Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty Dumpty stares at the fairest of them all
Her eyes that as deep as a cliff
Her face that made him stiff

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
He made a quick call
Humpty Dumpty heard her amazing voice
He also heard his different heart's noise

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
He took a glimpse at the fairest of them all
Her eyes that is shining while dancing with her prince
Humpty Dumpty was no prince, he was just a boy, an ordinary and not a masterpiece

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
He never thought he'll get a great fall
A fall that made his world stop from spinning
A fall that made his heart stop from beating

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
And yes! He had a great fall
All of the kings horses and all of the king's men
Couldn't put his heart back together again

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Staring at the fairest of them all
Waiting for her to come back, hoping that she had the glue
Because Humpty Dumpty gave his heart to the girl who made him blue......

Humpty Dumpty
was never steady
on his legs
Almost round as a ball
he was a fat, little egg

One day he was struck by the beauty
of a seductive fork
So silvery, shiny, and slim
she desired to whisk him into shape
to make him completely fit and trim

But Humpty Dumpty, in love,
was falling way too hard
I mean he literally fell
in his crazy crush
cracking his delicate shell!

His mother, the hen
was beside herself
"Come to your senses", she begged
"Stay away from that wicked fork
before you become scrambled eggs!"

Humpty Dumpty was fading fast,
fearful that he was mortally wounded
Oozing some white and yolk and
suddenly he was feeling
the pain of being broken!

But the doctor refused
to hand him over to the chef
Patched him up though it was hard.
"Another fall like that", he warned
"And you will end up in shards!"

So Humpty Dumpty was
never ever the same
Everyone was taken aback
They all knew to keep their distance
for Humpty Dumpty was cracked!

Weather Advisory: A long one*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Be not fooled,
by the evening-tide,
be not deceived
by the quietude,
tis not a reprieve
of day before dark.

Be guarded,
for the easy transformation,
a tranquil shedding
of the day's husk,
into the faded light of dusk,
just one of nature's machinations
to delay the inevitable.

Evening-tide,
a colored compilation
of a few mischievous hours,
when sunlight is invaded by
streaks of pink, azure and gold,    
just before the
palette is plunged
into a stainless steel can
of gothic black,
skyied glory rendered into
common house paint.

Evening-tide,
an alleged easy calm
surfeits some souls,
supposed easy passage from  
the day's contusions to
a relaxation from humankind's regulations and rules,
but not for me.

Evening-tide,
when appetites unsated, simmer,
the in between hours when
humans transform themselves,
from day laborers to creatures
desiring, aroused, hungry  
for night time pleasures,
searching with false courage for
boundary lines to sever.

Evening-tide,
it was at evening-tide that
David espied, desired and
stole Bathsheba for his own,
with a King's arrogance
rent a kingdom,
murdered for profit,
birthed an Heir,
a prince, who wrote,
by evening-tide:

I have seen all the works
that are done under the sun; and,
behold, all is vanity
and vexation of spirit.

Evening-tide,
fear closes my throat,
confusion reappears,
a low grade flu infects
deemed persistent, incurable,
revisits, medicine resistant,
my insights, my speech,
to blind and bind  

Am I Gloucester,
blinded, but faculties
possessing vision,
the future to clarify?

No, no, it is to a king,
Lear,
to whom I am
son and cousin,
kith and kin

Sunset visions of
ultimate demise
ours eyes behold,
but plainly put,
at Evening-tide,
our dementia -
a precursor,
a periodic but hostile guest
in the hostel of our memories,
cracks and fractures us,
spirit first, body second.  

We are bound helpless
by a knotted tongue,
slow dying malingerer,
inside a head of ill repute,
unable to locate our knowing,
and every word selected,
a battle galactic, oft lost

Evening-tide,
I am cold,
and the issued command
is bring an umbrella
to warm and cover.  
What an old fool am I,
tis not blanket or a
Bathsheba I seek,
but at Evening-tide,
Babel's nefarious treasury of words
unlocked, for tis closed,                    
the gatekeepers,
drunk and absent,
drunk on absinthe,
and creme de mentia
and I have no key

Evening-tide, prithee,
I beg of thee,
consideration please,
check this hideous amusement,
that makes this
King's speech confused,
odor of smokeless cordite ignited
where the synapses have burnt,
injured, beyond repair
injured, by mine own aging.  

Reverse the diagnosis
of the panel of wordsmiths:
Alas, weep and be comforted...

Evening-tide,
a reverie of colored tears,
downward sloping,
arrive to tingle my tongue,
warming comfort for an *****
willing but unable,
a wounded soldier,
a veteran of poetry,
now prone and pained
beyond repair,
beyond healing,
immunized to the
heat and solder,
drugs and salves,
that heretofore
might have closed
the cracks of rack and ruin

Evening-tide,
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the king's horses and
all the king's men couldn't
put Humpty together again^

Evening-tide,
my hair, the color of old age.
Irony, my skin yet smooth,
unwrinkled, not in need of the
toxins that are employed
to fill crevasses on
the outer banks of age of comedy

Alas, the toxins natural from within
have seeped from their
latent resting place and have
contaminated the groundwater
that lubricated my mind,  
from siege engines poured,
a contamination of
mine own making.  
After a life long battle,
my Jericho walls have fallen.

Lear and I faint recall the love
of our beloved Cordelia,
but try as we might
her name escapes our grasp,
******* by bite of aging's asp.

We grow drunk by night
on a drink not of choice,
unhappy fury,
the residue within
the imprisoned poison
of our polluted tears,
that come only after our
misspoken and misshapen
guttural croaks
of our Eveningtide prayers
are both
unintelligible and unrequited

Our salvation taking
another high-life (Lip)
The middle-income lip
Our lips leaked
Being possessed the kiss
on empty

Humpty Dumpty sat
on her Lego lips
Singers the Talking Heads
Where are the feds to late
Those stolen lips
State of a wedding trips
Rainbow chalk the state was
on lip nightmare call
Being stalked (Lumber Jack)

The devil filler up poverty
The world being pulled
Push her lip up
                    > >

Arrowsmith bow and arrow
                    >>
  Losing elasticity lips go
UPSTATE gravity

"What an under(state)meant"
"The press (God Bless)
    the golden child
     lips filling in
       the gaps
What!! no comment"

 So sad we need the happy
Irish lad too many
    Sugar Dads
lip recession deadlines to meet
The curveball
Another sip we joined the
Navy but eyeshadow deep-over
the edge gray
The Seal had an unusual tail
Her lips fast food drive smashed
Her Meal

The peace lips blew far away
"Medieval Swords heart lips
            will pay"
Times come and go its excruciating
Lips went too far always mating
Imitating people takes a whole village
Of pain

But the spiritual blessing rain
In Woodstock concerts
What perks to gain
The acid trip music we can
sip each other's lips

    Now if this wasn't passion
What a state got smeared
Like a crime scene
of fashion
Her lips could rise
Like the Millenium

         Max
Playing the jazz sax
Still the income tax

But the state in a crisis
of sales tax
Star a stage minimum wage
All the states we travel her lips
The water stays refreshing where
On her body, he really sees it on
her lips nowhere else

How many states can you
count on your finger
Long lip Ranger

The Victoria Secrets
The Tra la the bra's on the
Five-star Hilton Hotel
hanger

Holding onto her guns
Going right or to the left
Powerful lips he went
off the cliff

