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Robin Carretti May 2018
So grace me through
my colors
Let's Start

God Grace me

Someone was smart
To raise me
But the blaze
came and love
pursued me
He pushed me
Into his hot blaze

His ***** of fire
A big part of the script
Another lift in his
But my lips
Got raised up
But couldn't.sustain
the fire
The glossy shimmer
Sky hug
He Aint nothing but
a hound dog goodbye
Raised me Orange
Red Robin fly

But how you
face me
Never to
disgrace me

You pick me up with
all my goods
Odds with the bad
Honorable Gods
And so many facets
of my moods
Watch out!!

Or a war curse

We  evaporate
In fragments

Orange segments
Sliced and eaten

Love forbidden fruit
One hidden

Embrace the warm solitude

all over your face,
Someone is rude
Fresh Orange
told you
It's Fate

That brought us
Orange juicier sun

So many love forms
Whose terms? Just run
This world full of
But to juice things up

How the colors of your
eyes came to an epical stop

But nursed me
orange juice hip hop

He dazed into me
They named her
Saucy before-life
See ablaze
orange zest
See me and fly me
At my very best

My breast was
so nicely raised

Lips so fruitful
he cannot
resist you know
the rest??

In the mix of orange
Pink rings
Butterfly eyes

Was set so privately-----*

The red tail hawk
Was the talk of the 
 Orangey words flowy
Popsicle poppy eye town
No time to refresh
my colors

Free bird orange up
The ramp no lady
and tramps
Just (Gypsies Orange Vamp)
The rocks fall to thump
Trump orange fixtures
Towers Forestal Gump

The soothing smile of lights
He came to you pop features
All over my place
So cultural to the race
The colors of
Orange mellow
oh! no
Here comes yellow----

Creaming into his
My feeling divided
like politics

Been sliced by
the orange Super bowl
Sunny California Kist
Rodeo drive what a
Satanic red
Orange Christ
But that orange
She Shh_ sheets
Had the most vibrant
juicy beats
Tomato vines Rome
Lend me your orange
No ears no other
color of tears

Villians of vineyards
Orange bowl of fruit
No Junkyards
The owl started to hoot
Towards the bad apple

My heart was galloping
Shrimp and scallop
Right in my western charm
boot he takes off

Another mix of paint
Orange isn't carrots and
Austin Power Mini-me

Or goblins spooked
Mandarin Orange lovely
Divinely licked
Gingerly lovely Cayenne
Sweet Pepper he looked at her
Lucky 7 Orange ring karat

Whats up Doc

Any cracks of his cravat
Orange Key-West lock
Doesn't turn get off
my block
I am going to
With Chuck

Having Orange Tang
He was holding me
777 karat ring
The  Mediterranian
Why so dead sea
Pink Smarty
Orange blosson tea
Orange Marquis
Louis and Diamonds
All clockwork
Orange movies

In the lounge of
Raymonds of ring
Pour OJ for me
**** a doodle doo

Flash of orange came at me
Do you want to?

The operation of heartless
The Showstopper emergency
Revived refreshing lady
of purity but no orange
((Orange Marquis))
Off to see the Wizardly
Orange field gorgeous
WC fields raise

Writer with the
lucky pen praise
Her editor was
the perfect color

Miss coralline with
her coral rock
The mixed infusion

Next color comes up
Raise your brow reaction

Needing a follow-up

Orange rinds
Another call-up
Giddy Apps up
Orange glittering
passion fruit
Soap Opera beauty
and the beast
Another gulp the
pulp pretty in pink

Orange-pink tropical
girl orange whirl
The orange-red ringlets
She curled inside him
Glass raise you cup trim
In your villa stucco orange
You were breastfeeding
his orange suited juice

No time to see another
Orangey wiz showbiz
Arabian sky sunset
burnt orange
The caramel bump
of the camel
Her favorite one

Lips of tang so foreign
She is flaming like a
flamingo bed

Get his color out of
Cotton picking head
Your shampoo
"Orange Oddysey"

Hey, what do you say?

Just open your
He shadows her in

Or a site for sore eyes got
puffy war of
orange bubbles begin

Feather me
orange wings
The fringe orange
you happy

The A+ diet of fruit
he was the
You're at the
bake me
What do you know
he passed

The spa refreshing
orange peel

Long lace-lit
He was coming on too
bossy orangey burst
cheeks were falling
Rise up not down
Orange Julius raise
his price
Fed Ex orange truck
got closer to
Her alluring butterfly
Orange U glad
To catch her
To court her
Fast Orange perfume
She Sha shala
Orange flames came
from his cleft

Still no time for your
spouse whoa he left

Now please let me know

what I left out
Orange you glad

this is the only color love
him madly
Orange so vibrant masterpiece the butterfly changes
like a wedding centerpiece
The Good Pussy Oct 2014
                        ­  orangeorange
                         orange   orange
                         orange  orange
                          orange orange
                          orange orange
                          orange orange
                          orange orange
                          orange orange
                          orange orange
                          orange orange
                          orange orange
                          orange orange
                          orange orange
                          orange orange
                          orange orange
                          orange orange
                   o r a n g e          o r a n g e
              orange orange orange orange
             orange orange    orange orange
               orange   or           ange orange
                    orange.               orange
Robin Carretti Jun 2018
1- MOUTH*ME Ordering
Impress-me_Orange only
Surprise me
to believe in me orange wings halo
He's the Popsicle Text$$$He

She is acting like the
baby grand piano
Plays the "Clockwork Orange"
spoiled her
orange cycle pours
out liqueur
Top hat seating he better do quicker
who will be doing the ordering?

The orange smiling the whole world
Is hanging up their coats in the
Rainbow room honey orange glaze
She got her scholarship
drinks just float

Somewhere being checked off
Like an orange popsicle licked off
All fragments "Creme Brulee'
in orange segments
Look at him with the
big portion
The check your paying now
you can leave my dream
Titanic ship or the internship

Orange plaid vibrant tablecloths
Lips so tangy nothing
fancy love and honor
Her pooch too smoochy 
Orangey oceans drizzle me touchy
Touch her vibrant lips
she screams
More orange with
good principle
So delectable how his mouth
On the radio air
She lets out to
much air
Her orange peel wedge
Bits and pieces profitable pledge
Orange-grapefruit perfumes
with vanilla cream
She Pops in and he bursts out
To trust her dream you better react
To see her colors
The Ambrosial Business
lady proposal good
American dollar

Pick me I am pungent her gloss
is a big plus
She’s all business cool
vibrant boss

Orange Julius Caesar shower
Exotic oils of orange petal me
What delicacy for the
Gods orange lounge
piece de resistance the
New Orange with persistence.
spiritual love romance
her wicked stance

SOoothing Vibrant

Her lips juicy gossip
Her juicy lips to burst for
He’s the “Orange Julius Sunshine”

3. Delectable--__ Save me Savory
Finger lakes he gives me
the finger foods

Creamy outnumbered orange
fudge you be
My Popsicle Judge

Oranges segments pancakes to
boost your energy
Underestimate her she will orange
  test your fate don't be late
That well suited Italian Gelato
His eyes like popsicle love
signs her lips orange designed
So well to deliver
Dances of touches pulp fiction river
a burst of Godly Orange sunsets
We all love the change
like an experiment

(No Nuns) wearing orange ruler sticks
Let's flag them down in my convent

The men of Citrus Avanti umm
Refreshing popsicle his dimples
the Ground of Sculptures
The melted like milkshakes
Don't use the John
pulp fiction.


Orange vibrant she screams she could
knock anyone out of her burst dream
The orange starter hard pulp
orange lip gloss what delicacy
piece de resistance the
New Orange with persistence.
Her nails in polka dots

Firey Islander Exotic hottie
orange lip gloss she looks good
over him
Orange slices love triangles
How the women start to mingle they
love being single their orange
fashionable 27-anniversary good luck
orange you glad I got them
dresses he could eat her up
like a 69 flavor sherbet
how she melts
Orange juice me anytime
how does it pour?
Going on an exotic taste tour
Orange Emerald City

Vivacious so vibrant she
stands out her
smells intoxicating again
Orange mating Vitamin C
The sun craving
Like clockwork her masterpiece
of fragrance a burst of her heart
orange smoothie
wildly orange scent how he
was summoned
onto her with vibrant
words of comments
A burst of the eclipse will be coming
Longevity how he lifts her gravity.

More Vitamin C Orange is all me.
How you can use your intuition
to create miracles in life

Orange moods of shades and peoples personalities all come with
technologies the orange way of thinking isn't it soothing and refreshing like a burst of orange sunshine
Robin Carretti Apr 2018
What a face
Abruptly she yells
Matte burning dry
Just try
Too moisten her lips
She's the Red devil
From hell why does her
orange face peel sell?
The right color
a psychic won't tell

Wishing well drenched
He touched my orange juice
"All Frenched"
She loves to slice and
he peels what appeal
orange saffron sauce
One last juicy squirt

It's time for fresh squeeze
Too frozen concentrate

The happy hour "Orange" feel
  no other place like fate
Ten times real
"One" face peel has been
love absorbed
Like lemon meringue

Bitter grind soft butter glove
Do you mind orange flame
(The Spa) sells to be loved
Tra la so kind all Grunge
Going "Wawa" coffee cruel
Other colors haha
Movie set Orange payroll
lounge tease squirt

But destroyed by the evil
spell curse
Summoned on sunburst
But we need the Orange
before the sun comes

Like clones orange, you glad
we have "Green Apple"
One step beyond orange
I don't want to burst your
orange sauce
Grand Marnier starry twist
of orange
Two timing orange yogurt
Taste to tangy it hurt
Hey Yo Orange peel Spa
Still sticks Orange Julius

O outrageous P pick
What turns us on and gets us sick
Plan your work and work your plan
Never offend her
Let's see the chef make you love her
Creamified dreamlike Whip free
The orange mousse pie
Let me hear it yummy to lie
I was in an orange mood since the weather is getting nicer it is orange juice wake up call
Odd Odyssey Poet Dec 2021
No orange rhyme

Just a word rhyme,
a range you read with your eye.

No orange rhyme

Just a few slices with morning porridge,
I prayed before to keep homage.

No orange rhyme

Just me nearly close to courage,
a couple more words to speak knowledge.
The know is hanging off the ledge,
where dreams fell into being dead.

In over my head,
so over in my head, to be
back again at knowledge.

No orange rhyme

In amongst any line,
hard to find an orange line,
That's so sublime inside this
orange rhyme.

There's no orange rhyme

But just an orange blossom,
inside Orange County,
If you need a few, I brought some.
Sing how, and I'll follow with howdy.

We'll have some orange juice,
while we both wear orange shoes.
Groove on in an orange grove,
just like the cultivation of an
orange group.

