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Lyn Senz Nov 2013
Pugsley snugs
on ugly rugs
and smugly shrugs
at Beak
But Beaky's peaking
and tweakily tweaking
while squeakily speaking
to Pink
And Pinky thinks
they're rinky *****
with stinky sinks
and ***** winks
Then Twiggy giggles
and jiggly wiggles
her wiggly jiggles
at Mister Higgles
And Mister Hig-g-l
Wait a second
Who's Mister Higgles?
'Undercover CBPP,' says he
(Crazy Bad Poem Police)
'Okay, let's break it up!
Enough of this stupid poem
Let's go, let's break it up!
Stay off bad poems people,
this stuff'll rot your
brain!"


©2011 Lyn
Jade Ellen May 2014
I love the way you laugh cheekily through your lungs like a young child visiting the park for the first time in Autumn

I hate the way you laugh squeakily through your intoxicated lungs like a misbehaved child harassing other children at the park in Winter

I love the way you walk with a spring of contentedness oblivious to the despair surrounding you

I hate the way you walk with a spring of arrogance not caring about anybody inferior

I love the way your dimples appear as storms as your smile spreads across your face resembling the ocean

I hate the way your crooked dimples attack your bitter teeth like daggers

I love the way you talk so passionately about nothing that matters at all, something so insignificant

I hate the way you talk so ignorantly about everything that doesn't matter in the slightest

I love the way you analyse things with such interrogation and adventure like the youth hunting for their Christmas presents early

I hate the way you over-analyse situations that are not linked to you in any way

I love you

I hate you

**I hate the way I really ******* love you
Yours truly, quite dissimilar
to a woodlark,
nonetheless, this human
i(r)onically positively charged
to forge covalent bond,

hence this stranger
axon impulse to generate,
modulate, and spark...
assimilate virtual digital connection
with mine quark

key aura, charisma,
and karma acquired,
sans "FAKE" trumpeting
assertion tubby Ozark
Mountain Daredevil, I feign

boasting as true mark
Putin on Ritz storyteller wannabe,
incorporated with hallmark
card writer, and thus
feeble attempt to embark

upon eurythmic quest
to facilitate online journey,
wherever the whim
of reciprocity, spontaneity,
and transparency doth
deem reasonable benchmark.

Blatant camaraderie desire
explains rhyme and reason,
(and collusion) if such tactic appealed
within scrunched, highbrowed, and furrowed
forehead this whim congealed,

eyebrows raised with elan to field
said poetic laced metrical pursuit
(grammatically well healed)
unsure what outcome,
(perhaps duff feeted endeavor)
might be revealed!

At deux score away from
attaining Sant Henny yawl
whirl wide aging cobwebs
glom rusty cogs and wheels
of me noggin pine to flip

(the hands of time)
growing old steals
often playing back gauzy past,
where silently musty
Old Virginny hoary memory reels

squeakily turn, yet revisiting,
painful remembrance of things past
only reminds me how this Scottish Matt
got stepped on by many heels.

Numerous unpleasant vivid bro
kin recollections of doomed,
foregone smitten loves flit to and fro
many awkward boyhood infatuations never
broached to secret paramour,

asper this common Joe
forever embossed pretty thang,
penniless and dolorous 1959 minted
baby boomer lass ne'er did know,

probably snickered (out of mine earshot),
a painfully shy lad, who stood
(rather small) apart from status quo
sported nerdy skinny as toothpick physique
encompassing scared kid accumulating woe.

Even at this instant forlorn romantic
notions finds this papa craze
zilly wished courage existed to
whisper "hello" during prepubescent days
for one gull in particular engendered

unstoppable fervent gaze
especially within cat's whisker
visiting her hypnotic gaze
leaving suppressed, locked, and bottled
languishing testosterone
squelched in confusing maze.
sadik sheikh Dec 2021
parched baren fields hug
scorched dusty village of penury landscape
straddled between supposed national road
ramshackle mud hut stands detached
equally dilapidated huts fragment

crude rusty door squeakily opened
old grandma come forth
stooped the posture
wobbled the walk
rain deprived tree the refuge against sweltering heat

wind haul loose plastic bags around with wild abandon
empty bowl enticingly rolled
past hungry animated crawling toddler
ushering object illusionary windfall apparently

sunken vague eyes locked,
in tandem with fragile limbs
hot on the heels of Dancing bowl

hand too feeble to swath pestering flies outstretched
prospect of a meal within reach
skiny invigorated arm overreaches

course of trajectory swayed
container swerved off course
inverts then flipped
tiny hands trips progress!
  "you have won the hunger race"
   "welcome to the starting point"
    congratulatory cheers!
    the world applauded!

fingers investigatively scratched alluring fruity decor surface
pleasing patterns presented in empty bowl
by deceptive sight seeking vindication
from the high court of flabby tongue
hosting unwavering snitch of a taste bud negating beguilement of sadistic bowl
flower not a food was the verdict

fling of frustration ensued as
speechless toddler hurl empty vowels
thrashing rage pulverised the bowl
against the hard earth by emaciated arm
soliciting the attention of a heedless grandma
unflinched by familiar outburst unworthy of consoling response

light at the end of tunnel
when familiar figure heave in sight
dust sprayed face of a sisterly love expressed foreign smile

baby hastily locomotes towards receptive
soothing lullaby
cuddlle with sibling's affection
rhyming lung of a learner sister reads
the lyrics of the day
  
" pad meet rag equals
  foreign meet local
  like souvenirs for a vote
  when representative of women
  presents sanitary pads today

bloodless girls plenty in the land
where babies refuse to sleep and
watch the world orbit around

where empty bowl prank a child    
who blames the bowl
that blame the ***
that blame grainless granaries
the opulence of the governor's office
where fragrance swirls ends
the lullaby of blame game
and the the prank of the dancing bowl"

    by sadik sheikh

— The End —