Getting Burned and
the State tax
You earned
The Swearing
Her lip talk so caringly
Can we move her lips to
another state more cautiously
How her hips look like
they will inflate

I am not a painting by
your candlelight fate
I felt like a tax right off
Taxi yellow race her lips
on the meter money bluff
I ended up in the state of
*Michigan
Tricks are ****
Like a lip magician

Kentucky home was barrels
of Bourbon
I never said I wanted a drink
my name is Robin
Going to Deleware
what hardware did anyone care
So humble like the bumblebee
She was way too soft as her software

Have gun we travel but have lips we rumble

We need courage this world of states
can be savage
Gold bonds of "Dynasty European"
top dollar vultures mean
funds that's a grand entrance

Now I see how these states
start to unravel
California here I come right
back where
my lips started from

Her upper society lip could use
Champagne and caviar
The star was getting fat a nice trim
Grumpy beard make it a
short tax cut with him
Text and tweets no lip sweets
Rocky Colorado mountain men

French lips played art
Like Van Gogh perfect 10
Scenic route crazed
So many states should
be sued overly sexed suites

In Alaska, she was on a freeze

All the money in the world she got New York Token

All I asked the waitress
for State fair pie
My lips could have
used *Sweet Peach * so
pucker up
Don't be a sucker
Alabama state trooper
in Kansas City

What a spell click of heels

Georgia is always on my mind
Is New York only a state of
Frank Sinatra singing mind
What a big foot in her mouth
Nancy Sinatra dark lips Goth
State boots softly made
for loving that's just
what lips do one of these
Days my lips are going to
gloss all over you
Who's the Boss
So fasten your lip belts
The spiritual state always does the cross

Bumpy ride (Bette Davis) Eyes
Taking a trip to the end of the
boot of Sicily vineyards
Whats mine Jailbirds
She cut her lip when she was
in (Connecticut Movie cut)
On the Mystic Seaport lips were
getting hot ****** fit

Like a state disease fire pit
State of a lip disaster
But the state couldn't
resist her
Ending up in Arizona
Something is swizzling
it's not Kevin Bacon

Make no mistake when you plan
a state trip you better have your
weapon ready
Mafia bullets Bonnie and Clyde
they rob *Banks money Lips

written two years ago and a bit, but suits still....

Weather Advisory: A long poem pouring ahead

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Be not fooled,
by the evening-tide,
be not deceived
by the quietude,
tis not a reprieve
of day before dark.

Be guarded,
for the easy transformation,
a tranquil shedding
of the day's husk,
into the faded light of dusk,
just one of nature's machinations
to delay the inevitable.

Evening-tide,
a colored compilation
of a few mischievous hours,
when sunlight is invaded by
streaks of pink, azure and gold,    
just before the
palette is plunged
into a stainless steel can
of gothic black,
skyied glory rendered into
common house paint.

Evening-tide,
an alleged easy calm
surfeits some souls,
supposed easy passage from  
the day's contusions to
a relaxation from humankind's regulations and rules,
but not for me.

Evening-tide,
when appetites unsated, simmer,
the in between hours when
humans transform themselves,
from day laborers to creatures
desiring, aroused, hungry  
for night time pleasures,
searching with false courage for
boundary lines to sever.

Evening-tide,
it was at evening-tide that
David espied, desired and
stole Bathsheba for his own,
with a King's arrogance
rent a kingdom,
murdered for profit,
birthed an Heir,
a prince, who wrote,
by evening-tide:

I have seen all the works
that are done under the sun; and,
behold, all is vanity
and vexation of spirit.

Evening-tide,
fear closes my throat,
confusion reappears,
a low grade flu infects
deemed persistent, incurable,
revisits, medicine resistant,
my insights, my speech,
to blind and bind  

Am I Gloucester,
blinded, but faculties
possessing vision,
the future to clarify?

No, no, it is to a king,
Lear,
to whom I am
son and cousin,
kith and kin

Sunset visions of
ultimate demise
ours eyes behold,
but plainly put,
at Evening-tide,
our dementia -
a precursor,
a periodic but hostile guest
in the hostel of our memories,
cracks and fractures us,
spirit first, body second.  

We are bound helpless
by a knotted tongue,
slow dying malingerer,
inside a head of ill repute,
unable to locate our knowing,
and every word selected,
a battle galactic, oft lost

Evening-tide,
I am cold,
and the issued command
is bring an umbrella
to warm and cover.  
What an old fool am I,
tis not blanket or a
Bathsheba I seek,
but at Evening-tide,
Babel's nefarious treasury of words
unlocked, for tis closed,                    
the gatekeepers,
drunk and absent,
drunk on absinthe,
and creme de mentia
and I have no key

Evening-tide, prithee,
I beg of thee,
consideration please,
check this hideous amusement,
that makes this
King's speech confused,
odor of smokeless cordite ignited
where the synapses have burnt,
injured, beyond repair
injured, by mine own aging.  

Reverse the diagnosis
of the panel of wordsmiths:
Alas, weep and be comforted...

Evening-tide,
a reverie of colored tears,
downward sloping,
arrive to tingle my tongue,
warming comfort for an *****
willing but unable,
a wounded soldier,
a veteran of poetry,
now prone and pained
beyond repair,
beyond healing,
immunized to the
heat and solder,
drugs and salves,
that heretofore
might have closed
the cracks of rack and ruin

Evening-tide,
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the king's horses and
all the king's men couldn't
put Humpty together again^

Evening-tide,
my hair, the color of old age.
Irony, my skin yet smooth,
unwrinkled, not in need of the
toxins that are employed
to fill crevasses on
the outer banks of age of comedy

Alas, the toxins natural from within
have seeped from their
latent resting place and have
contaminated the groundwater
that lubricated my mind,  
from siege engines poured,
a contamination of
mine own making.  
After a life long battle,
my Jericho walls have fallen.

Lear and I faint recall the love
of our beloved Cordelia,
but try as we might
her name escapes our grasp,
******* by bite of aging's asp.

We grow drunk by night
on a drink not of choice,
unhappy fury,
the residue within
the imprisoned poison
of our polluted tears,
that come only after our
misspoken and misshapen
guttural croaks
of our Eveningtide prayers
are both
unintelligible and unrequited

