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101. My dog and I got caught in a sudden winter storm,
with a whipping wind and a snow fall way above the norm.
And my dog looked at me with a face that said, "Hey, Dad!
This storm is really, really bad!
Can’t we just go home ─ where it's dry, cozy, and warm?"
102. A working girl from windy Winnipeg,
had Aesop’s goose tattooed high up her leg.
And for the right price,
and if you asked her real nice,
she'd let you watch her goose ─ lay the golden egg.
103. Dear doctor, did you know you had really cold hands
the last time you inspected my testicular glands?
If we need to do a repeater,
could you warm 'em a bit on the heater,
before you shove 'em again down my pants.
104. I once saw Cupid poop behind a tree in a field
and, boy, was I surprised by the amount of his yield.
And when he was done,
I saw him strapped his quiver of arrows back on
and fly off to make another two one.
105. I said to a new love, so as to not further upset her,
"I'm still a novice at this, so I'm bound to get better.
If you jot down your rules,
and provide me with the appropriate tools,
next time, I'll be sure to follow what you want ─ right down to the letter."
106. I'm the camel who tried to go through the eye of the needle.
But my humps wouldn't slide through, not matter how I did prod and wheedle.
Damn, if only I hadn't waited ─
till it got so fricking complicated ─
I shoulda tried it when I was still young, and slick, and fetal.
107. Sometimes, my dog's behavior is anything but mild.
He's been known to outdo the hissy fits of any two-year old child.
Today, when I said "No!," he barked and he cursed,
and he swore, as a parent, I was the absolute worst!
And when I pretended to cry, I'm pretty sure that he smiled.
108. I'm totally intrigued by the neighborhood tranny.
Unlike some, I don't find her at all uncanny.
And I think she's every bit as cute
as all our other neighbors of ill repute,
but with a much nicer fanny.
109. Middle school limericks / verses
a. Among my worst memories of middle school
are my being smeared with snotty boogies,
and being pants,
and being hit by kids hocking loogies.
But the worst memory of all,
is continually being chased by this bully named Paul,
who, when he caught me,
would give me the meanest titty twists,
and full-on, five-minute noogies.
b. In middle school, when I was sick of all the teasing and crap,
and of being told it was my own fault for being a big sis and a sap,
I'd steal home to my mother,
and push aside my little brother,
and try to find solace in the safety of her lap.
110. Donald Trump limericks / verses
what poetry is is
pieces of existence
drifting aimlessly
in the grief of now
what poetry is is
the suffering of the moon
in a room stinking of alcohol and cigarette smoke
deep into the small hours of the night
what poetry is is
the side-effects of memory
piled up against the vicious darkness of an endless eternity
what poetry is is
the vocabulary of what's missing
the agony of contending necessity
in the peacock blue of morning
what poetry is is
just too many of
those tired words of fenced-in reality
that crack under the pressure
of orange
what poetry is is
all just imitation
the half-remembered mirrored in a demented uncertainty
of breaking everything
what poetry is is
the business
of an excerpt of the absurdity of life
these agonizing sideshows
banging against forever
what poetry is is
going to hurt
these darker disputes bearing witness to maddest delusions
with the sheep standing listlessly in the field
waiting for the sun to rise
what poetry is is
(and so on, forever)
* I created a random poetry generator once. The above is an example of what I could do with it.
111. Have you ever given your pillow a big hug and a kiss,
pretending it was the sweet face of your new beau or new miss
with whom you'd only just fallen in love,
but with whom you hadn't had quite time enough
to dare attempt this heavenly bliss?
112. I once knew this woman name Myrtle
who was as strong as the shell of a turtle.
Once, when she was undressing, an intruder snuck in,
and in a flash, she flung all her undergarments at him ─
then broke his neck ─ by fiercely yanking the straps of her girdle.
113. Three times the mass of the sun
were the boobs of stripper, Priscilla the Hun.
And when the adoring men yelled out for more,
she'd shimmy and knock 'em all to the floor ─
first with the left, and then with the right one.
114. A nun ran over a rabbit.
She said to herself, "Yikes! This is becoming a habit.
Like, last week it was four.
And this week, already one more.
But, hey! Makes for ample stew for the abbot.”