**** on some orange's mint,
amongst the oranges picked.

And talk about no orange rhyme
Sarah Mann May 2018
a t-shirt. one that is a terrible color. 
my mom's least favorite, burnt orange. 
it shares a disgusting likeness to rust. 
and yet my dad would wear it everyday. 
regardless of everyone around him's distrust. 
"no one would dare to wear that in public" 
my mom said, she was wrong. 
perhaps when she married him she was not aware 
of my dad's inexplicable connection to 
this terrible color, or to t-shirts in general i guess
for about six out of the seven days a week regardless 
he would be wearing that same shirt
for the almost 20 years they have been married 
he can be found wearing that same shirt
however, there's a slight misconception
he doesn't have just one shirt 
he has dozens of those nasty burnt orange colored shirts 
and i suppose i forgot to mention that it's to support a football team
which seems shallow in theory but the aforementioned is
non-other than the texas longhorns. 
my dad grew up there and attended college there. 
he wasn't even a part of the team, and yet 
for the last 35 years he's been wearing that same shirt.
i simply can't understand his undying affinity 
i barely recognize the mascot of our own school team. 
there is a certain dedication, a certain love that he must feel towards this place, towards that team. 
however as i'm writing this poem i simply can't ascertain what it's all supposed to mean? 
texas, a place of southern accents, cowboys, and racism. 
not somewhere i typically tend to associate with even
though it was the place where i was born in 
on a Tuesday almost 17 years ago at about 1pm 
and of course i arrive
too early for my own good, 
so i stayed in a hospital in ICU until they said i could
be taken home to a house i barely remember. 
i wouldn't call that place home. 
and yet, my dad wearing another variation of his classic burnt orange t-shirt today 
that reminds me that's where i came from 
i came from burnt orange beginnings. 
and even though i might live in a blue ocean paradise as of now. 
that's not where i started. 
i tell myself that i am so much more that the place my life began in. 
so instead of loving where i started and the color that comes with it. 
i continue to despise that burnt orange color and compare it to rust 
and all other things that fill me with unexplainable disgust. 
but in the spirit of honestness. i don't hate it as much as i contest 
don't ask me about it however because for sure all i’ll do is protest
but even when i was little seeing that orange shirt and ******* car 
arrive in the driveway of my old school was truly the best 
looking for that ugly orange shirt at the end of the day when he always asked me what i had learned
hugging that terrible orange shirt when i'm crying 
after scraping my knee on the concrete
taking car rides with that orange shirt seated beside me 
that seemed as long as a lifetime to go see the turtles on the north shore  
after watching him present himself at a showing of a house we could never afford
watching that orange shirt fumble and stumble teaching me to drive 
fixing my air conditioner with this orange shirt at 2am
after a nightmare session that left me too rattled to sleep
that orange shirt who attends these loud rock concerts that he doesn’t necessarily enjoy simply to watch me be happy
that awful orange shirt that has seen me sad and happy and everything in between.
you know seeing that orange shirt for nearly every day of my life
has conditioned me 
and truly i hate it, the dustiness, the rustiness of it all. 
it’s disgusting, appalling and above all terrible. 
but for some godforsaken reason i also love it. 
i love it with my entire heart,
i truly love that stupid orange shirt for all of its awfulness
and logically i know it's not the shirt but the person inside.
because my dad is one of the most amazing people
i know and i hate to admit
but that color has grown on me, because of him
it's become home to me, 
it's my dad.
and maybe i'll never figure out why 
my dad loves his college football team so much 
maybe i don't need to 
what i know is that while burnt orange may be a truly terrible color, 
it's become home to me.
Written a while ago for NYDPS.
Nigel Morgan Nov 2012
Here’s a sunny card to cheer up your hospital room.
Kate’s Flowers c. 1936 by Winifred Nicholson
So glad you’ve got your own room
And can therefore do a bit more of what you want to.
Take it easy though!

This painting is not what it seems.
Taking the long long look
that Jeanette Winterson recommends
there’s this abundance of orange
and its close friend yellow:
plenty and laughter
joining hands with
wisdom and calm.
Sometimes known as Kate’s Bunch
It’s an oil on plywood,
painted in Paris.
Two vases, daffodils and lilies,
the latter’s petals fallen on
a polished table, mahogany possibly,
and spread about by a gust of wind,
or perhaps a passing child. Kate
her first born, her miracle child
just seven when this painting was made.
There, sitting in front of us
in the stalls in the Town Hall,
was Stockhausen himself,
resplendent in the orange jumper
he always seemed to wear
in the last years of his life.

Because he invariably wore
white shirts and white jeans
an orange jumper, scarf
and jacket seemed sensible
garb for an angel from Sirius,
particularly when working in his garden.
At a concert he’d been known
to sport a purple scarf.
Orange and purple:
two colours that defy rhyme
but clearly not the reason
of this genius from another planet.
This Orange is Ecstatic.
Its theme of six quick notes,
almost never leaves the music.

Composer Michael Torke
slows it down, smooths it out,
it’s so quick and catchy
momentum builds up quickly;
it simply sounds (almost) unstoppable.
It sure is! Such fun,
and so good to listen to
because you never loose the thread.
Ok, the tune cycles round your head
but the instruments change
and there’s lots of extra tunes
playing away like good buddies.
This is music you can’t help smiling to.
It’s Ecstatic and Orange.

Did you know there’s a Music of Colour?
It is so new that few people,
except those who are creating it,
are aware that it exists.

At all.
Colour has seven degrees
of depth intensity.
With Orange it's
Black coffee
Colour has seven degrees
between the shade of its hue
to its neutralization.
With orange it's
Oh Winifred, have you any idea
of the song your colours sing?
How orange and yellow
and blue and white
and almost purple
with a little green
make music become a picture.
I bought some orange tights! X
Oh Gosh! X
I’m not wearing them though . . . X
There’s a time and place for orange tights . . .
wait for (poetic) instructions please . . . X
Curiouser and curiouser . . . X

You see I bought this frock
in a charity shop.
Folly green and Pointing white
it was pleasantly patterned,
though a small fourteen,
and knowing he’d like it
I put it on one night
before we went to bed.
And he said:
‘You know it would be just right
with a pair of orange tights.’
And so it is.
Just right.


don’t let me touch you
yet, above the knee
where this warm colour
flows towards that centre
of your movements’ grace,
where lower limbs join
to kiss and stroke each inner thigh,
those quiet smooth planes of softest skin
that inviting so the caress of a hand,
daring so the intimate touch of a cheek.
Let orange keep you close to the possibility of passion
to the glow of your beauty’s length and line
where the firmness of your standing self
will shine out and speak of purpose
and of love’s sweet gift.
Composers often use quotation and/or sampling. In these six poems I've used short extracts variously from a get well card, a newspaper article, an Internet review, an essay by an artist and a text exchange. These extracts are always marked in italics.
Hopi Butler Nov 2011
Orange juice then frosting
Orange juice then frosting

Time is repetition
As I watch from the couch
“He won’t last the weekend,”
Says Hospice
“They said he might not last the weekend,”
Says Dauson
He’s stronger than they know,
I say

Orange juice then frosting
Orange juice then frosting

False hope, of course
I can see the way
The cancer fights
Deceiving the guards
Hiding and attacking
Slowly taking what’s theirs
Slowly killing,
Spreading down towards the
Ground then rocketing up
Until his psyche
Dissipates into nothing

Orange juice then frosting
Orange juice then frosting

“Go hunting, it’s opening day,”
He says
They listen
But only because
He yells at them to
She goes out to smoke
My grandma with my grandpa’s killer
“Can you pick Dauson up?”
Says Mom to Tracy
Keith’s mother,
Mother of my brother’s “brother”

Orange juice then frosting
Orange juice then Frosting

I know it’s coming
Yelling it’s arrival
Like the steady beat of a beating drum
I’m surprised
That no one else
Can hear it
That no one else
Can feel it
Permeating the air
The shadows reaching out
With tendrils made of cold
Made of smoke
Made of death’s sweet kiss

Orange juice then frosting
Orange juice then frosting

Time is fast forwarded
Laying him down on the bed
“Melissa’s almost here,
The boys are almost here”
And then time stops for a moment
He’s facing me
Eyes closed, mouth parted
A single tear that is his own
Freezes on his cheek

Orange juice then frosting
Orange juice then frosting

You asked what changed
Me the most?
What made me who
I am today?
A grave stone
A wooden cross
Seeing a man die slowly
Day after day
Thomas Newlove Feb 2011
The pick
All the stress that an orange has caused is painful.
It is painful for the tree from which it came.
Snatched away with promises of sweetness.
A tree mostly green, engulfing
Small speckles of that deceptive orange.
It was such a bright colour – high hopes!
Handpicked by a man only looking for the best,
Choosing poorly not for the first time.
The green leaves frantically try to reclaim what’s theirs.
Branch after branch reaching out, trying to uproot him.
Close, so close. But they are a sea apart,
At least an apple has a core, a heart.

The peel
Now it is pilfered, the painful process begins,
Never quite ending: disappointment beckons.
To try and taste these orange juices
You soldiers must bear the burden.
Each soldier, a finger digging themselves
Into the tough stressful shell.
Fingernails stained with orange blood,
Eyes blinded by the same tangy juices.
It never slips off in one go
Like a roomy balaclava,
But crumbles like the remnants of a bombing.
Brick by brick, orange by orange it crumbles.
Now it is finally undone
But neither tree nor man has won.

The preparation
The crust collapsed, but now
It is time to untangle the web the mantle holds.
First, a division – the separation of brothers
Who served side by side at birth.
Dissected by these soldiers
Acting as a bomb squad,
Searching for those hidden pips.
Found, but not without casualties –
Sticky fingers with no taps in sight.
Once removed the web is untangled.
Tired, he hopes that the stress will swiftly end
Unaware that the sweetness was just pretend.

The pain*
Finally the moment has arrived
And illogical ceremonies commence.
I fear the celebration is far too soon,
For as white touches orange and tries
So desperately to unite,
The tartly taste slays the poor man’s buds:
Igniting like petrol on his burning tongue.
He wishes he could return that orange
To the green tree to which it belongs,
To return a bullet-sprayed windscreen is not an option.
The orange, once bitten, enjoys its trance
Latching on to those pained tingling taste buds.
His orange, a disaster to undress:
Bad taste – a foolish price for such a mess.
Hint: I am English. I have lived in Ireland for most of my life. The colours are Green, White and Orange.... To sum it up in one sentence:
"What a complete mess the man made of things!"
Donall Dempsey Sep 2019

A Parisian orange
lay bang in the middle of the street.

I couldn't have avoided it
this orange of all oranges

lost & stranded

but still as
big & bold & bright

as a new found sun
in an unknown solar system.

It invisible to all
bicycles cars and feet.

A cat gave it
a cursory glance.

The soundtrack of Paris
happening just off stage.

Now everyone had vanished
except me & this orange.

Somehow it found
its way to my head

& unraveled itself
in a concentric spiral

a swirl of orange peel
& white pith

like a Can-Can
dancer's skirt.

I ate it.

to everything else

my first


A Parisian orange
lay bang in the middle of the street.

I couldn't have avoided it
this orange of all oranges

lost & stranded

but still as
big & bold & bright

as a new found sun
in an unknown solar system.

It invisible to all
bicycles cars and feet.

A cat gave it
a cursory glance.

The soundtrack of Paris
happening just off stage.

Now everyone had vanished
except me & this orange.

Somehow it found
its way to my head

& unraveled itself
in a concentric spiral

a swirl of orange peel
& white pith

like a Can-Can
dancer's skirt.

I ate it.

to everything else

my first

Jenovah Mar 2013
Orange, the perfect color for me.
The odd one, the bright one.
Fire is orange and I have fire in me.
Orange is beautiful, I am too you see.
Orange always manages to stand out,
I too stand out,always wanting to fit in.
A tear tickles my chin,
as the thought of never to fit in
swims in my mind.
A friend is what I need,
a friend in orange I always find.
Because you see, orange is the color for me.
Nothing will ever rhyme with orange,
and nobody will ever choose me.
Kendall K Jul 2013
What is Orange?
Orange is Excitement
Orange is Enthusiasm
Orange is Warmth
Orange is A Fruit
Orange is Brave
Orange is Orange
That's it.
Keith J Collard Jun 2013
The Quest for the Damsel Fish  by Keith Collard

Author's  Atmosphere

On the bow of the boat, with the cold cloud of the dismal day brushing your back conjuring goose bumped flesh you hold an anchor.  For the first time, you can pick this silver anchor up with only one hand and hold it over your head. It resembles the Morning Star, a brutal medieval weapon that bludgeons and impales its victims.  Drop it into the dark world beyond the security of your boat--watch the anchor descend.
        Watch this silver anchor--this Morning Star--descend away from the boat and you, it becomes swarmed over with darkness.  It forms a ******-metallic grin at first as it sinks, then the sinking silver anchor takes its last shape at its last visible glimpse.  It is so small now as if it could be hung from a necklace.  It is a silver sword.  
Peering over the side of the boat, the depths collectively look like the mouth of a Cannibalistic Crab, throwing the shadows of its mandibles over everything that sinks down into it--black mandibles that have joints with the same angle of a Reaper's Scythe.  

I am scared looking at this sinking phantasm.  I see something from my youth down there in this dark cold Atlantic.  I see the silver Morning Star again, now in golden armor.  I remember a magnificent kingdom, in a saltwater fish tank I had once and never had again.  A tropical paradise that I see again as I stare down into the depths.  This fish tank was so beautiful with the most beautiful inhabitants who I miss.  Before I could lift the silver anchor--the Morning Star--over my head with only one hand, turning gold in that morning sun-- I was a boy who sat indian style, cross legged--peering into this brilliant spectacle of light I thought awesome.  I thought all the darkness of home and the world was kept at bay by this kingdom of light...