Witchy Poo

Mary had a little lamb
She made chops out of it,
Ate it 'till she was sick
Her ******* felt like ****.
So she went to the Wicked Witch
To solve her ******* drama,
With a wand up her ****
Like a banana in a farmer.
With a poke and a shove
The witch knows the soul is hers,
But it's the only way
That this sickness can be cured.
There was a sinister bump
A noise was close by,
The witch looked through the window
Humpty Dumpty was outside.
Witchy Poo got angry
And cursed the dumb egg,
That one day she will get him
And that he will crash down dead.
So Humpty ran off
And told The Kings Guards,
Witchy Poo is in trouble
She's a fugitive at large.
Hiding in the mountains
Hearing Humptys cries,
Sitting on the wall
Blabblering Witchy Poos crime.
So she came down from the mountain
As quietly as she can be,
Sneaked up behind him
Climbing a tree.
Then she pushed Humpty off
From the high wall,
He hit the ground
And splattered on the floor.
Climbing down from the tree
The witch ran away,
Hiding in the caves
Doing her wicked ways.
While looking through the mountains
A guard spots some loose weeds,
Chopped them out of the way
And his eyes trickled with greed.
There was a hidden door
And he opened it up,
Looked inside
And he thought, what a grub.
He saw the witch
Snoring so loud,
His sinister grin
Was making him proud.
The guard thought to himself
Saying, the ***** will get it today,
I'm going to be rich
On a nice pay day.
So the guard told The King
The place where the witch hides out,
Squealing to the pigs
While eating with their snouts.
The King ordered a search
For this menace to the crown,
Wanted: Alive
So she can be burnt down.
The search party went out
And found the witch,
The guards came back with some casualties
And in shackles, the menacing *****.
Then The King announced to his kingdom
That the witch will be sentenced to death,
Then she was thrown into the dungeon
Waiting for the end of this mess.
Torturing the witch
In cruel and horrible ways,
Telling her she is going to suffer
So she better pray.
As the days goes on
Then The King set a date,
Proclaiming
"She's gonna be burnt on August 28th"
There was a shout of joy
As everyone was happy,
Except for the witch
Locked up, feeling ******.
Rats at her feet
Chewing off her toes,
Cockroaches all around her
Cursing all her foes.
Starving and weak
Hanging from a chain,
Screaming to The King
To go and grow a brain.
Weeks have now passed
It is now the date,
That the witch will now die
Burning is her fate.
So they unchain her
She is so weak and tired,
Dragged her out of the dungeon
Her brain is all wired.
As they bring her out of the door
The sun hits her face,
Blinded by the light
Coming out at a slow pace.
With no toes on her feet
Stumbling and pushed around,
Rocks are being thrown at the witch
By everyone in town.
Tied the witch to a stake
Wood and hay underneath,
The witch is getting taunted
Yelling insults at the beast.
The King watches on
And raises his hand high,
Then drops it suddenly
Meaning it was time for her to die.
The Kings Men got their torches
And started the fire,
Witchy Poo started screaming
It smelt of burnt tires.
Burning and scorching
The witch is now a charcoal corpse,
Then everybody was celebrating
And their minds warps.
As they drink lots of wine
The Kingdom is now safe,
From the evil Witchy Poo
Who messed up this place.
Singing songs of praise
About how Witchy Poo died,
Here how it goes
And the story aint lies.

Humpty Dumpty
Sat on the wall,
The Witch pushed him off
And he splatted on the floor.
The peasants were yelling insults
The Kings Men had the fire,
Burnt The Witch at the stake
Because she was evil and a liar.

And that was how Humpty really died
And how Witchy Poo got fried.

Tommy K
(2013)

IN A CHANG’AA DRINKING SPREE

(ONE ACT PLAY)

BY

ALEXANDER   K   OPICHO










CASTE
Advocate; self-styled advocate, his real job is insurance agent
Sampaza-changaa drunkard
Teacher-brother to Sampaza, also a changaa taker
Monica-changaa seller
Austeen-a lad, son to Monica
Watchman-changaa drunkard
Rono-friend to watchman
Njeri-friend to Monica, single mother
Atieno-friend to Monica, single mother
Driver- changaa taker and a smoker
Barasa-changaa taker and electrician
Ndhiwa- changaa taker, brother to barasa
Yator-changaa taker brother to barasa
Mavachi-changaa taker, with a fallen out wife
Mandila-relative to mavachi
Agnesi-wife to teacher
Music
*chang’aa is homemade alcoholic spirit consumed by the peasants in east and central Africa.