115. Sorry ─ but I do wanna go gentle into that good night!
I'm not up for a long, unendurable, end-of-life fight.
So, I'll opt for a quick, euthanistic squirt,
so I'll feel only a little pin prick of hurt,
as my eyes bid a gentle goodnight ─ to the dying of the light.
116. You know what I wish for the most? ─
It's that we could drive one more time up the California coast,
listening to Emmylou Harris, Gram Parsons, and John Prine,
with me holding your hand, and you holding mine,
and not stopping ─ till we had safely passed the fault line.
117. One thing when you get this old —
is that your body can get so unbearably cold,
because your skin gets so thin,
it lets all the iciness in,
and that's when a hot partner is worth their weight in gold.
118. When she disappeared behind the curtain,
I knew that she knew for certain,
but that she couldn't come back to tell ─
whether she’d gotten a ticket to where she hoped she was going,
or a ticket to where she knew she could be going — just as well.
119. Rumor has it that just before his big fall,
Humpty Dumpty had been drinking in a tavern near the mall.
So all the king's horses and all the kings men
knew perfectly well ─ Humpty Dumpty was gonna fall again!
It was just something that they couldn't forestall.
120. This morning at a quarter past dawn,
I got up and pulled my overalls back on.
And I said to the manor’s lady,
"Please say hello to my Lord Brady,
and I'll see you next time I come by to do the lawn.
121. In most of my poems, my simple aim
is just kinda to enter tame ─
then, once inside ─
go hog wild ─
showing no reserve, no shame.
122. Want some water, Lou?
And you, Tim? Buktu?
I love word games
that pun on names,
when you got absolutely nothing better to do.
123. Last night, I accidentally got locked up in the zoo.
No big deal — there was really plenty to do.
Dinner and a swim with a shark —
a game of chase with hyenas around the park —
and then a delicious nightcap — with a talkative cockatoo.
124. She said, "Oh, that just can't be!
It’s got no semblance to reality!"
I said, "How can you say that,
when it's painfully clear that
it's the reality of me?”
125. I asked a new poet, "What's your poem worth?"
She said without thinking, "Twice the price of the earth."
I said, "I'd give you one thin dime."
She said, "Okay, I can make that rhyme.
After all, this particular verse — is exceedingly terse."
126. My dog's been in such a mood,
that I actually thought about divorcing the dude.
It all started with the new kibble
that he refuses to even nibble.
And for days now, he's been acting all obstreperous and rude.
127. The brain surgeon was doing a little utility work in my head.
The electricity in there had somewhat gone dead.
And the hose that leaked water on my brain,
she fixed with great industry and pain.
But as to how the gas smell got there, she was at odds to explain.
128. I overheard two characters thinking:
one about regret, the other about a maiden's pinking.
Whether they knew one another, I cannot say,
although one looked at the other, while the other looked away.
And as one soaped lipstick off an empty glass, the other kept on drinking.
129. There's a woman walking around town with my penis.
She has no idea what the definition of "mean" is.
When she crawled outta my sack,
she just grabbed it and wouldn't give it back,
saying, "Hey boy! It's probably best if we keep this between us.”
130. I sometimes wonder who was there
the day Shakespeare finished writing King Lear.
Was he at home with his Annie?
Or was he drunk off his fanny
in the Tabard Inn, stroking the dark lady's hair?
131. My muses limericks / verses
a. I'm sick and tired of the so-called muses,
especially the one who always chooses
to make it clear that I don't work hard enough.
Yet, when I ask for a little help with my stuff,
she's always the first one who flatly refuses.
b. My muse yelled, "Stop! That's prohibited."
I said, "What?"
"The behavior you just exhibited."
I said, "What did I do?"
She said, "You took some lines that didn't belong to you."
I said, "Shit, if you keep this up, you're gonna make me feel totally inhibited."
c. Someone asked, "Could you write without a muse?"
I said, "Probably could, but I'd refuse.
Why? Because a muse is so good at showing
what to tell the audience and what to keep it from knowing
so that you can keep right on going with your wild-ass ruse.
d. I was having a hell of a time
with a poem that shouldn't ever have been mine.
The muse had made a big mistake,
giving me lines that shoulda gone to this poet named Blake,
of which I could make neither reason ─ nor rhyme.