Chapter  1 Begins the Story

The Grey Skies of Mass is the Name of This Chapter.

 Air, in bubbles--it was a world beauty of darkness revealed in slashes of light from dashing fluorescent bulbs overhead this fish tank.
Silver swords of fluorescent energy daring to the bottom, every slash revealing every color of the zodiac--from the Gold of Scorpio to the purple of Libra combining into the jade of the Gemini. 
In the center, like a dark Stonehenge were rocks. The exterior rocks had tropical colors like that of cotton candy, but the interior shadows of the rocks that was the Stonehenge, did not possess one photon of light. The silver messengers of the florescent energy from above would tire and die at their base.  The shadows of the Stonehenge rocks would stand over them as they died.

          When the boy named Sake climbed the rickety wood stairs of the house, he did so in fear of making noise, as if to not wake each step.
   Until he could see the glowing aura of his fish tank then he would start down that eerie hall, With pictures of ghosts and ghosts of pictures staring down at him as he walked down that rickety hallway of this towering old colonial home.  He hurried to the glowing tank to escape the black and white gazing picture frames.
                    The faint gurgling, bubbling of the saltwater tank became stronger in his ear, and that sound guided him from the last haunt of the hallway-- the empty room that was perpendicular to  his room.   He only looked to his bright tank as soon as he entered the hallway from the creaky wooden steps.  Then he proceeded to sit in front of this great tropical fish tank in Indian style with his legs folded over one another as children so often would sit.
  The sun was setting.  The reflections from the tank were beginning to send ripples down the dark walls. Increasing  wave after wave reflecting down his dark walls.  He thought they to be seagulls flapping into the darkness until they were overcome as he was listening to the bubbling water of his tank.
                " Hello my fish, hello Angel, hello Tang, hello  Hoomah, hello Clown and hello Damsel … and hello to you Crab...even though I do not like you," he said in half jest not looking at the crab in the entrance of the rocks.  The rocks were the color of cotton candy, but the interior shadows did not possess a photon of luminescence.  All other shadows not caused by the rocks--but by bright swaying ornament--were like the glaze on a candy apple--dark but delicious.  Besides the crab's layer in the rock jumble at the center of the tank which was a Stonehenge within a Stonehenge--the tank was a world of bright inviting light.
                The crab was in its routine,  motionless in the entrance to his foyer, with his scythe-like claws in the air, in expectation of catching one of the bright fish someday.  For that reason the boy tried to remove the crab in the past, but even though the boy was fast with his hand, the optical illusion of the tank would always send his hand where the crab no longer was.  He did not know how to use two hands to rid the crab in the future by trapping and destroying the Cannibal Crab ;  his father, on a weekend visit, gave the Crab to the boy to put into the bright world of the saltwater tank, which Sake quickly regretted.  His father promised him that the Crab would not be able to catch any of the fish he said " ...***** only eat anything that has fallen to the bottom or each other..."

         A scream from the living room downstairs ran up the rickety wood and down the long hall and startled the boy.  His mother sent her shrieks out to grab the boy, allowing her to not have to waste any time nor calorie on her son; for she would tire from the stairs, but her screams would not, allowing her to stay curled up on the couch.  If she was not screaming for Sake, she was talking as loud as screams on the phone with her girlfriends.  The decibels from her laugh was torture for all in the silent house.   A haughty laugh in a gossipy conversation, that overpowered the sound of the bright tropical fish tank in Sake's room that was above and far opposite her in the living room.
               " Sake you have to get a paper-route to pay for the tank, the electricity bill is outrageous," she said while not taking her eyes off the TV and her legs curled up beside her.  He would glad fully get a paper-route even if it was for a made up reason.  He turned to go, and looked back at his mother, and a shudder ran through him with a new thought:  someday her appearance will match her voice.  

              Upon reaching his tank,  Hoomah was trying to get his attention as always.  Taking up pebbles in his big pouty pursed lips and spitting them out of his lips like a weak musket.  The Hoomah was a very silly fish, it looked like one of Sake’s aunts, with too much make up on, slightly overweight, and hovering on two little fins that looked incapable of keeping it afloat, but they did.  The fins reminded him of the legs of his aunt--skinny under not so skinny.’

               The Tang was doing his usual aquanautics , darting and sailing was his trick.  He was fast, the fastest with his bright yellow triangular sail cutting the water.  Next was the aggressive Clown fish, the boy thought she was always aggresive because she didn't have an anemone to sleep on.  The Clown was strong and sleek with an orange jaw and body that was built like a tigress.
  Sake thought something tragic about the body if the  orange Clown and the three silver traces that clawed her body as decoration -they reminded him of the incandescent orange glow of a street lamp being viewed through the rainy back windshield of a car.   The Clown fish was a distraction that craved attention.
The Clown would chase around some of the other fish and jump out of the water to catch the boy's eye. 
                 Next is the Queen Angel fish, she is the queen of the tank, she sits in back all alone, waving like a marvelous banner, iridescent purple and golden jade.  Her forehead slopes back in a French braid style that streams over her back like a kings standard waving before battle, but her standard is of a house of beauty, and that of royal purple.

                    Lastly is the Damsel Fish, the smallest and most vulnerable in the tank.  She has royal purple also, rivaling the queen. Her eyes are lashed but not lidded like the Hoomah.  Her eyes are elliptical, and perhaps the most human, or in the boy’s opinion, she is the most lady like, the Hoomah and the Queen Angel come to her defence if she is chased around by the Clown.  Her eyes penetrate the boys, to the point of him looking away.  

                      Before the tank, in its place in the corner was a painting, an oil painting of another type of Clown donning a hat with orange partial make-up on his face (only around eyes nose and mouth there was ghost white paint) and it  had two tears coming down from its right eye.  The Clown painting was given to him by his mother, it seems he could not be rid of them, but Sake at first was taken in by the brightness of the Clown, and the smooth salacious wet look of the painting. it looked dripping, or submerged, like another alternate reality.  The wet surreal glaze of the painting seemed a portal, especially the orange glow of the Clown's skin without make-up.  .  If he tried to remember of times  before the Clown painting that preceded the Clown fish, he thought of the orange saffron twilight of sunset, and watching it from the high window from his room in the towering house.  How that light changed everything that it touched, from the tree tops and the clouds, to even the dark hallway leading up to his room.  The painting and the Clown fish did not feel the same as those distant memories of sunset, especially the summer sunset when his mother would put him to bed long before the sun had set.  
Sake did not voice opposition to the Clown.
Then he was once again trapped by the Clown.  
            The boy was extremely afraid of this painting that replaced the sunsets , being confined alone with it by all those early bedtimes.
Sake once asked his mother if he could take it down, whereas she said " No."  That clown would follow him into his dreams, always he would be down the hill from the tall house on the hill, trying to walk back to the house, but to walk away or run in a dream was like walking underwater or in black space, and he would make no distance as the ground opened up and the clown came out of the ground hugging him with the pryless grip of eight arms.  He would then wake up amid screams and a tearful hatted clown staring somberly down at him from the wall where it was hung.  Night made him fear the Clown painting more;  that ghost white make-up decorating around the eyes and mouth seeming to form another painting in entirety.  He could only look at the painting after a while when the lights were on, and the wet looking painting was mostly orange from the skin, neck, and forearms of the hat wearing clown.  But the painting is gone now, and the magnificent light display of the tank is there now.  

                Sake pulled out the fish food, all the fish bestirred in anticipation of being fed.  The only time they would all come together; and that was to mumble the bits of falling flakes: a chomp from the Clown, a pucker from the Hoomah, the fast mumble of the Tang, and the dainty chew of the Damsel.  The Queen Angelfish would stay near the bottom, and kiss a flake over and over.   She would not deign herself to go into a friendly frenzy like the other fish; she stayed calm, yet alluring like a flag dancing rhythmically in the breeze, but never repeating the same move as the wind never repeats the same breeze.  She is the only fish to change colors.  When the grey skies of Mass emit through every portal in the house at the height of its bleakness, her colors would turn more fantastic, perhaps why she is queen.

                 He put his finger in the top of the watery world; the warmth was felt all the way up his arm.  After feeding, his favorite thing to do was to trace his finger on the top of the warm water and have the Damsel follow it. She loved it, it was her only time to dance, for the Clown would descend down in somewhat fear ( or annoyance) of the boys finger, and the Damsel and he would dance.  The boy, thought that extraordinary.

                     Sake bedded down that night, to his usual watery world of his room.  The reflective waves running down the walls like seagulls of light, with the rhythmic gurgling sound and it's occasional splash of the Clown, or the Hoomah swooping into the pebbly bottom to scoop up some pebbles for spitting making the sound "ccchhhhh" --cachinging  like a distant underwater register.  The tank’s nocturne sound was therapeutic to the boy.

                      Among waking up, and being greeted by his sparkling treasure tank--that was always of the faintest light in the morning due to the grey skies of Mass coming through every portal to lessen the tropical spectrum-- the boy would render his salutations " Good morning my Hoomah.....good morning Tang, my Damsel, and your majesty Queen Angel.....and so forth.  Until the scream would come to get him, and he would walk briskly past the empty room and the looming family pictures of strangers.  His mother put him to work that day, to "pay for the fish tank" but really to buy her a new cocktail dress for her nightly forays.  The boy did not care, the tank was his sun, emitting through the bleak skies of Mass, and even if the tank was reduced to a haze by the overcast of his life, it only added a log to the fire that was the tropical world at night, in turn making him welcome the dismal day.
                  On a day, when the overcast was so thick, he felt he could not picture his rectangular orb waiting for him at night. He had trouble remembering what houses to deliver the paper.  He delivered to the same house three times.  Newspapers seemed to disappear in his hands, due to their color relation to the sky.   Leaves were falling from the trees—butterfly like—he went to catch one, he missed--a first. For Sake could walk through dense thorned brambles and avoid every barb, as a knight in combat or someone’s whose heart felt the painful sting of the barb before.  He would stand under a tree in late fall, and roll around to avoid every falling leaf, and pierce them to the ground deftly with a stick fashioned as a sword.  He could slither between snow flakes, almost like a fish nimbly avoiding small flakes.  
                  After he finished his paper-route , he went to his usual spot under an oak tree to fence with falling leaves.  As the other boys walked by and poked fun he would stall his imagination, and look to the brown landscape of the dry fall.  The crisp brown leaves of the trees were sword shapes to him.  He held the battle ax shape of the oak leaf over his eye held up by the stick it was pierced through, and spied the woodline through the sinus of the oak leaf lobe.  The brown white speckled scenery, were all trying to hide behind eachother by blending in bleakfully; he pretended the leaf was Hector’s helmet from the Illiad—donned over his eyes.
“ Whatchya doing Sake?” asked a young girl named Summer.  Sake only mumbled something nervously and stood there.  And a pretty Summer passed on after Sake once again denied himself of her pretty company.  He looked to the woodline again, a mist was now concealing the tall apical trees.  It now looked like the brown woodland was not trying to retreat behind eachother in fall concealment, but trying to emerge forth out of the greyness to say "save us."

“ Damgf” he uttered, and could not even grasp a word correctly.  His head lifted to the sky repeatedly, there was no orb, and the shadows were looming larger than ever; fractioned shadows from tree branches were forming scythes all over the ground.
             He entered the large shadow that was his front door, into the house that rose high into the sky, with the simplicity of Stonehenge.  He climbed the rickety petrified stairs and went down the hall.  Grey light had spotlighted every frame on the wall.  He looked into the empty room, nothingness, then his room, the tank seemed at its faintest, and it was nearing twilight.  He walked past the tank to look out the w
Jen Grimes Mar 2016
I was thinking of so many things
While the sun was painting a backdrop
I wished to hold onto that order
As if nothing else mattered
I was in the mountains again
But now the birds sang
And my ankles were boney
Wobbling against the war-zone of stones
The snow wasn't stuck to the grass anymore
But melting away
lone piles of it slumped against, wasted rocks
That the mountain had decided to toss away
I wished to stay here
up on the hill,
watching the sun shimmy down through its peaks.
Like the way I lined up my socks
Sometimes the purple ones mate would go missing
It's pair left to sit lonely in the sock drawer
I walked the hill alone
My stomach empty, my head in control
The sun seemed to dangle in the sky,
as if  held up by one string
Waiting for the world to blink asleep
But the birds kept chirping
I know how the sun feels
I feel strung up as well
My subconscious pulling the strings
While I'm only left to follow
The mountains make me miss the sea
I miss the beach
Take me back, back
to when we walked the waterfront,
salty ocean air cutting through the heat.
Maybe I should've jumped
when you told me we could escape
"We could go far, into the sea," you told me.
I think that's when i realized,
and Orange
are nothing like the waves
and Green.
NeroameeAlucard Jun 2015
Secret Agent Orange!
Secret Agent Orange!
oh a gaseous concoction
designed for mental blockin!

the voices of those men beside me
that died are bothering me constantly
they keep on screaming why didn't I save them
they'll keep haunting ME until I'm in my grave but

Secret Agent Orange!
Secret Agent Orange!
oh a gaseous concoction
designed for mental blockin!

