"cockles" poems
I ain’t got no intimate, ain’t got no stiletto heels
Ain’t got no Lsd, ain’t got no smack
Ain’t got no partners, ain’t got no drill
Ain’t got no slapstick, ain’t got no hanky—panky
Ain’t got no Lsd, no slot to mount
Ain’t got no castrato, ain’t got no crumpet
Ain’t got no conjoined twins, ain’t got no nuns or eunuchs
Ain’t got no whipcord, ain’t got no adoration
Ain’t got no ******** ain’t got no stimulant
Ain’t got no ******
Ain’t got no oscillation, no shags
No uniform, no parts
No smack, no drill
No partners, no peccadillo
Ain’t got no stimulant
Ain’t got no whipcord, no propagators
No titbits, no intimate
I jabbered, I ain’t got no uniform, no hanky—panky
No peccadillo, ain’t copulated till one is blue in the face to have a funny feeling
And I ain’t got no ******
Oh, but what have I copulated, oh, what have I copulated
Let me tell what I copulated and nobody’s going to enlarge telescopic
I got my ***** on my face
My extra—sensory perceptions, my knobs
My ****** peckers and my ********
I got my stuck—out tongue
I got my tentacle, my proboscis
My ***** my *******
My thingummies, my cockles of the heart and my posterior
I got my ***********
I got my thingummies, my talons
My ball and socket joints, my forelegs
My hooves, my pincers and my snorker
Got my crest
I got ***** I’ve inseminated cheerleaders
I’ve got bottomgremlins and hacksawhoodoo
And Mephistophelian juggernauts too like you
I got my ***** my pistil
My ESP, my knobs
My vaginas, my peckers and my ********
I got my stuck-out tongue
I got my tentacle, my proboscis
My ***** and my *******
My ***** my ***** and my posterior
I inseminated my ****** sorbet
I got my thingummies, my talons
My ball and socket joints, my forelegs
My hooves, my pincers and my snorker
Got my crest
I got my ***** I got my slipperiness, my *****
I got *****
Mar 23, 2010
Mar 23, 2010 at 4:29 PM UTC
Through water and sand, stands you.
Spring breaking at you feet
Your breath flicking the pages of a street paper
A black crown of nightingales at your head
Entwined in leaves and wheat trickling down stones in dew-morning light and thrones in brambles of blackberry pie
Rooted to firewood and sheer bliss of kissed moonlight
Where herons christen Stars before black velvet blanket
Bridled by Rosemary and time, caught with Mary in a dark corner
Slumped behind priest less ivy, we permeate the air and through blue blooded command and gnashing of teeth, slants me
Outside the ramshackle cwtch I the hangmedown barks of woods, kneels you.
And stopped around cockles and foundling sparrows, sings the epitaph of a fallen barbarian.
Still through desert and carcass, lies you.
JWS
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 7:29 AM UTC
For any time the urge to wring
an autumn gourd, this one's the thing
Smashing pumpkins, not so nice
but Butternut Squash, an honest vice
Long and beige, hard and smooth
you'd never guess it's power to sooth
that underneath the toughest skin
is meat like pumpkin, seeds within
A steamy bisque for autumn's chill,
peel and chop them as you will
Dump them into four cups broth*
add apple, pear, or applesauce
a cup or two will do just fine
and while you stand there, have some wine!
sautee onions, a cup and a half
dump them in and cry or laugh
and now to add your seasoning stuff
cumin, curry, nutmeg, Fluff
hold the Fluff, that ain't the truth
best to pull that old sweet tooth
Bisque is savory, better than sweet
warms the cockles, heart to feet
save your sweets for pumpkin pie
the after-apple of your eye
Back to seasonings, see above
a quarter teaspoon, more with love
I add pepper and take a gander
some folks call for coriander
heat the whole thing to a boil
for me, my crock pot's always loyal
crock at high, about four hours
or low for six, and bring some flowers!