ACT ONE
In a slum area of Eldoret town, very many ramshackle muddy walled houses are seen; the setting takes place in the house of Monica the Changaa seller. There is low tone music humming from the DVD, playing Vincent Ongidi’s ‘mother is better than father.’
Music; Bakeni Nebekhale, bukula indika,
           Bukula indika samwana, Udimake kungeni
          Khusoko busia, bukula indika omusumba,
          Bakhwee nebechile, bukula indika
          Udimake khusoko yaya, bukula indika….
Driver; (dancing with a tumbler of chang’aa in his hand) let me dance! This is my best Sunday, let me dance, I am son of a woman. Sing! Sing! Sing! For us Vincent, you son of Ongidi, (pointing at the DVD).
Advocate; the problem you are only dancing with your class a half empty, moreover, you are not following the rhythm , I thought you dance to this song by shaking your shoulders, but instead you are gyrating your waistline.
Driver; (still dancing) let me dance because when I will go to the grave I will not get another chance to dance.
Advocate; (gulps from his tumbler) will you buy me chang’aa of ten shillings?
Driver; let me finish dancing first, I will see what to do about it.
(Enters Sampaza and teacher, as music goes off)
Sampaza; why are you dudes stopping the music on my entering?
Driver; it is not us who have stopped the music; you go and ask Vincent Ongidi why he did not sing a long song.
Sampaza; (sits at the old couch) where is Monica?
Driver; you burn us a cigarette before you ask for Monica, were you not with Monica upto the mid of last night?
Sampaza; why were you spying on me upto the mid of the night?
Advocate; (to Driver) give Sampaza time to introduce his friend to us
Sampaza; (to teacher) sit on this stool, forget about this drunkards.
Teacher; will this stool not break and sent me down like humpty dumpty? (Shakes the stool and sits on it)
Sampaza; It cannot even Monica herself sits on it and she is more huge than you do
Advocate; (to Sampaza) this is your brother?
Sampaza; now listen all off you
All; Sampaza we are listening to you all of us
Sampaza; had I killed our mother, he could not have born, (pointing to teacher).
Driver; if someone had not told me, there is no way I could know that this man is your brother. You are totally different from one another. Look, he is fat, strong, clean, well shaven and groomed brown and is like he took a bathe in the morning before he came here to chang’aa place, but you Sampaza tell us when you last washed your clothes? Even forget of washing your body.
Sampaza; (to driver) if you want to beg chang’aa from teacher just beg without using your desperate tricks of false praises.
Advocate; but me, I could easily know that teacher is a brother to Sampaza by simply comparing the shape of their heads, they look alike.
Teacher; who is serving chang’aa today?  I want to buy some for you guys.
Driver; it is Austeen, let me call him for you (goes at the door shouting) Austeen! Austeen! Aha! This boy is as earless as a female monitor lizard, (comes back) I have called him for you.
Teacher; thanks, let me believe he won’t take time, I am really thirsty.
Advocate; you can mitigate your thirst with this one of mine (gives teacher a tumbler).
Teacher; (sips) it was not a bad stuff (passes the tumbler to Sampaza)
Sampaza; (takes a full swig) uhm! The stuff is really the tears of the lion.
(Enters Austeen)
Austeen; My God, Sampaza is here again! Sampaza, why did you run away with my money last time? You take the beer and run away, even you made my mother to quarrel me yester night.
Driver; (to Austeen) you boy manage your mouths, don’t you see Sampaza is the age of your mother?
Austeen; wait! Sampaza must give me the money, give me the money you Sampaza!
Teacher; let me pay for him, how much was it?
Austeen; imagine Sampaza took off running into the darkness of the night after taking chang’aa of fifty shillings. Imagine a whole tumbler of fifty shillings.
Teacher; that was bad, Sampaza you did something very bad. You know Monica is a single parent and you run away with her money. This chang’aa is like Monica’s husband, so please let us be honest and pay our bills;
Austeen ;( to teacher) are you paying for Sampaza?
Teacher; yes, but before that; pour a tumbler of chang’aa worthy fifty shillings for each of these elders, including Sampaza. I am going to pay that one myself. But serve me with a tumbler of chang’aa that goes for a hundred shillings. May be it can quench my thirst.
Driver; brother you are a man (shakes teacher’s hand).
Austeen; (to Advocate) stand up for some minutes; I want to remove a grenade from your chair.
Advocate; you mean I was just sitting on the tears of the lion?
Austeen; yes (he fishes out a yellow plastic container, feels each tumbler as required).
Sampaza; you boy! What are you doing? Fill my tumbler to the brim, why are you now conning me off my chang’aa?
Austeen; (politely) Sampaza listen, you know my hands always shake when I am holding something. I didn’t want to spill chang’aa by struggling to fill your tumbler to the brim.
Teacher; (sipping, closing his eyes) Austeen now play for us another music.
Driver; yaah! The music, play for us Marashi ya karafu.
Austeen; my mother has not yet bought the DVD for Marashi ya karafu, let me play for you this one (shows him the DVD), it will thrill you to your bone marrow, (inserts the DVD in to the player).
Music ;( playing) ukiwa wa enda nyubani kwangu heee,
                          Umwambie stella mimi  sitakucha,
                         Umwambie stella mimi nimefungwa jela,
                      Anisalie mtoto mama nitaleaaaa!
Driver; ndio hiyo! (Stands up to gyrate his waist swiftly) that is my best song from Tanzania. How I wish I was still in prison on Christmas day of last year.
Sampaza; (sipping at his tumbler) if you want to be in prison go and make love to your goat and call people to help you.
Driver; look at you, with all this women, why should I go for a goat?
Sampaza; (standing up to dance, shaking his shoulders) because you want to be in
Prison.
Austeen; (giggling and shouting) look! Look! Look at Sampaza, he does not know how to dance, he is waving his hands like wings of a chicken.
Sampaza; you dance and I see (daring Austeen)
Austeen ;( dancing) look! Look! Fire! Fire! Fire! (He goes to sit)
All; (laughing loudly and clapping) Austeen! Austeen!
Advocate; this boy Austeen, became old while in his mother’s womb
                     (Enters Monica, Rono and watchman)
Driver; here comes Monica, (provokes Monica for a dance, they both dance).
Advocate; (joins Monica and driver to dance) Monica! Monica! Daughter of Zinjathropus, Waa!
Monica; I am an early woman, yaani! Womanopithecus africanus (dancing).
Driver ;( pushing away advocate), dance away from here, why are you bringing here this evil smelling sweater of yours?
Advocate; I am sorry.
Driver; that is empty jealousy, you only saw Monica’s pelvis touching mine and you jumped here to disrupt my gusto.
                               (Music stops and they all get sited)
Monica; (to Austeen) give watchman and his friend chang’aa of twenty bob, I will pay myself.
Austeen; yes mama (serves watchman and Rono chang’aa)
Rono; Kongoi, I mean thank you Monica, you are such a generous woman? (Takes a full swig).
Monica; Karibu, don’t mind I am always and I will be always an early woman.
Sampaza; (to watchman) when you came in I thought you were the crow.
Watchman; (sipping) who? Me, I was a policeman ten years ago but I was ******.
Driver; (to Sampaza) this man is not a muriakole, he is not a cop. This is a D.D.O.
Advocate; meaning?
Driver; daily drinking officer, hmmm! The DDO.
All; laughing loudly.
Monica; (to advocate) how is your brother and his witchdoctor of a wife?
Advocate; Monica, just keep quiet, my brother is in problems.
Monica; which problems? I told him to marry me and he refused because I did not have book education.  I am now making more money from chang’aa in a day than even he does from his education. Let that man, that brother of yours, chew the full scale of his misfortune. Now tell me which problem has he?
Advocate; today very early in the morning I heard my brother screaming, of course from his house. Out of anxiety I rushed there to find out what was happening. Jesus! What I so…..
Driver; what was it? Just say.
Monica; a man has nothing to fear just say.
Teacher; where is Austeen?
Austeen; I am here
Teacher; serve each of us chang’aa of fifty shillings, start with him (pointing at the advocate) give Monica, your mother a tumbler, that one of a hundred shillings.
Austeen ;( serving as he sings) how long will they ****,
              Our brothers, while we stand watching them,
                Redemption songs, Bob Marley! Sons of ghetto!
Sampaza; Austeen you are always not measuring my chang’aa to the money given, now look, does this grasshoppers spittle qualify to be chang’aa of fifty shillings?
Austeen; Sampaza, I told you my hands are not steady, they always shake whenever I am holding something.
Sampaza; (to Monica) I will bring a medicine man to give some manyasi to this son of yours, so that he stops shaking his hands like an epileptic.
Monica; Sampaza, you drink your chang’aa and to hell with your medicine-man. Let us listen to what happened to the brother of advocate.
Advocate; now, as I was saying I found my brother’s wife had swollen my brothers ***** to its base, the ***** was full deep in her mouth, my brother was screaming but the was dead silent ******* the *****, her teeth tightly gripping it at the same time.
All; laughing loudly
Teacher; Maybe it was oral ***, but not domestic violence
Monica; oral ***!?
Teacher; yes, it is possible
Advocate; but why was he crying?
Monica; because his wife was ******* his *****
Teacher; that is the case
Advocate; if at all it was pleasurable then why was my brother screaming?
Teacher;  maybe he was on ******* ecstasy, the same way a woman can be when you suckle or even ****** her *****.
Monica; but I can’t allow a man to suckle the eye of my breast.
Driver; even me, I can’t suckle my wife
Teacher; why?
Driver; even also, in my culture, one is not allowed to suckle a woman’s ****
Teacher; is that sexuology or culture?
Watchman ;( to driver) yes, answer that! Answer that question from teacher.
Monica; but it is only a foolish woman who can allow a man to suckle her *****, or if she can then she is not serious with that man.
Teacher; (to Monica) then which man do you like? Sampaza?
Monica; Me do love Sampaza?
Teacher; yes, Sampaza
Monica; this Sampaza, is always as miserable as a corpse in the grave without a coffin.
Advocate; you are as miserable as a corpse in the grave without a coffin.
Sampaza; I am not, I know am great
Teacher; yes, and capable to love the early woman like Monica.
Sampaza; (to Austeen) play for us some better music.
Austeen; which one mama? Which music can I play?
Monica; play for them Pamela Nkutha (sings) Nakula ebusi,
                  Nakula ewunwa, lalalaa! Lalalaa! Laaaa!
Austeen; Mama, that one we don’t have. Let me play for them Brenda *****.
Music; (playing) Songea nikubambe, songea nikubusu,
                          Nakupenda, nakubusu ehee monica eheee!
Austeen; Kula Ngoma; he who does not have chic let him embrace a stone (exits)
All; (dancing violently) Monica! Monica waaaaaaa!
Watchman; (dancing) Sampaza can you suckle the ***** of a woman?
Sampaza; ask driver that question.
Driver; I cannot suckle the ***** of my wife.
Teacher; I depend with nature of a woman you are in the bed with.
Watchman; correct , some women has fallen ******* like chapattis, but if a chic has ***** and pointed breast, I  can ****** and suckle her like nothing else in this world. I can even suckle her *******.
Teacher; by the way, ******* are the fountain of pleasure to a woman, when you suckle her she will just moan; Sampaza! Sampaza! Sampazaaaaa!
All; laugh raucously
Monica; these men are drunk.
Driver; no, they are now happy, pick one of them for yourself.
Monica; the man that I can love now must be having a death certificate.
Teacher; what does it mean? Me I thought you need a dark skinned man like Sampaza, you know the dark the skin of a man the greater the ****** pleasure ehee…
                       (Enters Njeri and Atieno)
Njeri; Monica, are you not aware that were are late for Chama? Look you are still *****, you have not even combed you hair.
Monica; Njeri come in why are rioting at the door, look at Atieno she is as miserable as usual.
Njeri; she was flogged by the husband.
Atieno; (to Njeri) you! Watch your mouths, I don’t have a husband.
All; laugh, (Njeri and Atieno sits).
Sampaza; look at this one (pointing to Njeri) can I give you some money so that you do me a favour.
Njeri; which favour?
Sampaza; of this…(Makes a sign of *** with his fist).
Njeri; I don’t sleep with chang’aa drunkards
Atieno; even me
Sampaza; (staggering, and then falling on Njeri’s laps) I want! Truly I want!
Advocate; Sampaza is drunk, let me take him home (pulls Sampaza).
Sampaza; (resisting, avoiding to be pulled out by advocate) leave me alone! You thief! You are an insurance thief! Who told you that you are an advocate? You are not! You want to steal my money. No, all these people are thieves, Monica is a big thief, and they want to steal my brother’s money!  Teacher! Come out of here! This is a den of pickpockets! They will still your wallet, come we go! Thieves! Thieves!
                        (Advocate pulls Sampaza out, as they both exit)
Driver; Sampaza does not have manners.
Njeri; Imagine he fell on my laps, what if my husband found him?
Monica; He would have now divorced you for eating rats.
Njeri; When I have not eaten any rat, it was only a drunkard supporting himself on my legs.
Atieno; he has spoken a lot of words.
Driver; and all the words were total lies.
Monica; no, whatever is in the inner heart of a sober man is always on the tongue of the drunkard man.
Teacher; to mean what? Anyway, forget about Sampaza.
Watchman; by the way
Rono; I am also off my senses, I am seeing each of you having seven heads, and the heads are a

