Spontaneous Poems

I am the wind that blows
I am the rain that falls
I am the sun that shines
I am the stars that twinkle
I am the earth that turns
I am the seasons that change
I am life itself
I am spontaneous
I am poem

2022

She has a metal bar up me bum
Careless dummard, I’m all queued up.
Have been so since an hour, some
mindless clicking she’s now done
up and down the world wide net
All she sees, she immediately forgets.

Beautiful!

Life is as bad as you think it is
If you think it is

Shotgun wedding speech by the father of the groom.

Well, he’s finally gone and done it, at last he’s tied the knot
He should a tied it years ago, then he’d not be in this spot
And now he’s gonna learn about the simple facts of life
To stop a girl from having sex, just make that girl your wife.

I didn’t teach him bout the birds and bees, but he learned himself no doubt
Things like, —pubic hairs are curly so your eyes don’t get poked out
And women, they’re like cyclones, it don’t take that much nouse
To know, you start off with a blow job and end up with no house.

I should have told you long ago — (to women) — we're simply seen as
The life support that’s carried round by the thing they love, (our penis)
Plus, sex and playing Rugby are similar things for sure
Cos there’ll come a time in later life, you can’t do em any more.

Now here it is, your wedding day, an anniversary to remember
And mark my words — SHE’LL not forget— this 12th day of November
But anniversaries to most men, are just like toilet bowls
Cos you’re gonna miss em both old mate and may the lord god save your soul.

But to the bride who’s now me daughter and putting all jokes to one side
Welcome to our family mate, and I say that with some pride,
May you live as long as you both may want, is the blessing that I give
And may you never want for anything as long as you both may live.

Another day has rolled on in
She gets out the notebook, clicks the pen
Dismisses tiredly the tasks that queue
As every morning, they always do

Things stay the same when you’re 62.

My dreams are dry and I've been told
That's one sign you're getting old
Another sign you'll know--I'll bet
Is when your silent farts are wet
And these two things I've experienced lately
Cos nought's the same---- once you turn eighty

Your dreams are not the same as mine,
But they do intertwine.

You’re saying that your dreams are wet,
Cos they’re not dry like mine
And you’re telling me, you seem to think
They’re somehow intertwined
But I can’t see how, so I’ll ask you now
To lay off that cheap Red Wine.

Another day has gone to dusk
Another soul settles in her husk
across a softish bed of white,
tangling again with one more night.

Another soul has past the test
Another soul has earned its rest
The victory once more is gained
And a higher level is attained
The race goes on it never ends
The winner must begin again.

^ROFL
My poem wasn’t a reply to your funny lines,
So I think I’ll have more drink from the vines.

We’ll designate the last page

Poems about Aging: The Body Fluid Volume

Congratulations to T - 1000 on your continuing juiciness.

It weren't my funny lines
That had you rolling on the floor
I think you drank too much wine
Now you think you'll drink some more.

I shall abstain from drinking those cheap red wines
Lest I get floored by one of your funny lines

O don't abstain from the fruit I trod
The juice of which has come from God.

Omar Khayyam once wrote; "Why be this juice the growth of God, who dare blaspheme the twisted tendril as a snare? A blessing, we should it. should we not? And if a curse--why, then, Who set it there?

The man and his daughter come in the shop.
They smile and break every standard.
They beg and barter, are given, then swap,
Smile leaving, leaving me feeling handled.

Mother Russia, still thick on their tongues,
black eyes dart secrets between them.
The joy of the game, to take down a rung
is their favorite family vandalism.

The pressure cooker she'd filled
With the fonts Holy Water
The cook for the priest
Who in fact was his daughter
But now she's been sacked
Although a good Christian
Cos the cooker she used
Blew christ-- outer the kitchen.

Covalent bonds make matter matter
Mr. White ain’t gonna pass the slacker
Jesse got rolled by toothless tweaker
Walt said, “Jesse, ya gotta go whack her.”

Season 2, Episode 7