And now I'll play a little game
change my words to mean the same
if cook is butter and ****** is squash
then butter dat ****** and ****** dat gnosh
when you're hungry, under the wudder
ain't nuttin' better 'en butternut chudder
add some cream and squash your mash
mash your squash and whip your pash
I used a blender to make it creamy
cooked it down, so thick and steamy
add some butter, parsley's fine
butternut bisque with bread and wine!
Ahhhh!!!!!
*chicken broth
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 6:51 PM UTC
Golden sand tickling your toes
Pebbles gleaming, glistening, slushing
When the tide comes back to shore.
Sand dunes hiding wildlife,
Multitudes of migratory birds,
Safely returning every year to
This beautiful, marshy paradise.
Skies so orange, pink and red,
An artists palette of natural art
Greet you at sunrise and sunset.
***** kippers, cod and plaice
Shrimps, cockles and whelks,
Mushy, minty peas and chips,
The show at the end of the pier.
The lifeboats and their hardy crew
Risking their lives to save others,
When visitors run into trouble
At the mercy of the cold North Sea.
Crumbling coastlines, cliff walks
And nature reserves full of the
Scent of wild garlic and herbs,
Norfolk lavender. Steam engines,
Fishing boats, river boats,
Paddling boats and cycles
Take you on journeys
Around the Broads or
Past the famous Castles.
Tigers and leopards peer
Through the bars of their
Zoo homes by the sea.
Easterly winds that bite your
Fingers as they whistle and
Howl through the City.
Guest houses closed for
The winter as you stroll
The lonely promenades
Breathing in the air.
Queen Bodicea, Normans,
Vikings and Romans all
Marched through this
Historical landscape
And yet we remain
Stalwart and strong
Proud of our heritage,
Our roots, our birthplace
There's only one place
Better than Norfolk,
And that's the
Beautiful Ozarks.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 6:56 PM UTC
~
Bala^ comments:
"alignment - any which way one can if possible to make
****** and *********** simultaneously happen,
without any best position plan"
~
*may all the gods bless you, Bala,
for waking me at 4:33 with this poetic induction
coaxed from my spinal fluid sanity
with perfected clarity
my own circadian rhythm masters internal,
the most reliably unreliable human container technology teachers,
semi-skilled in the entrainment arts for this impoverished body mine,
deem it appropriate that early morn messages of
propitious possibility be greeted immediately
entrapped, awaken me at four AM with great glee,
because these elusives^^ know exactly what stirs
this being's cochlear cockles into birthing a
poetic cookie ******** ***********
your message meme provoking, inducing,
be honest man - simply seducing, my within
by your teasing words from without*
"without any best position plan"
*not to confuse the mere appearance of a routine
as worthy of the entitlement of "plan,"
much as the poem's own vanity chooses it own alignment
the relationship, the relativity -
always the
flexing flummoxing freaking insatiable pleasuring
when your thrusting unplanned message
****** and bests my brain,
releasing a fully formed, instantaneous parrying poem
from an aroused, passing, unsanitized, second of sanity
for no better *** than this...
as per the unplan?
this tissued life,
this in and out
of punching and counterpunching continuous,
but rarely contiguous,
for we are never aligned for more than a moment,
the moment that almost always goes unnoticed,
for the heart's ***** tissues,
are mostly torn by how life
uses us roughly
so here is an aligned confession fecundity
this poetry gig, my salve,
to tenderize the daily redness,
the irritation residual of having no plan
however these fingerprints decided for you,
to present, upon completion,
this soft-spoken loud ***********
a peaking, not a leaking,
** ** ** - a screaming
hallelujah, i'm aligned!
the man found albeit briefly
a beat, a plan and its verbal, herbal,
best solution
may all the gods bless you, Bala,
for waking me at 4:33 with this poetic induction
coaxed from my spinal fluid sanity
with perfected clarity
the man and his plan, for a mega-second
his best,
unplanned but got and given,
in poetic planetary alignment
positioned
as are you and I -
the thousands of miles of distance tween us
as you read this
collage collapse
into a singular synapse
of ****** and ***********
hallelujah, we are aligned!
~
**disclaimer:
anything you say to me, can and will be used
for a poem**
~
5:55am
April 1, 2017
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 4:16 PM UTC
Pacing the floor in the middle of this
watching the kettle 'til steam starts to hiss
A strange fascination we have with the bliss
with nothing behind us but one heated kiss.