I aspired so much to be like her
I, myself, aspired so much to be like a person who didnt even aspire to be herself.
my thoughts were consumed with attempting to be like the girl i saw in front of me
but what were my eyes missing
My eyes, my eyes missed years of self despise, eyes filled with tears unable to cry, for she was too hurt.
My eyes missed the pain that she felt, the drugs she dealt all to gain new perspective and put a little green in the pockets that were almost torn.
i didnt even know who i was yet, but the thought of being her engulfed my every action.
all of my actions attempts to gain satifaction that i was one step closer to being the girl i saw.
and then was the moment i saw through it all.
this humpty dumpty i put so high up on an imaginary pedistol had her final fall.
This girl, was perfect, but in her mind she felt she didnt derserve it,
felt so far away from perfection she didnt know how to show it.
So she hid behind her clothes and her makeup, making everyone fall in love with a version of herself that was a lie.
A lie that left her broken and so unsure of herself and of peoples real emotions, because her real self had left so many turning for the door she didnt know how to portray herself in such a way to make anyone she loved or cared for stay.
Her story is real, her fall was so great that the impact was too much for her fragile broken body to take.
so she didnt take it. she took the easy way out.
she killed herself on the same day she lost herself long ago.
the same day she found that being a revolving door to men and their baggage was the only thing that made her forget for a while.
I hope shes happy where she is and i hope she will smile to know that i aspired to be the real her, not the one she appeared to be.

Winnie the Pooh is trying to think
As are Plato and Socrates
While The Little Rascals get rambunctious
And The Marx Brothers cause calamities
Jim Jones stirs the Kool-Aid
And Georgie Porgie makes his move
Bo Peep and Miss Muffett start to blush
Red Ridding hood just swoons
The Muffin Man does a deal
With Johnny Apple seed
These beings and people our real
In our Surreal Reality

******* lets the paint splatter
And Moses parts the sea
Belushi buys an eight-ball
Bruce is on trial for obscenity
Rorschach is on the case
Right behind Sherlock Holmes
John the baptist goes for a swim
Along with Brian Jones
Jack and Jill meet Hansel and Gretel
They're hungry, they're thirsty
These figments of imagination do exist
In our Surreal Reality

Rasputin was so evil
As bad as Captain Hook
Now was it ** Chi Minh or Nixon
Who said "I am not a crook?"
Mao Zedong looked at Stalin
With a shared murderous grin
Booth stormed the Ford theater
And shot President Lincoln
Kennedy and King we're both casualties
Of the process of the deciphering
Of our Surreal  Reality

Zeus said to Aphrodite
"Wow, you look real good tonight"
And Handel says "Hallelujah!"
As the Wright Brothers take flight
Baby Face Nelson
Teams up with Dillinger
Moe, Larry and Curly
Mengele, Mussolini and Adolf ******
Three bears, three little pigs
Along with three blind mice
Sit together, while Maurice Sendack
Cooks them chicken soup with rice
Charlie Bucket had a buy out
Wonka gave up his factory
Fiction or nonfiction it's all a apart
Of our Surreal Reality

Chicken Little tried his best
To warm The Little Red Hen
Of the sly trickster
They call Rumpelstiltskin
Rimbaud applauds Leonidas
And his 300's final stand
Da vinci  paved the way
For both Newton and Edison
Folklore and war heroes
And those with intellectual mentality
Are all just pieces
Of our Surreal Reality

Wee Willie Winkie's scream
Wakes up Rip Van Winkle
But not Sleeping Beauty who's been asleep for thirty years
But has no acquired a single wrinkle
Caligula has lost his mind
And Nero's lost his fiddle
What does Beethoven's hearing aid
Have to do the March Hare's riddle?
Abbie Hoffman fights for civil rights
Thomas Jefferson for democracy
Products of the conceptual
In our Surreal Reality

Berryman writes an ode
To Washington's wooden teeth
Manson speaks of Helter Skelter
Neruda damns the fruit company
Charles Schultz frames the story
And Seuss gives it rhyme
Some where far, far away
Taking place once upon a time
And the villagers all had omelettes
Thanks to clumsy Humpty Dumpty
It's all food for thought
In our Surreal Reality

Santa brings us presents
And Cupid bring us love
But we can never get back
The members of the 27 Club
Warhol makes his movies
And Buddha meditates
Joseph Smith reads the golden plates
Mohammed and Jesus save
Theses figures bring people hope
In life's dualities
Trusting faith
And our Surreal Reality


Han Solo is in carbon freeze
Don Juan's preoccupied
Sinbad sets his sails
Simple Simon didn't get his pie
Caesar looked at Brutus
Brutus looked at Saddam Hussein
Hussein looked at L. Ron Hubbard
Who prayed to Eloheim  
Dionysus can out drink us all
We cringe at Achilles fatality  
As Ra soars through the skies
Of our Surreal Reality

Aristotle says to Shakespeare
"Well Billy you old bard"
Frodo trades the ring of power
To Fidel Castro for a Babe Ruth Baseball card
Biggie and Tupac write their lyrics on paper
Ted Bundy is put in jail
They're making another skyscraper
For King Kong to scale
Hemingway is too far gone
Kant's take on morality
Einstein says it's all relative
In our Surreal Reality

Churchill said victory
John Lennon said peace
Judas gave back the silver
Then hung himself in a tree
Tojo and Kim Jong-il
Wanna be as cool as Brando and Dean
George Carlin warned us all
Now Hermes leaves the scene
So do the butcher, the baker and the candle stick maker
Followed by Old King Cole and his Fiddlers Three
As they make their way to find
A sense or Surreal Reality

Odysseus pines for Ithaca
Paul Bunyan chops the trees
The Jersey Devil has not been found
Noah herds the animals by twos not threes
Anubis wraps the mummies
And Augustus leads Rome
Bugs Bunny laughs with Pryor
All at the expense of Job
So what can we all make of this
Is this all actuality?
Symbolism or nonsense?
Realistic Surrealism or Surreal Realty?

