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Oliver Philip Nov 2018
A personal limerick.

There is a handsome man I call Crow.
Who most poets definitely know
He spends all his time
Composing his rhyme
Which is why we are here ,I suppose.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written by Philip.
In tribute. November 26th 2018.
A personal limerick
Shofi Ahmed Jun 2018
If I am gone  
vanish like pieces
into the atom.

It ain’t complain
lets drawback
spur in rhythm.
Jo Barber May 2018
My favorite people
were met on a whim.
My favorite memories
were made on a whim.

The most splendid castles,
the most magnificent sunsets,
the sweetest kisses;
all were had and done and seen
on whims.

Don't tell me that I'm silly
for following my heart
and permitting my life
to blow along with the wind.

My life was made on a whim,
and it'll likely end the same way.
All Joe king aside

Humor iz vital stove topface
component to survive the cares
and concerns oven uncertain
culinary future, that presages

over heating of this planet
concomitant with extinction
per the human race. Many
gauges point toward an
irrevocable debacle where

the evolutionary timer seems
to tick, head, and (hmm…
more like barreling) toward
becoming a cooked goose.

An ear splitting ruth less
buzzer will be an impossible
mission to clap quiet while
steam issues out the airwaves

from stymied paunchiest pilot
light buck kit brigade. If and/
or when such a fiery fate befalls
this arrogantly bombastic,

conceitedly egoistic, forlorn,
grievously hapless, irascibly
jangling, kookily middling
luddite, he hopes his demise

will be brutish, short and nasty
while surviving foreign legion
members of locked humanity
hob bull along the blitzed
boulevard of broken dreams.

Whatever provokes a maniacal
person to laugh as the world
turns tumultuously affecting
a surreal ambience akin to the
edge of night (especially with

dark shadows) may appear
wantonly vapid unspooling
threnodies sotto voce.
Rational quartermasters
promulgated outlandish no mans land.

Knowledge jackknifed ideal
humane gentility. Febrile earth
lings’ dragnet cleaved bona fide
actualization. What other option

available to tinker, tailor, soldier
spy except to chuckle at the folly
gingerly loosened upon the terra firmae?
Nothing short of an uproarious chortle

would be prescribed from doctor
demento to ameliorate the tightly
wound tension arising from local

or global aggression arising from
bullies calling their bluff fed goat
bluster, division by the zero
sum game of thrones. Thus,

this mechanically nonsensical,
pop sic cull *** purée to throw
fire retardant on the conflict frission
intonating loopy outré playfulness

with words hoop ping quadratic
equations totally add further
meaninglessness. Hence **** friend,
aye axe hew, how does humor get decided?

Laughter versus humor All Joe king aside.
Jest parody offers funny types of humor.
Seriously folks. What spurs this laughter?
Repression of natural mandated libidinal
kickstarter jammed in high gear feeds

e-z dropsy clodhoppers bursts of hyena
sounding eruptions! The cervical contractions
puffed up like jiffy pop laced pompadour,
increased with greater frequency and

intensity asthma due date approached
(which felt like violent shaking of the
biological ***** re: me), especially
prominent when “mother” gracefully
described Arabesque. She gravitated

to modus operandi sans professional
ballet dancer like a duck would drake
to water, and salve and duff heat whirled
pool ache kin to preparation H - soothing

the pain in the *** of hemorrhoids. Hours
elapsed with incessant stretching (while
in a standing pose) blithely drawing one leg
or the other up against those roseate ****** cheeks.

Even when quite progressed along
the family way with yours truly, thy
status while in utero where ******
stretched akin to a taut rubber band

near ready tubby (or knot tibia) snapped,
like ballet slippers suspending balanced
***** of toes pointed to maximum flexion,
or inflated balloon ready to pop beyond
capacity or, bulged in utero, she maintained

a fanatic, maniacal, and slavish veneration
asper the rigorous being a choreographed
top notch ballerina. This passion to bend
body electric defied laws of fig newton’s,

finagled parallel dimensions, and hugged
joie de vivre limbs maintaining nonchalant
passion recognized talent unbridled versatility
waiving youngest attaining burlesque,

Churrigueresque dramatic elegiac fluidity
transformed thine mama into a holographic,
kaleidoscopic, and opportunistic piquant
rondelet thru vitality, whimsicality, and zealotry.

