Limericks are the Shit

There was a young lady named Sally
who enjoyed the occasional dally.
She sat on the lap
of a well-endowed chap,
and cried “Sir! You’re right up my alley!”
– Townsend, The Crown (TV series)

There was an old Countess of Bray,
and you might think it odd when I say,
that despite her high station,
rank and education,
she always spelt “cunt” with a K!
– King George, The Crown (TV series)

 

Hahaha. Good God!

It took me a good minute to figure out that the old Countess of Bray was not bad at spelling at all. King George’s limerick is very brilliant (and offensive, of course)!

The statement is not literal, and the first clue is in the ‘high station, rank and education’.

In other words, the Countess of Bray can spell alright, but she spells ‘cunt’. She has the characteristic of a cunt, and a major one too, since it’s with a ‘K’. There’s a bit of an emphasis on the first syllable of ‘Cunt’. Oof!  

Spell.png

The English are quite sly too. I (may or may not) like that. 

Limerick

Repeat That, Please

New

“Yes”, beautiful man.

I am assessing the size of your eyes,
and the magnificence of each,
the crevices of your earlobes,
the shape of your nose,
the way it gorgeously sits on your face,
the curves of your lips,
your beautifully-sculpted cheeks,
the way your tongue dances 
in your mouth as you speak.

“Yes, I’m listening to you.”

Every part of you,
every detail of you,
but I cannot hear a thing. 

Outeraction

sunflower-5-daily-oil-by-Krista-Hasson

‘Sunflower’ by Krista Hasson

I’m running out of breath;
my sweat is overflowing.

My thighs are widely apart;
he’s in six-feet deep.

I can taste my tears;

I can’t feel my legs.

He’s giving me life but
I know this is deadly.


Whose grave is he digging?

Is it mine or his?

Will I die again 
or is this the good living?

Rebirth

'Longing in Silence by Aricadia

‘Longing in Silence’ by Aricadia

It is always hard-
cutting strong, karmic cords.
It’s like a birth experience;
isn’t it why we sometimes
cry in fetal positions?

In truth,
one is birthing oneself,
and conjoining different pieces
into one self.

Art and music help,
writing included.
Patience and hope are necessary

because the ‘umbilical’ cord
that attaches one to the past,
to the old self,
always fall and seals off by itself,
gradually,
the pain leaves,
maybe even slowly,
and the memories and lessons are left.

Writer’s Block

fish 1

My hand and my mind are at it again.
Hand is in the mood;
she wants some fun.
Mind is really not;
he is numb and done.
If they don’t make love,
how will they both birth words?
What about me?
How will I escort these chords?

My Love, I Don’t Understand

Screen Shot 2019-05-31 at 3.14.35 PM

‘ Reclining Lady’ by Margaret Garcia

Baby, now that you’re out of flesh,
do you really still see me?
Do you rub my belly when we’re together alone?
Do you still hold my hand when I pee?

Darling, now that you don’t have a mouth,
can you still taste some of my food?
Do you still giggle when I dance unclad for you?
Do I still get you in the mood?

Honey, without your hands and arms,
can you feel my temperature when I’m ill?
Do you twitch my nipples and kiss my lips?
Is my love a thing you can feel?

My love, do you like my new waist beads?
I can’t tell, and it’s driving me crazy.
Why won’t you come take me,
so I can be with you?
Will we never make a baby?

The Cycle

GetAttachment

She holds the key to your heart,
after you hand it over to her,
and when things don’t work out between you,
she throws the key at you.
You pick the key up,
turn it anticlockwise to lock it,
and for some reason,
tell yourself that she has locked it for good,
as if she has the power to.

When you hold the key
to the heart of a new “she”,
after she hands it over to you,
you delightfully throw the key at her
when things don’t work out between you.
She picks the key up,
turns it anticlockwise to lock it,
and for some reason,
tells herself that you have locked it for good,
as if you have the power to.

Each person nurses their pain
and doctors their true feelings,
dwelling on past pain,
staying away from true healing,
until something or someone
shows up to show them

that the heart does not,
the heart does not need,
the heart does not need a key, anyway.

Fighting Our Demons

After+Tarot+Unboxing_Interview+pic+8

We start to fight our demons
when we stop fighting,
suppressing our emotions,
keeping our hurts in.
When we accept transformation,
and release our hearts for mending,
roll with the wheel of fortune,
and open our souls for healing.
When we accept the very truth that
each end is a new begining.

Thing 1 & Thing 2

Osun (Giseli Magalhães)

Thing 1 was not thirsty,
but I offered him a drink.
He drank till my cup was empty,
and threw me in me to sink.

I struggled back to shore,
you can bet that I was sore,
but Thing 2 grabbed my finger,
and told me his heart was pure.

The river of love is full again,
the river of love is me,
but Thing 2 is still famished,
’cause my cup was smashed at sea.

So tell me, ìyá mi ‘Kojú,
help me make my strength from you. 
How do I tell me that Thing 1
is all but nothing like Thing 2?

Chiron-ke

Yusuf Grillo

I want love,
I ask for love,
but when Mother Earth offers it to me,
I shake my head from side to side.

Think of me as a child;
think of me as a pregnant woman.

I am in pain;
I am pregnant.
I bear and carry my hurt
like an unborn child
in my heart’s womb.

No one can deliver this child;
no one except me.
No one but me
can deliver my self,
can deliver me from my self,
but I don’t know how to,

or is it that I don’t want to?

I can’t.  

I’m a pregnant midwife
who delivers people’s pain-children
but walks around with her own
still-born still in her.

No one can deliver this child;
no one except me.
No one but me
can deliver my self,
deliver me from my self,
but I don’t know how to,

or is it that I don’t want to?

Can I?

Think of me as a child;
think of me as a pregnant woman.
I’d prefer it if you do

not think of me at all.