Those coffee heads
better than
Couch Potato 2 B
wed
One bad chip 3 2 C
Walking dead

Dream chocolate,
Coffee Latte
On the web late
The fourth cup
He knows all the 5 lips
On Live five sips
Her ruffles he's the
fidget spinner whip cream
Sprayed 6 times
Drinking her coffee over the
Brooklyn bridges 7 wishes
Coffee is for brainers
8 sides of the coffee moon


Swinging  Perculator
Streaming all over Adolf
dictator

Like a monkey ***
in cages
High overflowed wages
The pub pix pom girls
Tom like  apud
Coffee like mud with Tod
Eeeee He
  Coffee of God
Two pals I pad


Steaming out mouth
like a hot rod
She is sipping and he is
mouth roaring

Wiped you out
wicker -chair
You mind erased like the
terminator game pair

"I will be back"

Coffee or me__?
That calculator's fingers
Fine pressed coffee
Stirring the Dagar
Superbowl  maneaters
The women coffee lovers
They need another cup

Stocking up Christmas
chimes  ringing
The cafe Jazz chimes

Pazzazz--

6 cups
All gone Girl
666
Not a drop of coffee
Summoned by a spell

Went razzamatazz

The third eye
1-2-3 pouring
The coffee sounds like its
forever snoring 4-5-6

I need a new coffee maker
Lucky 7*
Rock and roll coffee of fame
Tootsie roll truffles

Going Whoopee

Do some French presses or
Roman Cappuccino style
dresses 14 he and he
The Keurig more hugs
She and me

Sugar trail of blackmail
Single served deserved
Party multi-cup you spilled
her beans

Easter feels jumpy
College stud or wimpy
"Humpty Dumpty"
Jitterbugs
Presidential jelly beans
Hot male mugs
Coffee beans

the mountain you can not
top her flavors
He's the hot diver
I will wait to wake him

He fits the"Ferocious Falcon'
Hey pork and beans
The wrong beans stir
Alice, I will fly you too
the moon
They have better coffee
Jackie Gleason
looks worried

He's cupping away from
the lagoon never on a
Sunday to be married

Bring the coffee truly
love flavor
website
streaming
He's the
hothead the chimes
beaming
The boiling bold brave
How it intensified
The heart melting
microwave lucifer

Please wave Sir
The bubbling brew
Chimes R streaming
But Robin's coffee
is steaming classified
What's to be justified

His pacemaker,
she did a whole
new makeover went
snorkeling what the heck
Ringing his neck
The multi-cup  she is
seated
He's the single cup
every morning
Chimes and coffee never boring


Swish swatch stir and spoon
He was born like streaming ***
way too soon

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty Dumpty thought he was clever and all
So bit by bit he stacked his bricks
And built it two hundred feet tall

Swinging his legs
And nodding his head
He looked down from the top
At small puckered wells
And small tuckered hills
Of the villagers all around him

And so time flew by
And his wall grew high
And higher
And higher
And in the heathens
As he touched the heavens
He cried, “Look up, bow to me!”

And so he went

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
All the king’s horses
And all the king’s men
Couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty
Back together again

But children,
Don’t be sad

But children,
Don’t be sorry

For that night the men swung their picks
And the women scraped off the concrete
And the children stole the bricks
One by little one
Till all that was left to his memory
Was the flat crown of the ground

Besides, the bricks weren’t really his, anyways

Humpty Dumpty

Humpty Dumpty wasn’t doing well
But yet no one could tell
That his life was hell
Trapped in his own prison cell,
Humpty Dumpty fell
A surprise farewell.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall

wearing a helmet

Humour Dumpty had a great fall

onto an airbag


All the kings horses and all the kings men

under police escort

Found Humpty fine so went home again

Humpty-Dumpty sat on the wall
And that was his first mistake
For eggs can be overly delicate things
Quite likely to fall and break

Humpty-Dumpty tottered and fell
Kersplat! He was runny and raw
Desperately scooping his gooey insides
As they spluttered out onto the floor

Humpty-Dumpty twitched for a while
‘Til his innards were down to the dregs
And all the kings horses and all the kings men
Are not paramedics for eggs

**

Dedication

Inscribed to a dear Child:
in memory of golden summer hours
and whispers of a summer sea.

Girt with a boyish garb for boyish task,
   Eager she wields her *****; yet loves as well
Rest on a friendly knee, intent to ask
   The tale he loves to tell.

Rude spirits of the seething outer strife,
   Unmeet to read her pure and simple spright,
Deem, if you list, such hours a waste of life,
   Empty of all delight!

Chat on, sweet Maid, and rescue from annoy
   Hearts that by wiser talk are unbeguiled.
Ah, happy he who owns that tenderest joy,
   The heart-love of a child!

Away, fond thoughts, and vex my soul no more!
   Work claims my wakeful nights, my busy days--
Albeit bright memories of that sunlit shore
   Yet haunt my dreaming gaze!

PREFACE

If--and the thing is wildly possible--the charge of writing nonsense were ever brought against the author of this brief but instructive poem, it would be based, I feel convinced, on the line (in p.18)

"Then the bowsprit got mixed with the rudder sometimes."

In view of this painful possibility, I will not (as I might) appeal indignantly to my other writings as a proof that I am incapable of such a deed: I will not (as I might) point to the strong moral purpose of this poem itself, to the arithmetical principles so cautiously inculcated in it, or to its noble teachings in Natural History--I will take the more prosaic course of simply explaining how it happened.

The Bellman, who was almost morbidly sensitive about appearances, used to have the bowsprit unshipped once or twice a week to be revarnished, and it more than once happened, when the time came for replacing it, that no one on board could remember which end of the ship it belonged to. They knew it was not of the slightest use to appeal to the Bellman about it--he would only refer to his Naval Code, and read out in pathetic tones Admiralty Instructions which none of them had ever been able to understand--so it generally ended in its being fastened on, anyhow, across the rudder. The helmsman* used to stand by with tears in his eyes; he knew it was all wrong, but alas! Rule 42 of the Code, "No one shall speak to the Man at the Helm," had been completed by the Bellman himself with the words "and the Man at the Helm shall speak to no one." So remon{-} strance was impossible, and no steering could be done till the next varnishing day. During these bewildering intervals the ship usually sailed backwards.