Underneath an umbrella I stand in the rain
and wait on the platform for the six o'clock train
well you never quite hold me and I rarely complain
and soaked with frustration I walk home again.
We bid for each other in some Chinese auction
and you got the ***** one mixed up concoction
we checked out our prizes at a much closer range
What were we thinking and can we exchange?
And without any memories to dry up the tears
we long for the fire and the comfort of years
but it's just one more lesson, a good one we learned.
the slow-cooker is better and we're less often burned.
And then as I ponder you come in the door
I smile at your tired eyes and looking for more
I stir up the *** as you take off your Totes
and you ask me to make you some Five-Minute Oats.
"I made 'em already to warm up your cockles
the seat of your heart and without the debacles
I sensed that the cold rain would stir the desire
so I whipped up a batch and rekindled the fire".
And inspite of my rambling it seems rather clear
that Five-Minute Oats can mean something more dear
it's that person who waits in your kitchen above
stirring Five Minute oats into passionate love.
-Gina Morrone
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 3:20 AM UTC
I
Once Mr. Daddy Long-legs,
Dressed in brown and gray,
Walked about upon the sands
Upon a sumer's day;
And there among the pebbles,
When the wind was rather cold,
He met with Mr. Floppy Fly,
All dressed in blue and gold.
And as it was too soon to dine,
They drank some Periwinkle-wine,
And played an hour or two, or more,
At battlecock and shuttledore.
II
Said Mr. Daddy Long-legs
To Mr. Floppy Fly,
'Why do you never come to court?
I wish you'd tell me why.
All gold and shine, in dress so fine,
You'd quite delight the court.
Why do you never go at all?
I really think you ought!
And if you went, you'd see such sights!
Such rugs! Such jugs! and candle-lights!
And more than all, the King and Queen,
One in red, and one in green!'
III
'O Mr. Daddy Long-legs,'
Said Mr. Floppy Fly,
'It's true I never go to court,
And I will tell you why.
If I had six long legs like yours,
At once I'd go to court!
But oh! I can't, because my legs
Are so extremely short.
And I'm afraid the King and Queen
(One in red, and one in green)
Would say aloud, "You are not fit,
You Fly, to come to court a bit!"'
IV
'O Mr. Daddy Long-legs,'
Said Mr. Floppy Fly,
'I wish you'd sing one little song!
One mumbian melody!
You used to sing so awful well
In former days gone by,
But now you never sing at all;
I wish you'd tell me why:
For if you would, the silvery sound
Would please the shrimps and cockles round,
And all the ***** would gladly come
To hear you sing, "Ah, hum di Hum"!'
V
Said Mr. Daddy Long-legs,
'I can never sing again!
And if you wish, I'll tell you why,
Although it gives me pain.
For years I cannot hum a bit,
Or sing the smallest song;
And this the dreadful reason is,
My legs are grown too long!
My six long legs, all here and there,
Oppress my ***** with despair;
And if I stand, or lie, or sit,
I cannot sing one little bit!'
VI
So Mr. Daddy Long-legs
And Mr. Floppy Fly
Sat down in silence by the sea,
And gazed upon the sky.
They said, 'This is a dreadful thing!
The world has all gone wrong,
Since one has legs too short by half,
The other much too long!
One never more can go to court,
Because his legs have grown too short;
The other cannot sing a song,
Because his legs have grown too long!'
2.2k
4
Mi
Mum
Like two crows fighting over the box seats of the telephone wire.
raGe ragE guilt guilt ..
peck, peck... punch.
Dear Mr. Rabbi, its Hanukkah my good Sir. Merry Christmas:)
.....Wheres my sugar.
Shackles tear my mi skin, holding my heART hostage.
W
H
Y
?
Must i...
kangaroo Christmas cup
take out anger on you?
i dont try,
I
H A
e e r
a t
r t
You.
But I hurt you.
Bruises of blue stain mi heart.
Dominate genes
Plague the Playground.
AIR RAID she's on the move.
