is grounds for why I̲ deemed
it's a wicked version o[ʌ]f
that bat guy here to get me iced; turn my sI̲ght in
["Dark Knight", i.e. the Batman; "Heath" (Ledger), who played the Joker]
[in "The Dark Knight" film; "bad guy", which ties in with "wicked"]
the voice's direction & see the murked-out broa[ɑ]ds
proceeding towards my sI̲de with
their **** peepers glowing blood-
-red, like "s'prI̲se, *****!"
like a Negroni, I stare at 'em thinking: "coldish slug!"
["ice there"; the "Negroni" drink is served with ice; also, it's red]
["coldish slug" - "holy f#ck"; "slug" in the sense of "shot of drink"]
[which ties "coldish slug" in with the ice-served "Negroni"]
utter a loud-voiced cry frightened
witless, or as much
as these goth girls fro[ʌ]m mY̲ dream
then I get pulled out of that creepy horror stuff
by the second awaking as I bawl: "F#CK! DIE, FIENDS!"
"killing joke (a rhyme tale)" by TR3F1LD (TRFLD) is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (to view a copy of this license, visit creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0)
Todd Sommerville Dec 2024
In a microscopic world
Am I an unseen God?

I wonder, am I prayed to?
I don't think so, do you?

I Only ask because,

In that microscopic world,
you must be a God too.

Right?

Or maybe I'm Dr. Suess,
like Horton hears a Who.

But I've never heard a Who, have you?

Not even Cindy Lou Who,
Who, is a great singer I've been told.

But I can't remember by Who.
maybe it was Bud or Lou,

or maybe the guy on first base.
What's his name?

No, What's on second!
I Don't Know.
Third Base.

Okay well, that's enough of that,

Anyway,
I have seen a red fish, 
but never a blue.

And as for a Cat in a Hat
absolutely,
I saw that.

It was on the internet.
just a little comedy to lighten up your evening.
thank you Dr. Suess, and Abbot and Costello, for the childhood memories.
https://youtu.be/LI15gT5o-Zg?feature=shared
this has been added to my you tube channel.
Jeremy Betts Dec 2024
Obviously
Both comedy and tragedy
Feed on
And are fed by reality
With a savagery
So if you play nice
You might find the happy in strife
Both can
Take you by the hand
And lead you to the promise land
Your best guess of an afterlife
Slice the tension with a knife
To get the upper hand
Don't bite the hand
Try to
Stick to
The grand plan
But prepare to fall when you take your stand
Humble humility will get you knocked off the grandstand
Then where will you stand?
Honestly,
It all feels like quicksand
No buts, just and
I too don't understand

©2024
bucketb0t Nov 2024
Opposing seamless things
immersed natural binding,
mock-cope artisan-core
everything boundary ending,
self along sings
A poem dedication to the band Nanowar of Steel in which, after some talk, I told them of how I think their creative process is, and they confirmed it only to accentuate the modesty soon after.
greatsloth Oct 2024
On the Jester's neck was a blade
What will he do? Run and evade?
No, he made fun of its size:
This one wouldn't cut me into dice—
A funny way to the gates of paradise,
Yet a brilliant way to make one never fade.
Beauty, money, and fame will one day vanish—but never a funny story.
Jeremy Betts Oct 2024
I don't know how else to say it
And you don't care enough to lie
Like an over explained comedy bit
Where the attention has run dry
You hiss
I spit
We both bit
Always right about to get
Into an eye for an eye
Where we'll both find
It's far harder
To point a finger
While we're both blind
Though we'll both try

©2024
PERTINAX Jun 2024
From Publius
To Marcus

Marcus, I must apologize:
It is true that I said you were as Antinous
To Gaius' Hadrianus,
But do not fret, it was not in jest;
I truly did ask the Gods to curse you so.

You see, this farm,
This land,
Has been my ward long before you...
In your Janus mask,
Were hired.
At least that God understands the difference
Between war and peace.

Unlike you, dear Marcus,
Who brings only chaos to the fields;
A greater pestilence than any drought or rot.
You are the weevil that spoils the grain,
Corrupting all around you.

Poor Gaius has already fallen
Under your impious spell.
His fields grow fallow from association
With you Marcus!

What shame you bring your family
With your lazy immorality,
Incapable of discerning right from wrong,
Lest it be ascribed by your new dominus, Gaius,
Whose skin your claws flay with fatal flattery.

All this while I tend both your fields,
And mine own,
Working myself to the bone;
The heat, and sweat, and bugs,
Reminiscent of Pluto's underworld.
To honor my family.
To feed my family.

I honor my ancestors Marcus!
Daily, I make offerings to Gods of house and state
At my household alter;

The Capitoline triad overflow with my piety,
Bringing abundance to mine soul and soil alike.
Plenty, that you, sweet Antinous, claim as your own.

No longer.
I'm divorcing myself from all of you.
You can have the land.
As it stands it would make a beautiful wedding plot.
I've even gone to the trouble of forging you a ring,
Meticulously sourced from your masters ****!

Consider it a fragrant farewell
From your favorite fan,
Who will fondly not remember you,
Even as you scramble without me,
And miss the coattails you rode,
To usurp my home.

Woe to the plow;
Proscribed to die in rust.

Signed,
PERTINAX
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