As this poem is to some extent connected with the lay of the Jabberwock, let me take this opportunity of answering a question that has often been asked me, how to pronounce "slithy toves." The "i" in "slithy" is long, as in "writhe"; and "toves" is pronounced so as to rhyme with "groves." Again, the first "o" in "borogoves" is pronounced like the "o" in "borrow." I have heard people try to give it the sound of the"o" in "worry." Such is Human Perversity. This also seems a fitting occasion to notice the other hard works in that poem. Humpty-Dumpty's theory, of two meanings packed into one word like a port{-} manteau, seems to me the right explanation for all.

For instance, take the two words "fuming" and "furious." Make up your mind that you will say both words, but leave it unsettled which you will say first. Now open your mouth and speak. If your thoughts incline ever so little towards "fuming," you will say "fuming-furious;" if they turn, by even a hair's breadth, towards "furious," you will say "furious-fuming;" but if you have that rarest of gifts, a perfectly balanced mind, you will say "frumious."

Supposing that, when Pistol uttered the well-known
words--

     "Under which king, Bezonian? Speak or die!"

Justice Shallow had felt certain that it was either William or Richard, but had not been able to settle which, so that he could not possibly say either name before the other, can it be doubted that, rather than die, he would have gasped out "Rilchiam!"

CONTENTS

Fit the First. The Landing
Fit the Second. The Bellman's Speech
Fit the Third. The Baker's Tale
Fit the Fourth. The Hunting
Fit the Fifth. The ******'s Lesson
Fit the Sixth. The Barrister's Dream
Fit the Seventh. The Banker's Fate
Fit the Eighth. The Vanishing

Fit the First.

THE LANDING

"Just the place for a Snark!" the Bellman cried,
    As he landed his crew with care;
Supporting each man on the top of the tide
    By a finger entwined in his hair.

"Just the place for a Snark! I have said it twice:
    That alone should encourage the crew.
Just the place for a Snark! I have said it thrice:
    What I tell you three times is true."

  The crew was complete: it included a Boots--
  A maker of Bonnets and Hoods--
A Barrister, brought to arrange their disputes--
  And a Broker, to value their goods.

A Billiard-marker, whose skill was immense,
  Might perhaps have won more than his share--
But a Banker, engaged at enormous expense,
  Had the whole of their cash in his care.

There was also a ******, that paced on the deck,
  Or would sit making lace in the bow:
And had often (the Bellman said) saved them from wreck,
  Though none of the sailors knew how.

There was one who was famed for the number of things
  He forgot when he entered the ship:
His umbrella, his watch, all his jewels and rings,
  And the clothes he had bought for the trip.

He had forty-two boxes, all carefully packed,
  With his name painted clearly on each:
But, since he omitted to mention the fact,
  They were all left behind on the beach.

The loss of his clothes hardly mattered, because
  He had seven coats on when he came,
With three pair of boots--but the worst of it was,
  He had wholly forgotten his name.

He would answer to "Hi!" or to any loud cry,
  Such as "Fry me!" or "Fritter my wig!"
To "What-you-may-call-um!" or "What-was-his-name!"
  But especially "Thing-um-a-jig!"

While, for those who preferred a more forcible word,
  He had different names from these:
His intimate friends called him "Candle-ends,"
  And his enemies "Toasted-cheese."

"His form in ungainly--his intellect small--"
  (So the Bellman would often remark)
"But his courage is perfect! And that, after all,
  Is the thing that one needs with a Snark."

He would joke with hy{ae}nas, returning their stare
  With an impudent wag of the head:
And he once went a walk, paw-in-paw, with a bear,
  "Just to keep up its spirits," he said.

He came as a Baker: but owned, when too late--
  And it drove the poor Bellman half-mad--
He could only bake Bridecake--for which, I may state,
  No materials were to be had.

The last of the crew needs especial remark,
  Though he looked an incredible dunce:
He had just one idea--but, that one being "Snark,"
  The good Bellman engaged him at once.

He came as a Butcher: but gravely declared,
  When the ship had been sailing a week,
He could only **** Beavers. The Bellman looked scared,
  And was almost too frightened to speak:

But at length he explained, in a tremulous tone,
  There was only one ****** on board;
And that was a tame one he had of his own,
  Whose death would be deeply deplored.

The ******, who happened to hear the remark,
  Protested, with tears in its eyes,
That not even the rapture of hunting the Snark
  Could atone for that dismal surprise!

It strongly advised that the Butcher should be
  Conveyed in a separate ship:
But the Bellman declared that would never agree
  With the plans he had made for the trip:

Navigation was always a difficult art,
  Though with only one ship and one bell:
And he feared he must really decline, for his part,
  Undertaking another as well.

The ******'s best course was, no doubt, to procure
  A second-hand dagger-proof coat--
So the Baker advised it-- and next, to insure
  Its life in some Office of note:

This the Banker suggested, and offered for hire
  (On moderate terms), or for sale,
Two excellent Policies, one Against Fire,
  And one Against Damage From Hail.

Yet still, ever after that sorrowful day,
  Whenever the Butcher was by,
The ****** kept looking the opposite way,
  And appeared unaccountably shy.

II.--THE BELLMAN'S SPEECH.

Fit the Second.

THE BELLMAN'S SPEECH.

The Bellman himself they all praised to the skies--
  Such a carriage, such ease and such grace!
Such solemnity, too! One could see he was wise,
  The moment one looked in his face!

He had bought a large map representing the sea,
  Without the least vestige of land:
And the crew were much pleased when they found it to be
  A map they could all understand.

"What's the good of Mercator's North Poles and Equators,
  Tropics, Zones, and Meridian Lines?"
So the Bellman would cry: and the crew would reply
   "They are merely conventional signs!

"Other maps are such shapes, with their islands and capes!
  But we've got our brave Captain to thank
(So the crew would protest) "that he's bought us the best--
  A perfect and absolute blank!"

This was charming, no doubt; but they shortly found out
  That the Captain they trusted so well
Had only one notion for crossing the ocean,
  And that was to tingle his bell.

He was thoughtful and grave--but the orders he gave
  Were enough to bewilder a crew.
When he cried "Steer to starboard, but keep her head larboard!"
  What on earth was the helmsman to do?

Then the bowsprit got mixed with the rudder sometimes:
  A thing, as the Bellman remarked,
That frequently happens in tropical climes,
  When a vessel is, so to speak, "snarked."

But the principal failing occurred in the sailing,
   And the Bellman, perplexed and distressed,
Said he had hoped, at least, when the wind blew due East,
  That the ship would not travel due West!

But the danger was past--they had landed at last,
  With their boxes, portmanteaus, and bags:
Yet at first sight the crew were not pleased with the view,
  Which consisted to chasms and crags.

The Bellman perceived that their spirits were low,
  And repeated in musical tone
Some jokes he had kept for a season of woe--
  But the crew would do nothing but groan.

He served out some grog with a liberal hand,
  And bade them sit down on the beach:
And they could not but own that their Captain looked grand,
  As he stood and delivered his speech.

"Friends, Romans, and countrymen, lend me your ears!"
  (They were all of them fond of quotations:
So they drank to his health, and they gave him three cheers,
  While he served out additional rations).

"We have sailed many months, we have sailed many weeks,
   (Four weeks to the month you may mark),
But never as yet ('tis your Captain who speaks)
  Have we caught the least glimpse of a Snark!