Boiling, toiling, troubl
tinsel.
Clinton masks, smiles not included
Sick joke.
(APLAUSE)
....not funny.
eyes of ice, melting out in Spring...drip drop
let's go kids, track marks, and tick tocks.
My body the "Land of the Free" call the editor, false statement.
I'm giving it all away, im giving in,
My Godzilla temper. Peace and love, my mum.
"No, Thank You"....im not fond of___________ soup.
Your little Satan,
M.E
(From the deepest cockles of my black heart.)
Aug 14, 2011
Aug 14, 2011 at 10:19 PM UTC
feelin lazy today,
so you get what you get,
turn the page
move on
learn from your mistakes
be brave
face your fears
footloose and fancyfree
don't run with scissors
smile
stay a while
catch more flies with honey
wrong way turn back
a stitch in time saves nine
when i was your age
no rhyme or reason to it
high road or low road
polly want a *******
click, click, boom
first past the post
i 'm just a smiling sunbeam
barrel of monkeys
to thine ownself be
thank you
what doesn't **** you
hand in the cookie jar
never seen the like
flat out like a lizard drinking
not happy jan!
take a bex and have a good lie down
sunshine and daffodils
slip, slop, slap, put on a hat
life passes by in the blink of an eye
chip on your shoulder
take note
laughter the best medicine
***
brainfreeze
kindness warms the cockles of my heart
if you can't be nice
you did not just say that
umm, ahh,
now you in trouble
quiet now i am watching tv
do not cry
don't spray it, say it
do not tell mum
it was'nt me
hava mint,
please
lol
go to your room
do not pass go do not collect one hundred $$
hello
all the world's a stage... merely players
wanna play
go away busy
want to come over
can i kiss you
push
it's a boy
what a whopper
please i've seen better
do i know you
the dog ate my homework
who now
why am i here
put your clothes on
what goes up must come down
life goes on
is my *** big in this
stop the merry-go-round i want to get off
whatever
i need a dollar
tea anyone
she had a goodlife
sorry
how much
every things coming up roses
what pink pigs flying overhead
snap, crackle, pop
one sugar or two
in case i don't see you
good morning
good evening
and good night
ttyl
out
take a bow you've earned it
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 4:43 PM UTC
Pacing the floor in the middle of this
watching the kettle 'til steam starts to hiss
A strange fascination we have with the bliss
with nothing behind us but one heated kiss.
Underneath an umbrella I stand in the rain
and wait on the platform for the six o'clock train
well you never quite hold me and I rarely complain
and soaked with frustration I walk home again.
We bid for each other in some Chinese auction
and you got the ***** one mixed up concoction
we checked out our prizes at a much closer range
What were we thinking and can we exchange?
And without any memories to dry up the tears
we long for the fire and the comfort of years
but it's just one more lesson, a good one we learned.
the slow-cooker is better and we're less often burned.
And then as I ponder you come in the door
I smile at your tired eyes and looking for more
I stir up the *** as you take off your Totes
and you ask me to make you some Five-Minute Oats.
"I made 'em already to warm up your cockles
the seat of your heart and without the debacles
I sensed that the cold rain would stir the desire
so I whipped up a batch and rekindled the fire".
And inspite of my rambling it seems rather clear
that Five-Minute Oats can mean something more dear
it's that person who waits in your kitchen above
stirring Five Minute oats into passionate love.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 10:11 AM UTC
Cockles and winkles
cheese and pickles
washed down with lovely
sweet rosy lea.
Mushy peas
with mint sauce.
Yorkshire puddings with
Worcester sauce.