132. Hickety, Dickedy, and Doc *
were staring at the classroom clock.
Any when the clock struck one ─
boom! they were gone ─
to go vape behind the church around the block.
* Play on the title of the nursery rhyme, Hickory Dickory Dock.
133. I think I'm in very deep shit.
The issue is, to wit:
when the exorcist tried to heal my soul,
all he found was a very big hole
with eggs about to hatch in it.
134. "What do you think of my pup?",
I asked a cop as he was writing me up.
"Nice, from what I can see,
but you shouldn't have let him pee,
in this poor guy's donation cup."
135. When her green smoothie didn't go down any too smooth,
and green slime from both nostrils did ooze,
I said, "Holy moly!"
That looks none too holy!"
And then I helped her wipe the ungodly ooze from her shoes.
136. When I find myself beginning to write
on a topic that is just too erudite,
I quickly throw in the towel,
with an unfeigned avowal
that frankly, I'm just not that bright.
137. On a sunny afternoon, listening to a Mozart serenade,
my girl and I sat on her parent’s veranda, sipping spiked lemonade.
And we pecked each other lovingly on the nose,
then kissed our way gradually down to the toes,
then halfway back up, to the cooler parts in the shade.
138. When they kept questioning me on that fateful day,
I kept repeating that I had absolutely nothing to say.
They said, "But you're our only eyewitness."
I said, Yeah, but I was scared shitless,
and I was looking the other way."
139. “Learn the rules,
then burn the rules,”
I said to Jonny Square.
“And when you're done,
you might become someone
with some imagination and some flair.”
140. In the beginning, when Christ’s followers were of life being bereft,
by opponents who, at killing with rocks, were pretty damn deft,
if someone like Bob Dylan had intoned
"Everybody must get stoned,"
there might not have been any Christians left.
141. "Oh, Mother Dear," the young child tearfully said,
"Why does that man who looks like a bear have to sleep in your bed?
The moaning and groaning I constantly hear,
fills me with such terror and fear!
Please! Can't you just make him go sleep in the shed instead?"
142. King and Queen limericks / verses
a. When the king first stood naked before his new bride,
his disappointed was a little hard to hide.
Had he paid all those rubies
for these tiny little boobies?
Squire! Get the horses ready! We're going for a ride!"
b. When the queen for the first time saw the king's little wiener,
her pretty face betrayed an instant change in demeanor.
She thought with a frown,
“This is a big step down.
I saw much bigger dicks when I was a teener.”
143. She asked, "Do you think I’m still pretty?"
I said, "You look exactly as you did when you were thirty."
"You claimed I was pretty then ─
but these days, I expect honesty from men.
Today, I'm four decades past thirty.
Do you think I'm still pretty?
144. In my mind, I've made love to many a frau.
As a matter of fact, I'm making love to one now.
And as she’s sitting at the bar grinning,
she has no idea of her part in my sinning.
But if she did, she might just say, "Oh, wow!"
145. You know you’re surrounded by inconsiderate men
when you find your toilet seat piddled on again.
I don't think men will ever learn to lift it up,
until you urinate in their coffee cup.
And when they say, “That tastes like piss!” say, “Amen!”
146. From Barcelona, she shipped me boots of Spanish leather,
with a note that said, "So you might get to understand Bob Dylan better."
And that's the last word
from her I ever heard,
and sadly, we never listened to Bob Dylan again together.
147. I said to her lawyer,
“No, I'm not a voyeur!
Her blinds were totally up,
and so I could clearly see her pup
licking her in foyer.”
148. The noble lady was full of ire.
Her drunken knight had pissed out the evening fire.
So now she sought warmth by his horse,
and had heated intercourse
with the knight’s dumpy little squire.
149. I had an appointment with the man in the moon,
but I must’ve left the saloon a little too soon.
I looked left, I looked right —
no damn moon in sight!
Did that lunatic make our appointment — for a fricken moonless night?
150. I usually make myself the hero of my own verse.
Why? Because, frankly, what’s the chance of me doing it any worse?
I’m the only one who has it all in his head —
everything previously done, everything previously said.
And with any other hero, it would be the exact reverse."
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Comments, suggestions, or questions? Please email Rio Jansen at rio_jansen@hotmail.com