"We have sailed many weeks, we have sailed many days,
  (Seven days to the week I allow),
But a Snark, on the which we might lovingly gaze,
  We have never beheld till now!

"Come, listen, my men, while I tell you again
  The five unmistakable marks
By which you may know, wheresoever you go,
  The warranted genuine Snarks.

"Let us take them in order. The first is the taste,
  Which is meagre and hollow, but crisp:
Like a coat that is rather too tight in the waist,
  With a flavour of Will-o-the-wisp.

"Its habit of getting up late you'll agree
  That it carries too far, when I say
That it frequently breakfasts at five-o'clock tea,
  And dines on the following day.

"The third is its slowness in taking a jest.
  Should you happen to venture on one,
It will sigh like a thing that is deeply distressed:
  And it always looks grave at a pun.

"The fourth is its fondness for bathing-machines,
  Which is constantly carries about,
And believes that they add to the beauty of scenes--
  A sentiment open to doubt.

"The fifth is ambition. It next will be right
  To describe each particular batch:
Distinguishing those that have feathers, and bite,
  From those that have whiskers, and scratch.

"For, although common Snarks do no manner of harm,
  Yet, I feel it my duty to say,
Some are Boojums--" The Bellman broke off in alarm,
  For the Baker had fainted away.

FIT III.--THE BAKER'S TALE.

Fit the Third.

THE BAKER'S TALE.

They roused him with muffins--they roused him with ice--
  They roused him with mustard and cress--
They roused him with jam and judicious advice--
  They set him conundrums to guess.

When at length he sat up and was able to speak,
  His sad story he offered to tell;
And the Bellman cried "Silence! Not even a shriek!"
  And excitedly tingled his bell.

There was silence supreme! Not a shriek, not a scream,
  Scarcely even a howl or a groan,
As the man they called "**!" told his story of woe
  In an antediluvian tone.

"My father and mother were honest, though poor--"
  "Skip all that!" cried the Bellman in haste.
"If it once becomes dark, there's no chance of a Snark--
  We have hardly a minute to waste!"

"I skip forty years," said the Baker, in tears,
  "And proceed without further remark
To the day when you took me aboard of your ship
  To help you in hunting the Snark.

"A dear uncle of mine (after whom I was named)
  Remarked, when I bade him farewell--"
"Oh, skip your dear uncle!" the Bellman exclaimed,
  As he angrily tingled his bell.

"He remarked to me then," said that mildest of men,
  " 'If your Snark be a Snark, that is right:
Fetch it home by all means--you may serve it with greens,
  And it's handy for striking a light.

" 'You may seek it with thimbles--and seek it with care;
  You may hunt it with forks and hope;
You may threaten its life with a railway-share;
  You may charm it with smiles and soap--' "

("That's exactly the method," the Bellman bold
  In a hasty parenthesis cried,
"That's exactly the way I have always been told
  That the capture of Snarks should be tried!")

" 'But oh, beamish nephew, beware of the day,
  If your Snark be a Boojum! For then
You will softly and suddenly vanish away,
  And never be met with again!'

"It is this, it is this that oppresses my soul,
  When I think of my uncle's last words:
And my heart is like nothing so much as a bowl
  Brimming over with quivering curds!

"It is this, it is this--" "We have had that before!"
  The Bellman indignantly said.
And the Baker replied "Let me say it once more.
  It is this, it is this that I dread!

"I engage with the Snark--every night after dark--
  In a dreamy delirious fight:
I serve it with greens in those shadowy scenes,
  And I use it for striking a light:

"But if ever I meet with a Boojum, that day,
  In a moment (of this I am sure),
I shall softly and suddenly vanish away--
  And the notion I cannot endure!"

FIT IV.--THE HUNTING.

Fit the fourth.

THE HUNTING.

The Bellman looked uffish, and wrinkled his brow.
  "If only you'd spoken before!
It's excessively awkward to mention it now,
  With the Snark, so to speak, at the door!

"We should all of us grieve, as you well may believe,
  If you never were met with again--
But surely, my man, when the voyage began,
  You might have suggested it then?

"It's excessively awkward to mention it now--
  As I think I've already remarked."
And the man they called "Hi!" replied, with a sigh,
  "I informed you the day we embar

Each has meaning to one or all of us
personally
all i learned of these
i read as i grew
these fun loving rhymes
have some meaning or other
so i put these up
to bring out the childish side!!
:) <3 :) <3 :) <3 :) <3 :) <3 :) <3 :) <3






Twinkle Twinkle Little Star

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are.
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.

When the blazing sun is gone,
When the nothing shines upon,
Then you show your little light,
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.

Then the traveller in the dark,
Thanks you for your tiny spark,
He could not see which way to go,
If you did not twinkle so.

In the dark blue sky you keep,
And often through my curtains peep,
For you never shut your eye,
Till the sun is in the sky.

As your bright and tiny spark,
Lights the traveller in the dark.
Though I know not what you are,
Twinkle, twinkle, little star.

Twinkle, twinkle, little star.
How I wonder what you are.
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.

Twinkle, twinkle, little star.
How I wonder what you are.
How I wonder what you are.

Jack be Nimble

Jack be Nimble
Jack, be nimble,
Jack, be quick,
Jack, jump over
The candlestick. Jack jumped high
Jack jumped low
Jack jumped over
and burned his toe.

Do You Know The Muffin Man

Do you know the Muffin Man,
The Muffin Man,
The Muffin Man?
Do you know the Muffin Man
Who lives in Drury Lane?
Yes, I know the Muffin Man,
The Muffin Man,
The Muffin Man.
Yes, I know the Muffin Man
Who lives in Drury Lane.

Humpty Dumpty

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the king's horses and all the king's men
Couldn't put Humpty together again.

Hush Little Baby

Hush, little baby, don't say a word,
Mama's going to buy you
a mockingbird.
And if that mockingbird won't sing,
Mama's going to buy you
a diamond ring.
And if that diamond ring turns brass,
Mama's going to buy you
a looking glass.
And if that looking glass gets broke,
Mama's going to buy you a billy goat.
And if that billy goat won't pull,
Mama's going to buy you
a cart and bull.
And if that cart and bull turn over,
Mama's going to buy you
a dog named Rover.
And if that dog named Rover
won't bark,
Mama's going to buy you
a horse and cart.
And if that horse and cart fall down,
You'll still be the sweetest
little baby in town.

Little Miss Muffet

Little Miss Muffet
Sat on a tuffet,
Eating her curds and whey;
Along came a spider,
Who sat down beside her
And frightened Miss Muffet away.

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"

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



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

Trump
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



OTHER TRUMP LIMERICKS, POEMS AND EPIGRAMS



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

Marge
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?



Untitled

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
grump
frump
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
money?

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

For tyrants the darkest day’s sunny!



Preempted
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 ****!

#TRUMP #DONTHECON #MRBTRUMP #MRBDONTHECON #MRBPOEMS

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


Scratch-n-Sniff
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!



MVP!
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


OTHER LIMERICKS AND POEMS



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

1.
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.

2.
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!

3.
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?

4.
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!

5.
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.

Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall
Humpty Dumpty pity you all
The horizon is red, the river is blood
Cracks open up the great crimson sod.

Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall
Humpty Dumpty chuckles seeing them crawl
There are no king's horses and no king's men
Just Humpty Dumpty laughing in his big quiet den.