Gracefulness hove spectators to behold defiance
asper flexibility of muscles in conjunction with
defiance of physics. Once immersed in a classical
routine, thee supple rubbery form assumed

by thine mother ******* focused klieg lights
upon wondrous kinetic magic. An audience
member vicariously experienced dalliance
of some mind-numbing narcotic minus
the addiction. Stupefaction trans fixed gaze

upon the dynamic parameters of space
and time to present an enchanting move
able feast replete with operatic poetry,
quixotic romanticism, and sculpturesque

statuesque totemic union verging on affects
cast by a singular whirling dervish. A
heightened indoctrination of jubilation
radiated from every cell of this artiste

in motion. Pirouettes cast grotesque dark
shadows and etched the faux edge of
night scenario with gigantesque ghoulish
phantasmagoric veterans of many tragic-

comic composers long since vetted into
the storied ballroom of fame. No surprise
then that when mine exit from the berth
canal of stage nom de plume Harriet Harris

witnessed by a full house, my denouement
propelled from the tender vittles tulip ruffled
private naughty bits induced balletic movements.
Meanwhile me mum (real name christened Chrys

Anne Thumb) busily intensely engrossed herself
(terrifically totally tubularly) within whose inter
twined arms and legs that emulated an analogy
to a pretzel held me snug as a bug in rug. A pause

(which many interpreted to initiate an applause)
sprung a contagion of hand clapping that drowned
out the impetus signifying the first breath of
this wordsmith. Only as the slap happy flesh

diminished did ardent hard fans of a triumphant
fancy feast and foot loose Gangnam style winged
goddess take stock of the starlit cradling a newborn.
Frightful faces and peculiar sounds appeared scary.

Thence spurred via submit able exertion climaxing
with a riveting acrobatic contortion (essentially
forcing this now grown baby boomer former chap -
lain cocooned for nine months within the ****),

thyself made headway into an alien world, whereat
this full term new born did provide his own wailing
lyrics (even at that tender infant hood, an iconoclastic
antiestablishmentarian). This now grown baby boomer

chap lain cocooned for nine months within the ****,
who sought nothing more nor less than that which
necessitates being swaddled, pampered, mollycoddled,
cuddled, bundled, and held close to the *****. As

grown middle-aged madman (albeit married to
X-Files rabid fan) still craves, desires, and gloms
toward picturesque pairs of pendulous pliant plump prized
politically incorrect breastworks.
Dan McKee Jan 2017
Sleep is fleeting
Mirror cracks
Summer's stifling
Smiling lacks

Lovers leave you
Friends forget
Don't remember
Just regret

Milk turns sour
Leaders lie
Oceans burn
Don't ask why.
Rather melodramatic, but I wanted to play around with the form.
Dan McKee Jan 2017
Heat-starved sunshine,
Fractured light,
Pitch-black evening
Silent night.

Longcoats flapping,
Christmas time
All the sky turned
tourmaline.

So what if it's cold?
Winter's wondrous.
Sara Jones Jun 2015
When words fail me, turn me towards the skies.
Teach me to shine like the stars in the night
Maybe someday soon I'll bid you adue
Until such a time I'll rattle your cages and spit on your muse
I'll kick and scream and fight for eternity
Until such a time that I ponder your immunity.
Against an unholy guard and a trusted advisor
My love will be poisoned like the black nights armor.
what a shame it is
i dont know a ******* thing
about you mama
a request from tali
Rayénari Das Feb 2015
I Remained silent vacuum
without daring shapes
to show unrecognizable parasites
sleeping in your ******* and your smiles.

I said that no matter,
who despairs,
that incinerates,
that choking...

is flawless silhouette of your everlasting forms
of your solidarity equine representations
doing frills over my magnetism of heat-dog
corrupting my virginal research
and breaking the enthusiasm of my seaquakes.

It has fallen  thy angel of the thousand forms,
masks jump over spaces of infamous digital corpses.
shadows refuse to remain shadows
and the big destuctor starts to devour 12-penises little girls.

The actual search of thirst

-Sobre, hombre, cumbre, hambre...

ride furious over my back
spur my libidinous thoughts
memorize my pre-meditated ejaculations
break your ***** against my gloomy loser fingers.

We are alone
lost
but
i
have
said
that does not matter
that choking...

who despairs your absence ...
translated from the original in Spanish
Rayénari.

— The End —