I keep hearing this odd ticking noise
but no one else seems to hear it
it's not a child playing with a toy
I can't put my finger near it

Secret Agent Orange!
Secret Agent Orange!
oh a gaseous concoction
designed for mental blockin!

I keep downing pills to end the pain
I keep dodging bullets disguised as rain
I think I've finally snapped of course
thanks to secret agent Orange

Secret Agent Orange!
Secret Agent Orange!
oh a gaseous concoction
designed for mental blockin!
I'm weird
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
Donald Trump Limericks IV

The Hair Flap
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

The hair flap was truly a scare:
Trump’s bald as a billiard back there!
The whole nation laughed
At the state of his graft;
Now the man’s wigging out, so beware!

Stumped and Stomped by Trump
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a candidate, Trump,
whose message rang clear at the stump:
"Vote for me, wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee!,
because I am ME,
and everyone else is a chump!"

Toupée or Not Toupée, That is the Question
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a brash billionaire
who couldn't afford decent hair.
Vexed voters agreed:
"We're a nation in need!"
But toupée the price, do we dare?

Toupée or Not Toupée, This is the Answer
by Michael R. Burch

Oh crap, we elected Trump prez!
Now he's Simon: we must do what he sez!
For if anyone thinks
And says his "plan" stinks,
He'll wig out 'neath that weird orange fez!

White as a Sheet
by Michael R. Burch

Donald Trump had a real Twitter Scare
then rushed off to fret, vent and share:
“How dare Bernie quote
what I just said and wrote?
Like Megyn he’s mean, cruel, unfair!”

Humpty Trumpty
by Michael R. Burch

Humpty Trumpty called for a wall.
Trumpty Dumpty had a great fall.
Now all the Grand Wizards
and Faux PR men
Can never put Trumpty together again.

Viral Donald (I)
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Donald Trump is coronaviral:
his brain's in a downward spiral.
His pale nimbus of hair
proves there's nothing up there
but an empty skull, fluff and denial.

Viral Donald (II)
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Why didn't Herr Trump, the POTUS,
protect us from the Coronavirus?
That weird orange corona of hair's an alarm:
Trump is the Virus in Human Form!

No Star
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump, you're no "star."
Putin made you an American Czar.
Now, if we continue down this dark path you've chosen,
pretty soon we'll all be wearing lederhosen.

How the Fourth ***** Ramped Up
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump prepped his pale Deplorables:
"You're such easy marks and scorables!
So now when I bray
click your heels and obey,
and I'll soon promote you to Horribles!"

The Ex-Prez Sez

The prez should be above the law, he sez,
even though he’s no longer prez.
—Michael R. Burch

Trump Dump
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a con man named Trump
who just loved to take dumps at the stump.
“What use is the truth?”
he cried, with real ruth,
“Just come kiss my fat orange ****!”

Limerick-Ode to a Much-Eaten A$$
by Michael R. Burch

There wonst wus a president, Trump,
whose greatest a$$ (et) wus his ****.
It wus padded ’n’ shiny,
that great orange hiney,
but to drain it we’d need a sump pump!

Interpretation: In this alleged "ode" a southern member of the Trump cult complains that Trump's a$$ produces so much ***** matter that his legions of a$$-kissers can't hope to drain it and need mechanical a$$-istance!

Stumped and Stomped by Trump
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a candidate, Trump,
whose message rang clear at the stump:
"Vote for me, wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee!,
because I am ME,
and everyone else is a chump!"

Raw Spewage (I)
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

is a chump
who talks through his ****;
he's a political sump pump!

Raw Spewage (II)
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

is a chump
who talks through his ****;
he's a garbage dump
in need of a sump pump!

Keywords/Tags: Trump limerick, Trump limericks, limerick, nonsense, light, verse, humor, humorous, donald, trump, president, ignoramus, *****, imbecile, conman, fraud, liar, shill, criminal, huckster, snake oil salesman, Twitter, tweet, tweety


Poets laud Justice’s
high principles.
Trump just gropes
her raw genitals.
—Michael R. Burch

Dark Shroud, Silver Lining
by Michael R. Burch

Trump cares so little for the silly pests
who rise to swarm his rallies that he jests:
“The silver lining of this dark corona
is that I’m not obliged to touch the fauna!”

Zip It
by Michael R. Burch

Trump pulled a cute stunt,
wore his pants back-to-front,
and now he’s the **** of bald jokes:
“Is he coming, or going?”
“Eeek! His diaper is showing!”
But it’s all much ado, says Snopes.

There once was a senator, Cruz,
whose whole life was one pus-oozing schmooze.
When Trump called his wife ugly,
Cruz brown-nosed him smugly,
then went on a sweet Cancun cruise.
—Michael R. Burch aka “The Loyal Opposition”

Mini-Ode to a Quickly Shrinking American Icon
by Michael R. Burch

Rudy, Rudy,
strange and colludy,
how does your pardon grow?
“With demons like hell’s
and progress like snails’
and criminals all in a row!”

Christmas is Coming
alternate lyrics by Michael R. Burch

Christmas is coming; Trump’s goose is getting plucked.
Please put the Ukraine in his pocketbook.
If you haven’t got the Ukraine, some bartered Kurds will do.
But if you’re short on blackmail, well, the yoke’s on you!

Christmas is coming and Rudy can’t make bail.
Please send LARGE donations, or the Cause may fail.
If you haven’t got a billion, five hundred mil will do.
But if you’re short on cash, the LASH will fall on you!

Fake News, Probably
by Michael R. Burch

The elusive Orange-Tufted Fitz-Gibbon is the rarest of creatures—rarer by far than Sasquatch and the Abominable Snowman (although they are very similar in temperament and destructive capabilities). While the common gibbon is not all that uncommon, the orange-tufted genus has been found less frequently in the fossil record than hobbits and unicorns. The Fitz-Gibbon sub-genus is all the more remarkable because it apparently believes itself to be human, and royalty, no less! Now there are rumors—admittedly hard to believe—that an Orange-Tufted Fitz-Gibbon resides in the White House and has been spotted playing with the nuclear codes while chattering incessantly about attacking China, Mexico, Iran and North Korea. We find it very hard to credit such reports. Surely American voters would not elect an ape with self-destructive tendencies president!

Keywords/Tags: Trump, Donald Trump, poems, epigrams, quotes, quotations, Rudy Giuliani, Ted Cruz, Cancun, Christmas

Trump Limericks aka Slimericks

The Nazis now think things’re grand.
The KKK’s hirin’ a band.
Putin’s computin’
Less Ukrainian shootin’.
They’re hootin’ ’cause Trump’s win is planned.
—Michael R. Burch

Trump comes with a few grotesque catches:
He likes to ***** unoffered snatches;
He loves to ICE kids;
His brain’s on the skids;
And then there’s the coups the fiend hatches.
—Michael R. Burch

Trump’s Saddest Tweet to Date
by Michael R. Burch

I’ve gotten all out of kilter.
My erstwhile yuge tool is a wilter!
I now sleep in bed.
Few hairs on my head.
Inhibitions? I now have no filter!

the best of all possible whirls, for MAGA
by Michael R. Burch

ive made a mistake or two.
okay, maybe quite more than a few:
mistakes by the millions,
the billions and zillions,
but remember: ur LORD made u!

where were u when HEE passed out brains?
or did u politely abstain?
u call GAUD “infallible”
when HEE made u so gullible
u cant come inside when Trump reigns.

Mercedes Benz
by Michael R. Burch

I'd like to do a song of great social and political import. It goes like this:

Oh Donnie, won't you lend me your Mercedes Benz?
My friends ***** in Porsches, I must make amends!
Like you, I f-cked my partners and now have no friends.
So, Donnie won't you sell me your Mercedes Benz?

Oh Donnie, won't you rent me your **** import?
You need to pay your lawyers: a **** for a tort!
I’ll await her delivery each day until three.
And Donnie, please throw in Ivanka for free!

Oh, Donnie won't you buy me a night on the town?
I'm counting on you, Don, so don't let me down!
Oh, prove you're a ******* and bring them around.
Oh, Donnie won't you buy me a night on the town?

Oh Donnie, won't you lend me your Mercedes Benz?
My friends ***** in Porsches, I must make amends!
Like you, I f-cked my partners and now have no friends.
So, Donnie won't you sell me your Mercedes Benz?

Ode to a Pismire
by Michael R. Burch

Drumpf is a *****:
his hair’s in a Fritz.
Drumpf is a missy:
he won’t drink Schlitz.
Drumpf’s cobra-hissy
though he lives in the Ritz.
Drumpf is so pissy
his diaper’s the Shitz.

The Ballade of Large Marge Greene
by Michael R. Burch

is large
and in charge,
like a barge.

Yes, our Marge
is quite large,
like a hefty surcharge.

Like a sarge,
say LaFarge,
apt to over-enlarge
creating dissent before the final discharge.

Trump Limericks aka Slimericks

The Nazis now think things’re grand.
The KKK’s hirin’ a band.
Putin’s computin’
Less Ukrainian shootin’.
They’re hootin’ ’cause Trump’s win is planned.
—Michael R. Burch

Trump comes with a few grotesque catches:
He likes to ***** unoffered snatches;
He loves to ICE kids;
His brain’s on the skids;
And then there’s the coups the fiend hatches.
—Michael R. Burch

Trump’s Saddest Tweet to Date
by Michael R. Burch

I’ve gotten all out of kilter.
My erstwhile yuge tool is a wilter!
I now sleep in bed.
Few hairs on my head.
Inhibitions? I now have no filter!

the best of all possible whirls, for MAGA
by Michael R. Burch

ive made a mistake or two.
okay, maybe quite more than a few:
mistakes by the millions,
the billions and zillions,
but remember: ur LORD made u!

where were u when HEE passed out brains?
or did u politely abstain?
u call GAUD “infallible”
when HEE made u so gullible
u cant come inside when Trump reigns.

My Sin-cere Endorsement of a Trump Cultist
by Michael R. Burch

If you choose to be an idiot, who can prevent you?
If you love to do evil, why then, by all means,
go serve the con who sent you!

Bird’s Eye View
Michael R. Burch

So many fantasical inventions,
but what are man’s intentions?
I don’t trust their scooty cars.
And what about their plans for Mars?

Their landfills’ high retentions?
The dodos they fail to mention?
I don’t trust Trump’s “clean coal” cars,
and what the hell are his plans for Mars?


Don't disturb him in his inner sanctum
Or he’ll have another Trumper Tantrum.
—Michael R. Burch

It turns out the term was prophetic, since "conservatives" now serve a con. — Michael R. Burch

To live among you — ah! — as among vipers, coldblooded creatures not knowing right from wrong, adoring Trump, hissing and spitting venom.

Trump rhymes with chump
lifelong slump
illogical jump
garbage dump
sewage clump
sump pump
cancerous lump
malignant bump
unpleasingly plump
slovenly schlump
yuge enormous diaper-clad ****
and someone we voters are going to thump and whump
—Michael R. Burch

Putin's Lootin's
by Michael R. Burch

They’re dropping like flies:
Putin’s “allies.”

Ah, but who gets their funny

Two birds with one stone:
no dissent, buy a drone.

For tyrants the darkest day’s sunny!

by Michael R. Burch

Friends, I admit that I’m often tempted
to say what I think about Trump,
but all such thought’s been preempted
by the sight of that Yuge Orange ****!