Clotted cream and lavender jam
The orangy bread bits on the ham
Oh to be in England
That is the life for me.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 8:07 AM UTC
feelin lazy today,
so you get what you get,
turn the page
move on
learn from your mistakes
be brave face your fears
footloose and fancyfree
don't run with scissors
smile
stay a while
catch more flies with honey
wrong way turn back
a stitch in time saves nine
when i was your age
no rhyme or reason to it
high road or low road
polly want a *******
click, click, boom
first past the post
i 'm just a smiling sunbeam
barrel of monkeys
to thine ownself be
thank you what doesn't **** you
hand in the cookie jar
never seen the like
flat out like a lizard drinking
not happy jan!
take a bex and have a good lie down
pull your socks up!
sunshine and daffodils
slip, slop, slap, put on a hat
life passes by in the blink of an eye
stand up straight
chip on your shoulder
take note
laughter the best medicine
***
brainfreeze
kindness warms the cockles of my heart
if you can't be nice
you did not just say that
umm, ahh, now you in trouble
quiet now i am watching tv
do not cry
don't spray it, say it
do not tell mum
it was'nt me
hava mint,
please lol
go to your room
do not pass go
do not collect one hundred $$
hello
all the world's a stage... merely players
wanna play
go away busy
want to come over
can i kiss you
push
it's a boy
what a whopper
please i've seen better
do i know you
the dog ate my homework
who now
why am i here
put your clothes on
what goes up must come down
life goes on
is my *** big in this
stop the merry-go-round
i want to get off
whatever
i need a dollar
tea anyone
she had a goodlife
sorry
how much
every things coming up roses
what pink pigs flying overhead
snap, crackle, n'pop
one sugar or two
in case i don't see you
good morning
good evening and good night
ttyl
out
take a bow you've earned it.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 5:01 PM UTC
THE MIND MAKER UPPER
The lift opened
on the 13th floor.
Which was....unusual
as there was
- no 13th floor.
I stepped out onto
nothing.
Stood there like Wily Coyote
in a Road Runner cartoon.
"This is a bit Narnia-ish..!"
I remember thinking to myself.
But when I cease to be
mystified and stopped
demanding explanations
I discovered to my horror
'Skegness-in-Winter'
congealing all about me.
"So..." smirked 'Skegness-in-Winter'
"I see we meet again!"
as if this was a surreal 'This is your Life'
yet at the same time so real.
I decided to go with the flow
whatever the moment threw up.
"Yeah, Time..." I said gnomically
"...is a funny thing."
We chit-chatted for an hour or so
about how we both thought the other dead.
How things were back then and
despite our out of season existence
there was always
the kisses.
Now that 'Skegness-in-Winter'
had succeeded in seducing me
it all came flooding back
"Ahhh those Skegness kisses!"
"They still..." I had to admit it
warm the cockles of this
Irish heart
och mo chroi!"
A little old lady appeared
from nowhere with a large handbag
poking me with
her broken brolly.
"Up or down...up or down!"
she kept squawking.
"Up or down....make up
your mind!"
But I was still lost
in those out of season
Skegness
kisses.
Apr 29, 2019
Apr 29, 2019 at 7:00 PM UTC
For any time the urge to wring
an autumn gourd, this one's the thing
Smashing pumpkins, not so nice
but Butternut Squash, an honest vice
Long and beige, hard and smooth
you'd never guess it's power to sooth
that underneath the toughest skin
is meat like pumpkin, seeds within
A steamy bisque for autumn's chill,
peel and chop them as you will
Dump them into four cups broth*
add apple, pear, or applesauce
a cup or two will do just fine
and while you stand there, have some wine!
sautee onions, a cup and a half
dump them in and cry or laugh
and now to add your seasoning stuff
cumin, curry, nutmeg, Fluff
hold the Fluff, that ain't the truth
best to pull that old sweet tooth
Bisque is savory, better than sweet
warms the cockles, heart to feet
save your sweets for pumpkin pie
the after-apple of your eye
Back to seasonings, see above
a quarter teaspoon, more with love
I add pepper and take a gander
some folks call for coriander
heat the whole thing to a boil
for me, my crock pot's always loyal
crock at high, about four hours
or low for six, and bring some flowers!
And now I'll play a little game
change my words to mean the same
if cook is butter and ****** is squash
then butter dat ****** and ****** dat gnosh
when you're hungry, under the wudder
ain't nuttin' better 'en butternut chudder
add some cream and squash your mash
mash your squash and whip your pash
I used a blender to make it creamy
cooked it down, so thick and steamy
add some butter, parsley's fine
butternut bisque with bread and wine!
