It’s my voice
Gravel cracked
That’s betraying
My fuck’s given
Bored of life
Indifferent wife
Ignoring the strife
Of Zoom’s still life
Half-life
Of meetings, work and reports
I have settled into a
Thundering
Astonishing
Blustering
Bellowing
Butchering
Pandering
Whisper
Bash in the wee skull with a hammer
That will stop the poor boy with a stammer
Rip his sack from his legs
Use his teeth for clothes pegs
That will teach him good manner
A girl with a voice truly grating
Was known to be quite ‘commodating
With a wet sloppy pud
She was always quite good
But your cock requires stiff armor plating
Limericks are a guilty pleasure of mine. And filthy limericks never fail to make me laugh. There’s a rich history of these types of verse going back thousands of years. W. S. Baring-Gould’s seminal work, ‘The Lure of the Limerick’ does a fine job bringing the subject to life. Recommended.
A firm renowned for bookkeeping
Was revered for financial growth reaping
When indicted for fraud
For practices odd
Investors lost everything weeping
Blue flowers on road
Five finger blossom of sick
Our lives disposable
Haikus are another form of writing I find immeasurably enjoyable. So much work must go into the 5/7/5 syllabic structure. It really is the perfect distillation of the poetic form.
I’m constantly seeing disposable gloves strewn about parking lots, shopping carts, roadways. Such callous disregard for the common health and welfare of all is shocking to me. Such selfishness.
In wicker willow careless flight
You flit below me in the light
I strike a match, set forth the lamp
You butterfly to void the stamp
Of leaden boot weighed down in shame
Forsaking me, my heart, my name
Flight of fancy, gossamer pest
I shall never find my rest
A broken skull of glass shard bone
This never ever was a home
For me, for you, for us
Forgotten
I wanted to memorialize a marriage that ended almost 20 years ago. There was many things wrong with it – on both sides. My behavior, hers – I look back now and see how both of us were to blame. Poorly matched, I am glad to be free. And happy.
i sit
in my chair
after lunch
grabbing 15
minutes
of shut-eye
i tell myself
i’m good
i’m better
i’m brave
as i sleep
yet every time
i wake up
i’m still the same
sorry son of a bitch
I started as
with apologies to Buk
The Bellevue Hospital great
Had a treatment that tampered with fate
With its infamous black bottle
Their patients would throttle
On chloroform without a wait
The Triangle Shirtwaist Fire
Sent more than 100 seamstresses to the pyre
With bodies stacked high
Bitter cordwood to the sky
Smelled worse than one burning a tire
Bellevue’s ivy on wall
Climbs the windows incredibly tall
With screams through the glass
When you dared rush on past
The lunatics inside want you all
Outlaw Poetry 