Mate Check
by Michael R. Burch

The editorial board of the Washington Post is “very worried that American women don’t want to marry Trump supporters.”

Supporting Trump puts a crimp in dating
(not to mention mating).

So, ***** dudes, if you’d like to bed
intelligent gals, and possibly wed,

it’s time to jettison that red MAGA cap
and tweet “farewell” to an orange sap.

Squid on the Skids
by Michael R. Burch

Sidney Powell howled in 2020:
“The Kraken will roar through the land of plenty!”

But she recalled the Terror in 2023
with a slippery, slimy, squid-like plea.

The Kraken Cracked
by Michael R. Burch

She’s singing like a canary.
Who says krakens are scary?

Squidney said the election was hacked,
but when all her lies were unpacked,
the crackpot kraken cracked.

Now, with a shrill, high-pitched squeal,
The kraken has cut a deal.

Oh, tell it with jubilation:
the kraken is on probation!

Trump’s Retribution Resolution
by Michael R. Burch

My New Year’s resolution?
I require your money and votes,
for you are my retribution.

May I offer you dark-skinned scapegoats
and bigger and deeper moats
as part of my sweet resolution?

Please consider a YUGE contribution,
a mountain of lovely C-notes,
for you are my retribution.

Revenge is our only solution,
since my critics are weasels and stoats.
Come, second my sweet resolution!

The New Year’s no time for dilution
of the anger of victimized GOATs,
when you are my retribution.

Forget the ****** Constitution!
To dictators “ideals” are footnotes.
My New Year’s resolution?
You are my retribution.

Two Trump Truisms
by Michael R. Burch
When Trump’s the culprit everyone’s a “snitch.”
It ain’t a “witch hunt” when the perp’s a witch.

Horrid Porridge
by Michael R. Burch

My apologies to porridge for this unfortunate association with an unwholesome human being.

Why is Trump orange,
like porridge
(though not some we’re likely to forage)?
The gods of yore
knew long before
Trump was born, to a life of deplorage,
that his face must conform
to the uniform
he’d wear for his prison decorage!

Dictionary Definition of Trump
by Michael R. Burch

Trump is a chump;
he’s the freep of a frump;
he’s an orange-skinned Grinch and, much worse, he’s a Grump!;
he’s a creep; he’s a Sheik (sans harem); a skunk!;
“**** the veep!” he’s a murderous coup d’tot-er in a slump;
“Drain the swamps, then refill them with my crocodilian donors!”;
Trump is a ****** with insufficient ******;
Trump is, as he predicted, a constitutional crisis;
Trump is our non-so-sweet American vanilla ISIS;
Trump is a thief who will bring the world to grief;
Trump is a whiner and our Pleader-in-Chief.

Triple Trump
by Michael R. Burch

No one ever ******* a Trump like Trump.
He turned Mar-a-Lago into a dump
and spewed filth at the stump
like a sump pump
while looking like a moulting Orange Hefalump!
Trump made the Grinch seem like just another Grump
by giving darker Whos a “get lost” lump.
No colored child was spared from his Neanderthalic thump.
Trump gave fascists a fist-bump,
consulted **** servers for an info-dump
and invited Russian agents for a late-night ****.
Don the Con con-sidered laws a speed bump,
fired anyone who ever tried to be an ump,
and gave every evil known to man a quantum jump.
You may think he’s just plump
and a chump,
with the style of a frump,
the posture of a shlump,
his brain in a slump,
and perhaps too inclined for a ****-star ****,
while being deprived by his parents of a necessary whump ...
but when it comes to political *****, Trump is the ****!


Keywords/Tags: light verse, nonsense verse, doggerel, limerick, humor, humorous verse, light poetry, *****, salacious, ribald, risque, naughty, ****, spicy, adult, nature, politics, religion, science, relationships

by Michael R. Burch

The world’s first antinatalist limerick?

Life comes with a terrible catch:
It’s like starting a fire with a match.
Though the flames may delight
In the dark of the night,
In the end what remains from the scratch?

Time Out!
by Michael R. Burch

Time is at war with my body!
am i Time’s most diligent hobby?
for there’s never Time out
from my low-t and gout
and my once-brilliant mind has grown stodgy!

Waiting Game
by Michael R. Burch

Nothing much to live for,
yet no good reason to die:
life became
a waiting game...
Rain from a clear blue sky.

*******' Ripples
by Michael R. Burch

Men are scared of *******:
that’s why they can’t be seen.
For if they were,
we’d go to war
as in the days of Troy, I ween.

Devil’s Wheel
by Michael R. Burch

A billion men saw your pink ******.
What will the pard say to you, Sundays?
Yes, your ******* were cute,
but the shocked Devil, mute,
now worries about reckless fundies.

A ***** Goes ****
by Michael R. Burch

She wore near-invisible *******
and, my, she looked good in her scanties!
But the real nudists claimed
she was “over-framed.”
Now she’s bare-assed and shocking her aunties!

by Michael R. Burch

Will Ohtani hit 65 homers,
win the Cy Young by striking out Gomers,
make it cute and okay
to write KKK
while inspiring rhyme-challenged poemers?

Will Ohtani hit 65homers,
win the Cy Young by striking out Gomers,
prove the nemesis
of white supremacists
while inspiring rhyme-challenged poemers?

Will Ohtani hit 65 homers,
win the Cy Young by striking out Gomers,
cause supremacists
to cease and desist
while inspiring rhyme-challenged poemers?

Keywords/Tags: limerick, limericks, double limerick, triple limerick, humor, light verse, nonsense verse, doggerel, humor, humorous verse, light poetry, *****, ribald, irreverent, funny, satire, satirical


Red State Reject
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

I once was a pessimist
but now I’m more optimistic,
ever since I discovered my fears
were unsupported by any statistic.

The Red State Reaction
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Where the hell are they hidin’
Sleepy Joe Biden?

And how the hell can the bleep
Do so much, IN HIS SLEEP?

Mating Calls, or, Purdy Please!
Limericks by Michael R. Burch

Nine-thirty? Feeling flirty (and, indeed, a trifle *****),
I decided to ring prudish Eleanor Purdy ...
When I rang her to bang her,
it seems my words stang her!
She hung up the phone, so I banged off, alone.

Still dreaming to hold something skirty,
I once again rang our reclusive Miss Purdy.
She sounded unhappy,
called me “daffy” and “sappy,”
and that was before the gal heard me!

It was early A.M., ’bout two-thirty,
when again I enquired with the regal Miss Purdy.
With a voice full of hate,
she thundered, “It’s LATE!”
Was I, perhaps, over-wordy?

At 3:42, I was feeling blue,
and so I dialed up Miss You-Know-Who,
thinking to bed her
and quite possibly wed her,
but she summoned the cops; now my bail is due!

It was probably close to four-thirty
the last time I called the miserly Purdy.
Although I’m her boarder,
the restraining order
freezes all assets of that virginity hoarder!

Keywords/Tags: limerick, limericks, nonsense verse, humor, humorous, light verse, mating calls, *****, prudish, lonely, loneliness, longing, America

Animal Limericks

Dot Spotted
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a leopardess, Dot,
who indignantly answered: "I'll not!
The gents are impressed
with the way that I'm dressed.
I wouldn't change even one spot."

Stage Craft-y
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a dromedary
who befriended a crafty canary.
Budgie said, "You can't sing,
but now, here's the thing—
just think of the tunes you can carry! "

Honeymoon Not-So-Sweet, or, Clyde Lied!
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a mockingbird, Clyde,
who bragged of his prowess, but lied.
To his new wife he sighed,
"When again, gentle bride? "
"Nevermore! " bright-eyed Raven replied.

The Mallard
by Michael R. Burch

The mallard is a fellow
whose lips are long and yellow
with which he, honking, kisses
his *****, boisterous mistress:
my pond’s their loud bordello!

The Platypus
by Michael R. Burch

The platypus, myopic,
is ungainly, not ******.
His feet for bed
are over-webbed,
and what of his proboscis?

The platypus, though, is eager
although his means are meager.
His sight is poor;
perhaps he’ll score
with a passing duck or ******.

The Better Man
by Michael R. Burch
Dear Ed: I don't understand why
you will publish this other guy—
when I'm brilliant, devoted,
one hell of a poet!
Yet you publish Anonymous. Fie!

Fie! A pox on your head if you favor
this poet who's dubious, unsavor
y, inconsistent in texts,
no address (I checked!) :
since he's plagiarized Unknown, I'll wager!

"Of Tetley's and V-2's" or "Why Not to Bomb the Brits"
by Michael R. Burch

The English are very hospitable,
but tea-less, alas, they grow pitiable...
or pitiless, rather,
and quite in a lather!
O bother, they're more than formidable.
Andrew Rueter May 2019
Orange orange everywhere
Orange orange in the air
I’m given an orange despair
By a man with orange hair
I see through his orange glare
To see nothing really there

A man became president
Promising to evict residents
His stupidity self evident
When he says nothing relevant
About all the topical elements
He just talks for the hell of it

He’s unfit to lead
Because he’s equipped with greed
And an unwillingness to read
Gaining success from his family tree
He lives the American dream
By making others scream
To indulge his team
And his bigotry

All it took for his courtship
Was a culture of celebrity worship
And idiots buying his horseshit
Of acting remorseless

The gullible are impressed
With how well he is dressed
So they think he’s the best
Putting him in a wing that is west
Because he has a lot of money
But without any capability
You better start running
Money let’s him **** willingly

He takes advantage of the stupid and racist
By pointing at people with brown faces
Saying they’re here to replace us
Like they’re working for Asus
And not mowing his lawn
He said they will **** us
To manipulate his pawns

He’s a megalomaniac
Who thinks he’s a brainiac
But it’s a brain he lacks
To understand the impact
Of his negative attacks
Still he thinks he’s a genius
Which justifies his meanness
So his cruelty is seamless
While he claims to redeem us

This is our most vulnerable hour
With a president compromised by foreign powers
Building ivory towers
By turning minorities sour
There’s a litany of reasons
Why he calls them heathens
But it all revolves around freedoms
Being stripped from those who need them

His constituents have their heads in the sand
So they blindly give in to his demands
Going after whoever he’s ******
In the name of this land
Other kinds are banned

You can tell the bad guys have won
When they start separating mothers from sons
At the end of a gun
So there’s nowhere to run
Away from the oppression
Of our downward descension
As he does nothing to lessen
The root of our depression

His concentration camps
Give a **** slant
To his lofty plans
Until no one can stand
Without a weapon
Because of his deception
Which was his intention
To win the election
He promised detention
Of the boogeyman mentioned

The red, white and blue
Adopts an orange hue
When the foreign lose
From the fascist bruise
Of an orange noose
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
it's either called: watching that technicolour
masterpiece... bell, book & candle,
kim or kimberley or some other from 1958...
and all those photographs
of the empire state building being
without a single bungee jumper
or those suicide nets from the neck and bones
of the sweater shops of Corono alias
Mexico and some third party pardons
for the: better placed bet of
the faking it capitol...
and now i know that sargon of akkad
has welsh roots...
which means absolutely nothing...
it also means:
root i... be the don of man
in the girth of the 'oods!
massive attack's - live with me video:
which is twice better than the prodigy's
slap my ***** up...
namely how ******* up
trajectory hulk and spewing leaves you...
when ***** is done solo...
and when all of whiskey is drank
without an honest remark for patron:
ms. amber...
and there's no vinyl record shop
in the vicinity...
a high street where you only get to buy
mobile phones, trackers,
shoes, cheapshit clotches...
pardon coffees and lazy doughnuts
without ever having ever sniffed
living yeast...
always that packaged dry load of ****...
live with me:
i do hope you never jest at the platonic
offer of dreaming even
a sly measure of it coming true...
nothing i write is allowed to fall onto /
into a pillow...
i can imagine a pillow to be a mouth
to be a guillotine i imagine
sleep to be: the precursor ****** of lingering
that bottle of cider and a shot of whiskers?
if there's anything akin to double-dutch...
there's the double-irish...
which is... ugly h'orange...
oh why so ranging Dublin away from
Boston, massachusetts;
privy... come... let's talk...
why is it that the green in the three colours
if Ireland... even the green looks...
"cheap"? it's not the sort of green of Italy...
and sure as ****...
that orange isn't the red of Italy...
and that orange is oh so much cheaper
than... the house of orange and the sinking -
red light district of amsterdam...