Ahhhh!!!!!
*chicken broth
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 10:12 AM UTC
January is grim and grey in its usual way
And heart’s cockles need warming beside crackling and sputtering logs
Winter's ghosts are shriven
Undone by jolly festivities and bacchanalia
Singing ‘Auld Lang Syne’ and holding hands we raise the ullaloo to loved ones lost,
And so returns, the New Year.
Jan 8, 2011
Jan 8, 2011 at 10:54 AM UTC
my eyes bleed to the sound of the city
made my heart stop to the silence of the noise
birds so quiet as the sun burnished my body
Is this the place where the end does come
ant like features as they move with a purpose
stop at nothing ...nothing but a stare
no care for another ..no greeness here
aspiration lives as they break our bones
the town was of pearly ..cockles and eels
gone is the pie ,mash and real ales
gone is the love of a place we called home
london a city lost to the throws
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 1:40 AM UTC
feelin lazy today,
so you get what you get,
turn the page
move on
learn from your mistakes
be brave face your fears
footloose and fancy-free
don't run with scissors
smile
stay a while
catch more flies with honey
wrong way turn back
a stitch in time saves nine
when i was your age
no rhyme or reason to it
high road or low road
polly want a *******
click, click, boom
first past the post
i 'm just a smiling sunbeam
barrel of monkeys
to thine ownself be
thank you what doesn't **** you
hand in the cookie jar
never seen the like
flat out like a lizard drinking
not happy jan!
take a bex and have a good lie down
pull your socks up!
sunshine and daffodils
slip, slop, slap, put on a hat
life passes by in the blink of an eye
stand up straight
chip on your shoulder
take note
laughter the best medicine
***
brainfreeze
kindness warms the cockles of my heart
if you can't be nice
you did not just say that
umm, ahh, now you in trouble
quiet now i am watching tv
do not cry
don't spray it, say it
do not tell mum
it was'nt me
hava mint,
please lol
go to your room
do not pass go
do not collect one hundred $$
hello
all the world's a stage... merely players
wanna play
go away busy
want to come over
can i kiss you
push
it's a boy
what a whopper
please i've seen better
do i know you
the dog ate my homework
who now
why am i here
put your clothes on
what goes up must come down
life goes on
is my *** big in this
stop the merry-go-round,
i want to get off
whatever
i need a dollar
tea anyone
she had a goodlife
sorry
how much
every things coming up roses
what pink pigs flying overhead
snap, crackle, n'pop
one sugar or two
in case i don't see you
good morning
good evening and good night
rinse, repeat. set
now see here
ttyl
out
take a bow you've earned it
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 10:47 AM UTC
I just ache
to be touched by you
still swimming in heat
moist and quivering silently
beneath soft black cotton
but in those
fear-mongering moments
I can't move.
Like a statue made of marble
I ache to touch you but I end up
sitting there cold and lifeless
next to you on the bed
thinking of a million ways
in which to stroke you gently
but all we can muster together
is a few brushes of the hand
a head resting on a shoulder
a full-bodied tight squeezed hug
an awkward cheek kiss and
it's excruciatingly painful.
So much tension that builds
and builds and builds and builds
never getting anywhere.
I can feel it penting up in you too
through engorged pupils
shaking knocking knees
fidgeting hands
looks that aren't deadpan
but open and raw and swelling.
There are rises and dips
moments of eclipse
where you and I find comfort
in each other's arms
whether they be wrapped or resting
whether they be hovering just hovering
almost touching
we were almost touching.
Seeing your smile in the doorway
as I left
lanky frame in depth
an ache I cannot
escape
warming the cockles of this here mongrel heart
vast into infinity.
What a funny little cuddle jamboree!
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 7:28 PM UTC
Skipping lightly on surface tension
hopping lotus pad to pad
barely left a ripple leaving
the domestic shenanigans.
Now rogue ronin rock,
no master no disciple
I wander without orbit
gliding between
Thirty suns warming
cockles of a deadened heart
dreaming a home
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 3:58 AM UTC
Sea shore
Your wonders are immense
Shells starfish sand and sideways scampering ***** .
