Born: December 10, 1830, Died: May 15, 1886 (aged 55)
*****
I’m something of a fan of serious poetry and an even bigger fan of those bawdy limericks I post so often. I guess I’m simply a fan of creative people who aren’t afraid to bare their souls to us. I’ve noticed over the years that creative types are a breed all their own. Many are looked upon as being a little strange or weird which has always seemed unfair. Being strange or weird for me is a badge of honor. Let me share the following with you.
Emily Dickinson, whose poetry thrills millions today, fantasized about the earth and sky and heaven itself, but left her home state, Massachusetts, exactly once, and that was to visit her father in Washington DC. She became such a recluse that she would not stay in the same room with her guests but would speak to them from an adjoining room.
Only seven of her poems were published in her lifetime. After her death in 1886, over 1,000 poems were discovered in a bureau. They were subsequently published, but often after word and punctuation changes were made by overzealous editors. A definitive edition of her works did not appear until the 1950’s.
As with all artists and other creative types, you never seem to get the recognition and fame you deserve until you’re dead.
With September already over and cold temperatures beginning, it’s time to have some fun before the snow starts flying. With the holidays approaching I thought I’d publish a revised version of the Worker’s Prayer. This is posted for all of those people (my better-half included) that are stuck in thankless retail jobs across the country.
The Worker’s Prayer
“Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I cannot accept and the wisdom to hide the bodies of those people I had to kill today because they pissed me off, and also help me to be careful of the toes I step on today, as they may be connected to the ass I may have to kiss tomorrow.”
And just for the hell of it I decided to author a haiku as requested by a friend. Here it is.
As promised, here is the second installment of David McCord’s limerick writing primer. He not only shows how to write a limerick but gives excellent examples of the various types you can create.
A few weeks ago, I promised you limerick lovers some really bawdy and rude limericks. I have quite a collection of those, but I hesitate to post them because it would be really bad if any children were to read them. I recently bought a book from an online thrift store which contains 1001 of the rudest limericks I’ve ever seen. I’m still considering whether to post any of them or at least try to find a few that are a little less objectionable.
Just to give you some idea what I’m talking about I thought I would regale you with an erotic poem written by the author of the book, Mr. Ronald Stanza. This little ditty was copied directly from the rear page of his book cover. Good luck.
❤️
Here now is a steamy collection
Of limericks rare. Each selection
Will run for five lines,
Contain marvelous rhymes –
Detailing sex acts of subtle complexion.
🤤🤤🤤
Though often the rhyming is coarse
And the meter is ragged, or worse.
Positions are randy
The sex is jim-dandy
In this book of libidinous verse.
😋😋😋
Some readers may think that it’s crude
To offer for sale what is lewd
But if you’re offended
By what is appended.
We’ll say what you are: you’re a prude!
😏😏😏
For others the thought of an organ
Of sex is a scream. And it’s sure fun
To peep and to poke
And make sex a joke.
If a fault, it’s delightfully human!
🍆🍆🍆🍆🍆
The more I read this little ditty the more I like it. A special thanks goes out to Mr. Ronald Stanza for his fine work. I’ll let you know about the final decision on the week of lewd limericks in a few days, but it isn’t looking good.
It’s that look when I’m not really looking. It’s that lick of your lips when I am. It’s the smell of your hair when I’m near you. It’s the feel of your body in my hands.
It’s the taste of your ear when I’m horny. It’s the wet of my tongue when you are. It’s whispering something really corny. It’s your voice when say you want more.
It’s these moments you’ll never forget. It’s the essence of what we’ve become. It’s the reasons we eventually met. It’s to these moments we finally succumbed.
I thought today we might start the month of June with a collection of limericks. This is what can be called a double dose because these limericks were written about limericks. I know it sounds confusing, but you’ll get the gist once you start reading. Enjoy . . .
The limerick packs laughs anatomical
Into space that is quite economical.
But the good ones I’ve seen
So seldom are clean,
And the clean ones so seldom are comical.
😷😷😷
If you find for your verse there’s no call,
And you can’t afford paper at all,
For the poet, true born,
However forlorn,
There’s always the lavatory wall.
😉😉😉
The limericks callous and crude,
It’s morals distressingly lewd.
It’s not worth the reading
By persons of breeding,
It’s designed for us vulgar and rude.
🥴🥴🥴
Oh limericks, Dr. Jekyll’s oblivious,
Till his alter ego is delirious.
Then it can’t be denied
Such rhymes by Mr. Hyde
Will be lecherous, lewd and lascivious.
🤪🤪🤪
That’s it for today. Keep checking in on a daily basis because I’m planning a full week of limericks that will definitely not be acceptable to the younger generation. Let’s call it “Questionable Limerick Week”. I’m compiling the list of limericks as we speak.
Poetry is an enigma to me. I wouldn’t know good poetry if my life depended on it and even the bad poetry that I sometimes see doesn’t sound so bad. Anything that confuses me like that makes it impossible for me to take it too seriously. After a recent Bad Poetry Post, I received a few e-mails with samples from some of my readers. I assume they sent them because they thought they were bad, I don’t really know, so you figure it out. I think the first one was sent to me because I’m from Maine and someone thought I might be interested in Moose poetry. Good luck with that one. Here it is . . .
A moose is like a bull on stilts With a silly kind of head. And if one of them sat on you You’d probably be dead.
Do you really think that’s bad poetry? It seems okay to me but nothing special. It’s a little bit of truth with a little bit of silliness. Here’s the next one which I really don’t understand about a Toad. It’s a little weird but kind of funny. It seems more like a limerick than poetry but when you get right down to it there isn’t much of a difference.
The story that is told By a severely flattened toad, Is of evidential failure In attempts to cross the road.
This next poem hits home for me primarily due to my advanced age and secondly because it brings back memories of my favorite grandmother who passed away a very long time ago. See what you think.
💖
Of love and marriage who can say, which way these things can go. A loving wife, a shrieking hag, no one will ever know.
The years of youth have come and gone, with memories good and bad. The happiness of family, the love of mom and dad.
The years should teach you something, or so we’re always told. Remain yourself no matter what, and mellow when your old.
Your life is filled with happiness, and sorrows big and small, But not until your old and gray, will you understand it all.
It is a shame that through the years, this knowledge lies unused. Erring and blundering again and again, with help and advice refused.
So, think about the elder ones, grandmothers, grandfathers and such, Who’ve experienced life’s many problems, and could help you oh so much.
Their days are few in number, and once their gone it’s sad. Accept their help and listen close, to the experiences that they’ve had.
And when they’ve gone, you’ll think of them the way they used to be. The memories are all you have, but that’s enough you see.
Today we’ll be introduced to what might be called something less than a romantic love poem. For those of you out there who worship at the steps of classical poetry, I apologize. I like my poetry a little more down to earth and accented with a bit of humor, be it erotic or rude, you decide. This was written some years ago, but it took a long time for me to actually decide to blog it. Anyone who knows me from that time will understand the fun of it, I hope.
everyuselessthing.com 