- the pleasure always comes
with the final tilt of the glug and...
what's to be made kosher of a goat...
or a ram...
the levite fiddly-bits of orthodoxy
baronage: when any variant of prayer

no, i can be associated with the crazy cat ladies...
i too own two maine **** cats...
one's headlining as being over 10kg in... "size"...
another is teasing 7kg...
and i vacuum the house every, single day...
i'm truly like an adolf ****** when it comes
to the house being free from it ever
being believed to be a house
that entertain petting cats...

i hate fur... two cats you can keep:
but as long as the house, you sweep...
is... bound to a frequence of once a day...
every day...
ecce diem: omni diem...
that's how i will only allow myself
to keep cats, if the house is vacuumed and freed
from fur, every, single, day...
perhaps i'm asthmatic with a jealous nose
that always wants to inquire
the heights of mountains and the pitfalls
of valleys... and clarifying noble waters
of the spring...

and with a 3rd of a worth of a chemistry's
degree... one could almost wish
to be... this sort of willing...
to be a trashman...
and plot the next leibniz move of never
making it to going out...

my tidy... my tidy...
the best jobs with the least amount
of contact with people playing
sycophancy and the crab and tapeworm
roulette / violin...
if that's... obviously an utopian dream
outside of canada... sign me up!

it's still ***** orange to me...
even the green look *****...
just like: what do you call french navy?
certainly not romanian blue...
the swedish yella is not the romanian
gold-tinge primark yellow...
just saying...

not even excuses for bulgarian green
can match with italian green...
austria is no better when it comes
to red...
the germans have a red in their flag...
that... somehow works
with the red and yellow...
which the belgians seem to lack...
even though they share the same colours...

dutch orange is never really orange:
except when it comes to a football match...
by then the irish orange is
aenemic... to say the least...
and the green is pale...
perhaps because it is left to contrast
with orange rather than red...
and only the french match up to "blue"
of the union jack...
but only thanks to the navy teasing purple
of st. andrew's cross flag of:
tease Midlothian!

the cider is 'ere... the scotch is 'ere...
what do i have to complain about?
complain... complain...
no... nothing... really.
end Jul 2020
I tried to start a forest fire so bright
But it burned my house last night
Now that my trees have all died
I can not see you

We're livin' in a forest we can't explore
In a lifetime we try to ignore
And I wanna see the whole world
The way that you do

But I need to know if you are real
Cause baby I don't know how to feel
And I cannot control my mind
I scratched out the line
And erased my past

We're livin in a blue-black world.
And you're just a red-orange girl.
We're trying not to be T-E-R-R-I-F-I-E-D.
And you are just trying
To hide in plain sight.

Cause we're livin' in a red-orange sea.
And I wish you were blue-black like me.
And I can not even swim,
so I'll just be sinkin in
To deep to see you.

I wanna know now if this is real.
I wish that somehow they could heal us.
We cannot be sugary sweet.
It's only you and me
Against all the odds.

So please just hold me tight.
(Hold me tight!)
Maybe even spend the night.
(Spend the night!)
You take my mind off the constant fight and
I can't lose you.

Cause we're livin in a red-orange world.
And I'm just a blue-black girl.
We're trying not to be T-E-R-R-I-F-I-E-D.
And you are just trying
To hide in plain sight.

Cause we're livin' in a red-orange sea.
And I wish you were blue-black like me.
And I can not even swim,
so I'll just be sinkin in
To deep to see you.

And I know you made a stupid mistake.
They thought I wasn't real and our love was fake.
I tried to stop what I knew would go down.
Now all of our colors mixed around
In the air that we breath.

Because the trees they didn't light themselves.
You held a match up and your candle fell.
There was no reason for you to doubt me.
I was too late though.
My love, I'm so sorry.

We were just livin in a blue-black world.
And you were my red-orange girl.
We were trying not to be so T-E-R-R-I-F-I-E-D.
And you were trying
To hide in plain sight.

Cause we're livin' in a red-orange sea.
And I wish you were blue-black like me.
(Blue-black like me!)
And I can not even swim,
so I'll just be sinkin in
To deep to see you.

We're livin in a blue-black world.
And you're just a red-orange girl.
(Red-orange girl!)
We're trying not to be T-E-R-R-I-F-I-E-D.
And you are just trying
To hide in plain sight.

Cause we're livin' in a red-orange sea.
(Red-orange sea!)
And I wish you were blue-black like me.
And I can not even swim,
so I'll just be sinkin in
To deep to see you.

We're living in a colorless world.
Now you're just my plain grey girl.
I tried to stop being so T-E-R-R-I-F-I-E-D.
And you're just laying in the box where you died.

You'll never know if we were real.
But baby now I know how you feel.
Time has passed, but I won't be alright.
Cause I lost you to the constant fight.

Cause we're livin' in a colorless sea.
And I wish you were still red-orange like me.
You float but I still can not seem to swim.
So I'll just be sinking in
Deep just to see you.
Lizzie Mar 2018
he had loved the color orange
passionate orange,
relaxed but caring

she loved him
as much as he loved
the orange hue in the sunset

he loves her
but not relaxing

they clash and orange
is no where in sight
red, violet, blue, green
they splash on their bodies

and other times
they are no other color than
orange and it's siblings
mellow and together

she wishes for them to be
orange, but sometimes he
becomes red and she is
every shade of the end of the rainbow

she becomes violet, then indigo
she transitions to blue
she darkens to the deepest shade
she is only blue, darker than black

he is red, extreme red
he is full of passion
he is fiery and about to explode
he is so bright that he illuminates the whole world

she wishes they could become orange again
and she believes he does too, but
something had happened and they were
only the siblings, no orange around
thomezzz Sep 2018
she liked the color yellow because it calmed her
its brightness soothed her soul
and the sight of a yellow flower
always brought her joy
it illuminated her dark days
and stormy weather
it always seemed to try so hard
to be happy
A quality she could relate to

but one day, she met a boy who liked orange
a color she always said she hated
its hue too close to yellow
but too different to be enjoyed
she never wore the color orange
felt as if it drew attention to her
when she was content enough
to be invisible
in the corner of the room

her favorite color was yellow
and his was orange
but she never liked that color
with its harshness and severity
it reminded her
of traffic cones
and reflector vests
of emergencies
and warning signs

But one day, she realized
he reminded her of the color yellow
he soothed her soul
illuminated her dark days
and calmed her storms
he never seemed to try too hard
but always managed to make her smile

she realized yellow and orange
weren't that different after all
and when the two hues came together
her, perpetually the color yellow
him, forever orange
she felt like the only girl in the room

the colors yellow and orange
started to bleed together
and orange came to remind her
of fallen leaves
and clear sunsets
of butterflies
and sprinkled zest

and in time
as she grew to love him
the color orange started to become
just as beautiful as yellow
Teo Mar 2015
We walked together one day in a chilly October-
through the woods, I recall this moment over and over,
I remember how the temperature was nearly freezing,
I remember how we were warmed by each others breathing

You enjoyed nearly every aspect about this place,
the smell, the sound, they brought that smile to your face,
that smile, the fire that made me feel so warm,
I wanted to do everything I could to keep it from harm

You fancied the trees especially,
I loved them too, I wrapped you in me,
I loved the isolation, we were free from intrusion,
only the sun penetrated the trees creating our illusion

The trees were as orange as the sun that set them aflame,
the sort of beauty so captivating, it remained unnamed,
as orange as the horizon behind the dark mountains-
the heated heavens, hot as the molten emotions born from the fountains-
of the orange flames that burned so deeply they scorched our hearts-
with the unstoppable orange fire that only you can start-
the orange flames burned so clearly envisioned in my brain-
the flames the same orange that feels so far away...

The warming orange sun left, bade me goodbye,
removing its welcome presence from the darkening sky,
you were gone, you were never there, my heart grew insanely sore,
the illusion of having someone here with me shattered once more...

The forest fire inside burned out and left me to myself,
it burned out my insides and left me an empty shell,
I'm so cold and alone and too afraid to go home,
I feel so old, I'm being shown how Ive lived all on my own

This horrible loneliness I cant understand or command-
that it leave me at once and remove its heavy hand-
from off of my chest, from gripping my heavy heart,
but it wont, watching me struggle not to tear my hopes apart

The flames were as orange as the hell of my life,
the sort of beauty I imagined in my imaginary wife,
as hot as the lake of fire where the Devil sits
watching my struggles, licking its blackened lips,
as orange as the fire that cant warm my heart,
as hot as the flames that no one will ever start,
as orange as the iron demons stab into my brain-
at memories like the illusion that are just too far away...
lost and found Apr 2014
ever since the first day i met you
all you've ever wanted
is just a cup of orange juice
nothing else
just that
and to me, that made you unique
different from everyone else
i won't forget the day i met you
the day i first heard your voice
the waiter asked your order and all you said was,
"Just a cup of orange juice, please."
i didn't get it -
i mean, why would anyone go to a restaurant
just for a cup of orange juice?
but you did it
as some sort of exploration
as some sort of research of cafes and restaurants
i thought that was pretty crazy when you first told me
but now i live to hear you ask me for orange juice
i love when you come home late at night
exhausted and you say,
"baby, get me a cup of orange juice please."
if you don't ask me for a cup of orange juice
i'll know for sure that something's wrong
because my baby, doesn't go a day without an orange juice. //
wayne mockler Apr 2020
The torture on the golden ship of evil horrors
after arriving at the big golden pirate ship of torture we are made to walk along the black plank to board the grisly ship.  The horses look around the deck while the evil pirates watch with nasty and wicked eyes of hate towards our bodies.

All of a sudden hundreds of ghostly pirates appear from their  city of spikes and watch  us on the devils deck of terror.  The patch eyed monster with one leg then shouts towards a dark room on the ships deck while the other creatures jump and scream with a mist pint of froth in  their red hands.

The golden  goddess screams in terror when a dark figure wearing a purple hat walks out on the red deck of horrors.  We all look in horror when the rest of the pirates  chain our army towards  the ships  rails of torture.

i comfort luitent megs with my outreached arm while the dark pirate figure without a nose  and mouth pulls out it jagged  red swords  of horror at our trembling bodies.  The golden goddess stares inside its deep purple eyes while it pulls two  warriors out  from the carnage.

The horses plead for mercy while the  creature drags then towards a small dark corner of the ship.  One of the warriors is then tied down on a long plank of wood while the other pirates begin to move forward towards her shaken bodies.

An angry golden goddess try's to break free from the chains of torture while the other brave warrior try's to save the poor old woman warriors body.  We weep with anger when the pirates begin to rip her golden uniform off revealing her  lacy white old underwear of modesty.

The pirate monsters then quickly surround the shaken mature  woman  and ripping  her underwear off with ease. We listen the the pirate creatures howl with pleasure  whilst exploring her naked body.

Two of the pirates hold her head down while  the ******* pirate  pulls out its small flashing blade and cuts off  her nose  while she scream in terror.  The other pirates then keep her head very still while the creature begins to cut her mouth and lips off while blood fires up across the ships cold dark deck.

A sick golden goddess then begins to throw up when the black pirate holds the woman's golden lips  in the air for all the other pirates to see  and enjoy. We all sink into a dark huddle when the  other warrior is pinned down and sliced open by the black  pirates  sword of horror.

The horses tremble and shake when the other  warrior is pinned by down by fifteen pirate creatures for the black demon pirate pleasure. We all look with open eyes when the demon black pirate carefully removes hes golden genitals and ***** for the screaming warrior.

We are all then taken below deck towards a long  black freezing jail while the pirates party  and drink on spike city of evil horrors.  The horses sit and wonder how to escape  the evil city while the rest of us lay down in the dark  cells of torture.

written by wayne mockler
ownership and copyright wayne mockler

The torture on the golden ship of evil horrors part 2

After a long few hours in the cold dark cells of horror the  evil pirates bring us up on deck while all the other creatures watch  from pirate land of evil. The golden goddess and her army are led out first onto the golden ships deck with  me and luiteant  megs, white tiger and horses behind us.