My eyes are full of your magnificence
Jelly fish stranded seaweed crunch.
My thoughts are dancing in your glory
Stones skeletons and sea potatoes
My feet crunch under your feasting table
Oyster shells winkles mussels and whelks limpets cockles .
My mind sings with
Story's washed up on the beach ,boots plastic bottles rubber gloves .
I will be back too delight my senses in
driftwood rafts , mingled in too the glory of a new story .
I will never bore while walking a new shore .
May 28, 2017
May 28, 2017 at 5:30 AM UTC
You’re Beautiful stirred my cockles
Made me blush
Although much more thrillin’ than Calvin Trillin
Your vers libre’ is so jaded mon cheri
You crave more
You deserve more
Like the snowflakes in the park
So why waste your virtue on knaves?
Let your fingers do the walking
Try groping the grotto
Nulling the void
Close your eyes and enjoy the moment
At least it’s *** with someone you love
Then enjoy the simpler pleasures of life
Write-on
Dec 29, 2010
Dec 29, 2010 at 2:16 AM UTC
They collected cockles on the seashore,
Purely for their crunchy shells,
To decorate the rockery, in the flower garden,
They were washed up in abundance,
The rock pools alive with shrimp things,
And worms, that wriggled and jiggled, all twisted and turned.
The rocks round the edges were slippery and slimy,
Crabby creatures were kind of nippy, as was the water of spring time tides,
And the **** of the sea, predicted the weather,
Again, their predictions, they were never ever right.
Youngsters with nets, collected their pets,
Poor little pool fish, destined to die,
In an old preserve jar,
Left on the side in the kitchen,
The one with mid-brown melamine,
Under the cupboard, by the door,
Mummy keeps ********
She never wants sea fish alive in her kitchen,
Mummy never made their flamboyant offspring, set them free,
The fishes day out died,
Minute silver things, skirting about,
Too small to even splash.
Kids curiosity got them, as down the loo they slipped,
Dead fish, on the sewer dash, repatriated to the sea.
(C) Livvi
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 11:01 AM UTC
amidst cavorting delightfully, enjoying thorough
frolicking gingerly, foreign hick hating slo
hip-hopping insouciantly sustaining row
biological status quo
kvetching lamely moreso mother became pro
naturally physically rumbling,
heard all the way in Oslo
supposedly twerking, undulating vivaciously
wantonly x2c wisely yielded – nada no
zona pellucida anchored byte size ******
potent embryonic fetal moe
newlweds nocturnal merriment
moma's ****** marked march 1959
lovingly joyusly, insemination happened ha low
bullseye clenched diploid fertilization
guaranteed germinating heiress
while squaqking lichen Apache at Diablo
ma late mother did should know
upon awakening upon tautly stretched exertion
during dilating ****** which jiggled like jello
three score orbitz round el sol, warmed cockles
and muscled away brutally cold degrees
tab billed an igloo,
or circa six decades
drafted exuberant ho...ho...ho...
cuz, i.e. thencee at 362nd day
baby in belly did fully grow
December first nineteen fifty seven
sanctioned newly minted papa
to sing a capella for he's a jolly good fellow
quintessential nascent
kickstarter heady everflow
though wintry dark,
a “hi” beam illuminated
newborn girl with dayglow
sans, mechanical engine ear
papa (an honorably discharged army vet)
all spit and shine groom,
who wed a bride somewhat callow
first time parents with giddiness did saul fully bellow
Boyce and Harriet Harriet countenance
twas (like an elf on Christmas eve) all aglow.
--------------------------------------------------------
Dear Sis – I knew not what else to do
thus, this poem crafted fur ewe
a doe ting maternal gal – whose time on Earth flew
Nov 10, 2017
Nov 10, 2017 at 1:09 AM UTC
Whether it be just baked beans on toast
or topside of beef for a family roast.
The gravy dripping in the pan
Strawberries crammed in the flan
Or cockles and muscles at the coast.
Mushy peas in a big white dish
is more than I could ever wish.
slap on the mint sauce
and I'll have another course
followed by chips and fried fish.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 12:19 PM UTC