We shiver and shake when we notice the plank of torture  hanging over the cold red water of evil.  One of the dark pirates comes towards our cold tired bodies and looks at us with  its green eyes of evil while its flowing  hair of snakes shines at our clouded minds of terror.

The golden goddess speaks out towards a smiling one eyed captain before being ******* with rope on a ships pole.  We be the captain for mercy but he's monster pull out two golden warriors and makes them stand near the long plank of wood.

One of the golden warriors is forced to walk the long dark plank while others look on in terror and suspense. The horses try and break free from their handcuffs but get beat down by  the evil pirate creatures of horror

A scared and  terrified warrior stands in the middle of the plank until a giant black figure emerges from the deep red river. The figure a shark with five heads and axe tail jumps at the golden warrior leaving a big deep cut on his forehead with golden blood flowing out everywhere.

I hold a terrified luitent megs tight while his head ***** open in the cold dark night of spike city.  The horses hold onto a shaking white tiger while the creature dives back in the deep red water.

The shark  monster  then jumps again but this time cutting the warriors head off while making the golden blood pour over the dark plank of wood.  The golden goddess begs for mercy until the pirates surround the fighting body of torture with eyes transfixed on her large ******* with glee.

We tell the pirates to keep of her  until  a black pirate with one arm begins to unbutton  her golden  blouse with ease.  The other creatures get closer towards her blushing red cheeks while the dark pirate begins to release the red buttons and exposing her large  ******* to cheers from the ***** pirates  creatures.

After getting  touched and explored by all the evil pirates a crying golden goddess is carried towards spike city drinking saloon along with the other golden warriors. We are  made  to follow behind a guard of pirates while the horses and white tiger  are chained up in the cages of hell.

Once in the drinking den of horror we are made to sit on big long stool while the pirates  strip a red faced golden goddess naked  while the captain watches with a barrel of ***.  we are then taken back towards the dark cage in spike city and locked up with the horses and white tiger.

We look over at the  other big cage from hell and see the army of golden warriors laid down  from the fight on hell.  The horses tend to to a distraught golden goddess with their warm fur of hope and look for a way to escape this hell hole.

written by wayne mockler
ownership and copyright wayne mockler

The torture on the golden ship of evil horrors part 3

After a long night of drinking and laughing the dark pirates settle down under a mist of red sky of horrors.  We sit alone in our  cold dark cage until the  purple light of sunlight shines though the next morning.

The pirate creature wake and walk around the dark spike city of horror until another ship sails in under a tunnel of torture towards the dark city's lights.  A scared golden goddess looks out and sees another pirate ship with orange sails come into spike  harbour.

We cringe with horror when the dark pirates cheer the ship while an orange pirate with six arms stands on its deck.  The  big green and blue ship then settles in harbour while the six armed orange creatures jump out and walk around the scared golden warriors cage.

A sadistic dark pirate captain  then unlocks the cage and drags out tow more golden warriors screaming and kicking for survival. The disgusting black captain then throws one of our heroes to the  orange horrors of lust.

The horses bang and shout at the dark pirate captain  until the orange creatures carry  the golden warrior woman towards a cold dark table of hate.  we listen to her screams while the pirates begin to cut open her golden uniform from to to bottom.

An angry golden goddess screams with anger when the creatures mange to prize open her golden bra  and ripping it off with loud screams of joy  from the other drunken pirates.  She blushes  red with horror when the  creatures  slip down her golden thong causing the  pirates to go wild with excitement.

We sit and watch with anger when the pirates begin  to touch her naked body all over while he screams in anger and hatred. The  creatures then carry her naked body towards the  creatures drinking saloon  of evil.

I hold and comfort luitent megs while the cheer's get higher and higher  followed by a dull silence. All of a sudden two evil  orange pirates  bring out her golden head before sticking in on a long pole near the river.

The golden goddess screams and kicks with anger at the glowing guards while  the other golden warrior is dragged inside the saloon of horror.  We then suddenly hear high pitched screams coming from the warrior inside until a pirate shouts yes in a loud clear voice.

Another  four pirates of evil walk out holding various  parts of the mans body in their glowing  hands of golden blood. The horses bury their heads in the  cage corner whilst the  creatures throw s his head and legs inside a big dark plastic bag of evil.

We all sit alone in the dark  cage of evil  while the orange and black  creatures toast and dance in the  cold evil  saloon of hatred.  The golden goddess and horses look around the dark cage wondering how to escape from the torture of the creatures hands.

written by wayne mockler
ownership and copyright wayne mockler
adult horror
Michael Kusi Nov 2017
I went downstairs.
I wanted orange juice.
Not grape juice
Not apple juice
But sweet, sweet, orange juice.
The type that I get from oranges.
Not manufactured in some factory.
Im talking to you, Hi-C
Sunny Delight is not even in this conversation
I went to the fridge.
I stubbed my toe,
And fell down the stairs.
This orange juice better be worth it.
Luckily my tongue was spared.
It was dark
Forgive me for what happened.
I took a box
Of what appeared to be orange juice
And drank it from the box
Like it was meant to be.
Cups are for guests.
This box is mine.
Instantly I jumped back.
It was the shock of my life.
This did not taste like orange juice
It did not taste like victory.
It tasted like something died.
It was like……. Spoiled milk.

Immediately I grabbed a cup.
Cup I need you now
Sorry I neglected you.
I got some water and began washing out my tongue.
You betrayed me, milk.
And now you have to pay.
I want you gone.
So I threw it in the garbage.
Then I remembered it was in the fridge downstairs.
This time I took a flashlight.
Im not making the same mistake twice.
I learned my lesson.
I then found the orange juice.
It was like receiving the fountain of youth.
Oh orange fountain.
I drank it all
Filled and refreshed.
I was very happy.
Carla Blaschka Jul 2015
We proposed for Witches Abroad on Broadway, a costume.
As a lure to students, orange and black candy.
Dancing at the prom, cell phones caught the ghouls.
This stretch of road was full of cool cats.
Unlucky ones were left on the side as skeletons.
We swept them clear with our broomsticks.

Our guns were not as brutal as broomsticks.
Bristles hid the ******* end, as if in costume,
No flesh, just skeleton.
Like bags of orange and black candy,
They were left, full of calico cat.
Our familiars, our friends, dinner for a ghoul.

They pulled at the ghoul,
In the hands of a witch, danger came by broomstick,
When ghouls snacked on cat,
In their orange and black fur costume,
Tasting sweet, like candy.
They beat them up and down, but they find another skeleton.

Them ghouls come faster, giving birth to others, another skeleton.
Vocalizing desire for black and white, red and yellow make orange, a ghoul,
Howls for student flavored candy.
A witch lays out one, then another with her broomstick,
Removing the face mask and costume.
Them that can, holler their outrage in cat.

Your *** was revealed in orange and black on a calico cat.
Females cooled themselves of ***, unwilling mates to a skeleton.
Once alive, copulating loudly, now in a death costume.
Walking upright, a neighborhood was destroyed by a ghoul.
Neighbors watched, a witch patrolled on a broomstick.
Your students were seen as human candy.

One wife beater had a juicy rind, sweet and soured candy.
At the dance, hors d’oeuvres were made of cat.
Shot forward, it can create a hole, can a broomstick.
Where stomachs used to be, a skeleton,
Death conquers all, no more ghoul.
One, now many properly attired for the Danse Macabre in costume.

I found an orange, as broomsticks cleaned Broadway of cat candy.
In my student costume and human face mask, my path is crossed by a cat.
It disappeared as if it never was, visible only to Death, a skeleton made by ghoul.
A Halloween Sestina
Nicholas Fogle Jun 2015
I love Orange Juice.
I am honestly addicted.
Breakfast, Lunch , and Dinner I'll enjoy this yellow liquid.
I 'll even drink some while cleaning the dishes,
mopping the floor,
open my door,
carry my self out and drink some more.

You ever had Orange Juice and Chocolate !?
Chocolate Chip cookies, Kit Kat, Hersey , Sneakers . Chocolate Cake, Fancy Chocolate , Chocolate ***, Twix !
Any of this,
fits the Chocolate and Orange Juice Fix.

I love the Tropicana Florida Made Orange Juice.
Is that what the Tropic's like?
Is that what Florida like?
The air and people give you a tang that at first is strange?
But in the end you'll say "I am addicted to these things" ?

I, love, Orange Juice.
Orange Juice
Jess Rose Jan 2010
Sitting on this table here
Is an orange
It is the sun
And it is the only orange from here
To New York
Where another orange sits
On another table
Sweet and juicy

If you cross the room
From my orange
You will be the earth
Only a trillion times too big
And no matter how bad you want
To grab that orange and
Peel it
You can’t

If you half that distance
You are Venus
In love with the orange
And half again
You are burning
From its pored skin

If you are earth again and leave the room
You are Mars, then farther still
Made of gas
If you jog outside your house
And down the block
Your breath will form rings
And moons
Around your body

And if you so choose
To pace 800 more lengths
And shrink to the size
Of sand
You can be Pluto
The Hungry
Cold and spinning
Zoë Mar 2015
light blue stretches in my mind
the houses dark
almost empty looking
the air cold
and my muscles too tight
a slight pain in my heart
and my head full with regret
orange streams back in as i step into the house
the smell of a sweat and stale cheerios fills my nose
a deep red soaks into my brain as I reach the top of the stairs
the dark room and couch all add with
the warm air, and smell of chili powder to sum it up
i will fall asleep again with orange
green text bubbles and repetition of my lock screen
x-small shirt and ***** carpet
leaves me once again with orange
orange, orange, orange
i get discouraged as my days end like this
where is the blue
the brightness that excites me
and shows in my eyes
but all i get, night after night
orange, orange, orange
Nidhi Mar 2021
orange marmalade ribboned on warm toast
reflecting the golden light from the sun
It looks like Cleopatra's prize possession
It is too bright for a ghost to see
And too valuable to be an investment
Orange marmalade
How it swirls in your tongue
Too afraid to swallow it
Oh how I admire the orange marmalade
It's like a slice of happiness
The sun sprinkled on the orange marmalade
You can see all the orange pieces tucked in the marmalade
I love orange marmalade
Mitchell Sep 2013
The retainer where she was put
Was made of concrete. My father told me they had
Dug the grave first, then poured the concrete in, waited for
It to dry and harden, then hammered in six
Circular spikes in the four corners, two on either side
Of the middle. They lifted the concrete cast out with a crane.
My dad was going to be charged 300 dollars a day for the rental,
But because of the circumstances, Home Depot let us have it for free.


Where was she?
Where had she gone?
Would I see her face again?
Would she want me to
Meet her on the other side of the river?


I answered my cell phone.

"Make sure to bring flower's."
She had been crying. Her voice wavered the way sun light
Does on moving water.

"Make sure to bring flowers," she repeated, "And
That you wear what your father and I bought you."

I nodded my head with the receiver pressed up against my ear.
We both let out a sigh. My mom hung up. I put my phone in my back pocket.


Lately, I had been seeing a shrink about repetition. He liked to use the word cycle.

"Everything is repeated," I would tell him.

"Life is a cycle," he'd disagree so to get me talking.

"Can cycles be identical?"

"Technically not. Some cycles are extremely similar, but no two cycles are
Completely the same. Are two people's lives ever exactly the same?"

"I wouldn't know. I don't know that many people. Maybe."

"You know lots of people, Camden. You have told me about many of your friends."

"Are we talking about the seasons?" I asked, changing the subject, "Like fall, winter, spring, summer? We are born, we live, we die, and we are born again?"

"That's a very natural way of looking at it."

"I know it is." I inhaled deeply, swallowing air and wondered what time it was.

"If you are so sure, why look for validation from me?" He liked this one, I could
tell. I imagined him shopping for clothes and then exploding in aisle 16 because of a sale on jeans.

"The word cycle is used by people too afraid to use the word repetition. Everything is
Repeated for the next generation, the next group, the next of the next of the next. We shift things
Around, give things to one another to shift life to make it look different, but, things remain the same. Everything contains the primal function we were all doing and living from the very beginning, only now, there is more of a separation. Music is still music, words are still words, paintings are still paintings, love is still love, death is still death, only done differently and more intensely."

"We are talking about man furthering technology because we, as people and creatures, are
Statistically more prone to flee than fight?"

"Why do you think it has caught on so quick?" I touched both
Corners of my lips with my tongue and suddenly realized I hadn't eaten breakfast.

"It is a theory," the psych nodded, "A theory with, I am sure, many
Palpable facts you could make a very nice report with to prove...something." He
Was at a lost for words and I felt guilty that my mom was paying him $75 an hour.

"We are very split. There are too many of us. Too many hands spinning the china."

"Who is we Harry?" The psych hadn't looked up from his pen and pad of paper, until now. I could
Tell he was annoyed with me either because he was making no progress or because the session
Had just begun and I was already digging into him.

"Culture. The government. You, me, my dad, my mom, the taco bell cashier, the geniuses at Apple computers, a paper weight, my dead sister. We're all apart of these shifts, all putting in a certain amount of energy and lies to keep the protection of the projection going. The question I keep asking myself is: do I want to use my strengths to be apart of this cycle or not?"

His eyes flared open for a moment like he'd swallowed a firefly, not at the question I had posed for myself, but from what I would soon see was from the mention of my sister. He had something.

"I was notified by your mother that you may not want to talk about your recently deceased sister. Is It O.K. if I ask you some questions about her?"

I was leaning forward on the couch with my hands clasped in between my legs. The psych had looked up at me now. He was sweating at the top of his thin hairline. Observing that I was staring at his building perspiration, he, trying to be nonchalant, took out a thin, white napkin from his grey shirt pocket and dabbed the top of his head. The napkin looked like cheap toilet paper. I'd have offered him some water, but I had no water to give and I didn't know where the sink and cups were to give him any. I figured he did - it was his office - so I asked him for some. He pointed me in the direction of the bathroom. I got up and found a stack of paper cups. I poured myself a cup and went back to the couch, but instead of leaning forward, I sat back, relaxed, and let the expensive leather couch take the weight I had been carrying away.

"So," the psych maintained cooly, "Would it be alright if we were able to discuss your sister?"

I lifted the paper cup over my head and the psych's eyes, after I poured the water over my hair, my face, and clothes, was a mixture of what my mom's eyes looked at the funeral, defeated, confused, and with a loss of faith and hope. My father's eyes had only held hate, anger and the need to lash out at someone, but the only someone that would have fit the bill would have been God.

"Sure," I answered, "Let's talk about my sister."


I finished drying myself in the car. The psych had let me keep the towel.
I leaned out the window to look at myself in the side mirror. I looked fine.
Presentable. Accountable. Like I had been through something where I had
Faced my soul. Like I had used and abused my emotions. There was comb in my glove compartment, so I took it out and rushed it through my damp hair. Slicked back. The sun
Was out, no clouds, burning up the inside of my car. That taste that comes after
Finishing something that's supposed to do you good didn't come. I was left with an unsure hand.
Putting my keys in the ignition, I turned them, and felt the engine rumble in front of my legs.
The sun sat in the sky like a lazy hand and I had nowhere else to go but home.


"Let's go to the river today," my dad said over coffee and two over easy eggs on top
Of burnt wheat toast. "I'll drive and you and your sister can sit in the back and sing."

I looked over at Ally. She was gazing into her fruit bowl she had prepared for
herself because dad didn't understand the concept or how to make it. The lamp light above us
reflected in the smooth apricot yogurt and the flecks of granola scattered on top
looked like beige, jagged rocks. My dad's offer hung in the air and neither
of us bit the lure. I had just woken up and was unable to speak clearly, a decent
excuse. Ally was simply choosing to ignore him.

"What you think there Ally?" I asked her. I sipped my coffee. It needed more cream. I got
U, got it and brought the carton to the table.

"We can take the truck down there and load the back with the fishing poles and tackle
And inner tubes. We haven't...done a long time," he said, chewing his food as he spoke.

Ally poked her fruit bowl with her spoon, silent.

"What you think, Cam?" My dad was desperate. He knew I'd say yes.

"Sure. I've got no plans this weekend."

"No schoolwork?"

"It can wait till Sunday. Only math and some reading."

"Ally, what do you think?" my dad asked, leaning over to her. I could see he was
Trying to be as courteous and gentle with her as he knew how to. I felt bad for him.

"Sure," she muttered, "That sounds like fun." I could barely hear her, but somehow,
I could tell she sounded happy.

"Perfect," my dad smiled, "We'll pack the car up Friday,
Drive up Saturday morning early, camp one night, then get back Sunday afternoon." He
Took a long sip of his coffee and swished it around in his mouth, then dug
His fork into the dry toast and ran his small steak knife over the eggs. A silent pop came from
The egg and the light orange yolk spilled out. "Perfect," he repeated, "Just great."

Ally poked a grape from her fruit bowl and dipped it into the yogurt.
I took another sip of my coffee and looked up into the fan, spinning above us.
We were going to the river.


"Your sister turns five today," my mom told me, "And that means
I want you to be on your best behavior."

I nodded, unsure what the point of a birthday was. I had had one before, or at
least I thought I did, and all I remembered was that I got presents and the colorful balloons
and the cake we all ate with fire kind of floating and burning above it. Somewhere
in that moment I remember thinking that the cake was going to catch on fire, then they, everyone,
some that I knew and some people I had never seen before, yelled and shouted to
blow the fire out, so I quickly did, but not because it was for a wish, which I later found out it was supposed to be for, but because I truly thought the cake was going to catch fire and they wanted me to take care of it. At that point, I was unsure what it meant to be alive or why to celebrate it all.

"This is her day, Camden," my father told me, "So I want you to be happy for your sister."

"I am," I said. I was wearing my favorite white and blue striped t-shirt and
New shoes that my mom had bought me for the party.

"Sometimes you have to think of other people," my mother continued, "And today is one
of those days. I don't want any crying because you didn't get any presents or that none of your
friends are at the party. There are going to be a lot of Ally's friends there, but not many
of your' you understand?"

"Yes, Mom."

"Do you understand, Cam?" My father repeated. His skin was the color of a burnt
pancake and he smelt like stale sugar and sun tan lotion. He was in front of me and was
holding a thin magazine with a man in a boat holding up a fish on a line on the cover.  

"Yes, Dad," I said again. I was hungry. I wanted mac n' cheese, my favorite food.

I had been on the floor, laying on my stomach watching Ren and Stimpy. They were standing in front of the television and I remember trying to wish them out of the way. Behind them were two, large bay windows where three palm trees stood in a row like tropical soldiers. I could see there was no wind because the three of them stood still, as if posing for someone. Their leaves were bright green, a mixture of the neon green Jello I used to love to eat and the orange Jolly Rancher my dad would always have in a tiny tray in the middle of the dining table. My mother hated having them there because it always tempted Ally and I, but he never moved it until he moved out.

"Do you like your show?" my mom asked, turning to see what I was watching.

I nodded, absently. Ren was licking Stimpy's eye because he was complaining about having
an eyelash in there. Stimpy was completely still and smiling like he does - dumb and content.

"Interesting..." my mother trailed off. She walked to the kitchen behind the couch and
Opened up the pantry for something. "You hungry, Camden?"

"I'm starving," my dad said, "Let me go check on Ally in the bedroom. She should be up
from her nap."

I got up from my stomach and sat back on my legs, "Do we have mac n' cheese?" I asked.

"Let me check."

She reached up for the cabinet over the stove where I could never reach and
Opened it. I rose slightly up from where I was sitting to see if I could see the glorious dark blue and orange package, but wasn't able to see over couch. I hovered there, still like a humming bird.

"You're in luck," I heard her say, "We've got one box left."

"Yay!" I screamed and got up, running into the kitchen.

"But," she smiled, stopping me, "You'll have to share it with your sister."

"No! I don't want to! I always have to share."

"What did we just talk about Camden?" she said, lightly stamping her foot.

I tried to remember, but couldn't. I shrugged.

"You need to learn to share, Camden. You also need to listen better when your father and I are talking to you. You and your sister are going to know each other a very long time and I want you to learn how to share now, so you two can be happy in the future."

"The future," I asked, "What's that?"

She paused, then said, "It's a time," she paused again, "Ahead of us."

"Do we know where it is?"

"Not exactly," she sighed.

"What's it look like?"

"No one really knows. People can only imagine it."

"Is it very far away?"

She opened the top of the blue and orange mac n' cheese box and poured the dry macaroni into a large silver ***, lifted the faucet, and let it run inside for five or seven seconds. She placed the *** on an unlit burner and turned to look at me. Her eyes looked far away and right there with me.  

"Closer then you think," she said and turned the burner on.


I turned into the taco bell parking lot. There was something I was trying to remember that was in my trunk, but I couldn't recall the picture. A haze blew over the windshield that was a mix of heat and wind; I wished to be somewhere else, someone else, someplace else, but, there I was, sitting there underneath the sun, like everyone else. If I was able, I would have unlocked the door to my car and opened the door and walked out - but - there was something else lingering underneath my fingernails, something I couldn't name.

"Two tacos," I said into my hand, "And a water."

"Pull to the window," the voice buzzed over the muffled speaker.

"Yes," I said through my split fingers.

In front of me, over a patch of clean cut green grass and a yellow, red, and orange Taco Bell signature sign, was a fresh gas station with a willow tree *** near the front entrance. He had a sign that hung around his neck that read Juice Please - Very Thirsty. How I knew this was because I had seen it every time I had been asked to fill up my dad's car every other Sunday. I had never given the tree a dollar, yet, I felt that I owed him something. I tried to pull up to the window, but my clutch was grinding and a cloud slunk overhead. I was tired and only wanted to eat.

"That'll be a two twenty-five," the voice said through the thick, clear glass.

"Yes," I said to myself, digging into my wallet for three dollars.

I ****** the three onto the thick plastic platform. A quick sweeping plastic brush pushed the bills toward the asker, and the bills were gone. I had no food. I had nothing. My money was gone and all I had was a gurgling car in front of me and an empty front seat beside me. A pair of clouds waded by my front shield window. A shadow drew itself out in front of me like a **** model. A beep. Sudden and behind me. There was sound. I looked over my shoulder and a black  2013 Cadillac was sitting there, windshield tinted grey, the driver a shadow. I was unsure what to I pulled forward six inches, hoping the offer would be enough. I wasn't in the best neighborhood.

The window to the left of me slid open. An arm erupted forward with a plastic bag,
"75 cents is your change."

The hand dropped three quarters next to the plastic bag. I grabbed the bag with the two tacos and three quarters and quickly wound up my window. The face in front of me was a dangerous blur: smiling, frowning, not caring either way what happened to me next. The hands had gobbled up the three dollars and I was happy to see it go. Who needed money? I tossed the plastic bag onto the passenger seat and sped off two blocks for my grandma's house. Salvation. The holy land. A place with free hot sauce and two dog's that were stolen without paper's. Eden.


"What are you learning right now?" I asked Ally.

She hesitated, then said, "Something to do with science." She paused," Lot's to do with rock's."

"Rocks?" I stammered, not remembering a time when I learned about rocks in school, "What kind of rocks?"

"I don't know," she grinned, looking up at me, "All kinds."

I laughed and kicked a stone into the river. The sun was out and reflected on the water like an unpolished diamond. We had grown up a quarter mile away, but still, it felt foreign to us.

"I like it. There's some things you could see that you would never think to read about it in books."

I had read plenty off books. Most, I took little from, but Ally, I could see, had taken plenty.

"What are you doing in school?" Ally asked me.

"What do you mean?" I
Brad Lambert Sep 2013
How about that gasoline
in Autumn rain puddles?

How about them cars that don't start,
can't start.

I just wanted to start.

Playing games like this never amused me much;
I guess I'm more of a reader than a writer than a toy-game-player.

I want the facts.

None of this horseshit media circus,
ignorance is neither knowing nor caring.

Nay bliss,

It was bliss on those cold winter nights,
night twilights pressed hard against the city-smogged sky
where the gases of sugar beets and petroleum reflect back down orange.

Orange on the snow and orange on snow drifts and snow flakes on your eyelashes.
Little orange dusts
(**** your lashes grow long)
dusts fallen halfheartedly like rain in the fall
and rain puddles shone red
and blue
and green
and orange, orange, orange...

Always orange.

Like gasoline in rain puddles,
gasoline in cars that won't start.

They can't start, don't start;
My engine must be misfiring.

(How about them metaphors for a heart?)

Will you call me when you get there?

— The End —