Poetry competition CLOSED 14th May 2023 3:46am
WINNER
PAR (PAULO ACACIO RAMOS)
PAR (PAULO ACACIO RAMOS)
Page:
Tell Me A Joke
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
The Woman in Fendi and the Young Salesman
She was known around town as the snooty divorcee
In the settlement she took most of her ex-husband’s money
But then she got accustomed to living in such a way
She thought of herself as queen since she had all that honey
Hermes, Gucci, Prada, you name it, she had it all
From Oscar, Marc, Ralph, Versace to Armani and Dior
Decked in diamonds and red bottoms made her look tall
And yet the woman in Fendi was shaped like a door
She went into car dealership looking for something nice
A convertible preferably to show off her wealth
The salesman was busy but once he seen all that ice
He would try to approach her very casual and stealth
She leaned against a Mercedes and she sat down
Feeling the fine leather seats that was crafted like art
But she felt her an air bubble so she looked around
And since no one was nearby, she let out a smelly fart
But when she turned the young salesman was there!
She tried to rub against the leather to mimic the sound
The young salesman stood like a statue, smiling, very aware
Of the gas the woman with class was trying to play down
“I’m interested in this car” she said sounding snooty and smart
Flipping her hair, flexing her Fendi and all that ice
He said “Ma’am if the feel of this automobile made your booty fart…
Then you are going to shit your pants when you hear the price!”
Written by wallyroo92
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The Isle of Snugglindon
- The Isle of Snugglindon -
On the Isle of Snugglindon, upon the forest floor,
The silly little wugglebugs, are scurrying around.
“Oh, if I only had a brain!” they’ll say once more,
When the silly little bugs, deem to make a sound.
But no one ever hears those wugglebugs at play…
And most ignore the dens they’ll build in summer.
For high above, the mak-mak birds fly, every day,
Saying: “We must mak-mak our nests!” so sure…
And when you hear these birds calling, so loudly,
You might forget those furry rarglesnarfs so close.
As they lumber through the woods, ever proudly,
Hunting for honey in the buzzy trees by the coasts.
“Oh, I am so fierce and furry!” they’ll say to all…
So the bees drop their honeycombs, and fly so far!
The rarglesnarf is delighted to see the prize to fall,
Whilst mother moon laughs, oft tickling every star.
And there: telling woodchuck jokes in the shade…
Of the bigawig tree, sits a wise ancient hermit crab.
He knows the names of every animal as God made,
And he recites them before bed, him slightly mad!
Often pirates like to come to search for a treasure,
But when they say “Arrrgh!” they’ll have to run…
Lest those rarglesnarfs catch them with a pleasure,
To tickle them into revealing: their barrels of rum.
Now the wookisnooks bring whisky and often yell:
“Uz me, uz you!” and sing old wookisnook songs.
The critters drink until they dream after night fell,
Until the ring ringing: of the early morning gongs.
Within the trees, where the gong-ringers still live,
Fur-balls with arms and legs both strong and long.
It is they: who make the whisky that they do give,
To the wookisnooks: in return for a game of pong.
And once every seven moons, to the cry of loons,
The creatures of Snugglindon Isle hold their party.
With stumbles and swoons, and hungry raccoons,
They drink ‘till they drop and eat feasts so hearty!
Where, oh where a navigator might ask himself…
Oh where or wherever is uncharted Snugglindon?
I’ve heard that there lives many an enchanted elf,
On that island, where strange critters dwell upon!
You’ll not find it on maps: nor by taking catnaps,
And certainly it can’t be found by swimming off.
You could swim for laps until all strength it saps,
Or, you could simply ask the average gargleboff!
But since they only live on the isle that you seek,
There is only one way to be certain you’ll arrive.
Why not ask: any child, on any day of the week?
They’ll happily tell you where the critters thrive!
On the Isle of Snugglindon, upon the forest floor,
The silly little wugglebugs, are scurrying around.
“Oh, if I only had a brain!” they’ll say once more,
When the silly little bugs, deem to make a sound.
But no one ever hears those wugglebugs at play…
And most ignore the dens they’ll build in summer.
For high above, the mak-mak birds fly, every day,
Saying: “We must mak-mak our nests!” so sure…
And when you hear these birds calling, so loudly,
You might forget those furry rarglesnarfs so close.
As they lumber through the woods, ever proudly,
Hunting for honey in the buzzy trees by the coasts.
“Oh, I am so fierce and furry!” they’ll say to all…
So the bees drop their honeycombs, and fly so far!
The rarglesnarf is delighted to see the prize to fall,
Whilst mother moon laughs, oft tickling every star.
And there: telling woodchuck jokes in the shade…
Of the bigawig tree, sits a wise ancient hermit crab.
He knows the names of every animal as God made,
And he recites them before bed, him slightly mad!
Often pirates like to come to search for a treasure,
But when they say “Arrrgh!” they’ll have to run…
Lest those rarglesnarfs catch them with a pleasure,
To tickle them into revealing: their barrels of rum.
Now the wookisnooks bring whisky and often yell:
“Uz me, uz you!” and sing old wookisnook songs.
The critters drink until they dream after night fell,
Until the ring ringing: of the early morning gongs.
Within the trees, where the gong-ringers still live,
Fur-balls with arms and legs both strong and long.
It is they: who make the whisky that they do give,
To the wookisnooks: in return for a game of pong.
And once every seven moons, to the cry of loons,
The creatures of Snugglindon Isle hold their party.
With stumbles and swoons, and hungry raccoons,
They drink ‘till they drop and eat feasts so hearty!
Where, oh where a navigator might ask himself…
Oh where or wherever is uncharted Snugglindon?
I’ve heard that there lives many an enchanted elf,
On that island, where strange critters dwell upon!
You’ll not find it on maps: nor by taking catnaps,
And certainly it can’t be found by swimming off.
You could swim for laps until all strength it saps,
Or, you could simply ask the average gargleboff!
But since they only live on the isle that you seek,
There is only one way to be certain you’ll arrive.
Why not ask: any child, on any day of the week?
They’ll happily tell you where the critters thrive!
Written by Kou_Indigo
(Karam L. Parveen-Ashton)
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Related submission no longer exists.
Labyrinth of the Latrine
Once the pushing has passed, and the turd is no longer the issue
You know this won't go fast, you face the labyrinth of tissue
It's all because of you, the global deforestation
All in your pitiful attempts, of butthole restoration
You spend hours in the john, cleaning up the slop
Never reaching the center, of the tootsie pop
You've been wiping for so long
Noticing the stench, as the log sours
What you're about to do is wrong
Anus unquenched, you pull up trousers
You know this won't go fast, you face the labyrinth of tissue
It's all because of you, the global deforestation
All in your pitiful attempts, of butthole restoration
You spend hours in the john, cleaning up the slop
Never reaching the center, of the tootsie pop
You've been wiping for so long
Noticing the stench, as the log sours
What you're about to do is wrong
Anus unquenched, you pull up trousers
Written by Girthquake
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Shitwater
It's time for a change of pace and produce something new
So naturally the next step is to focus on poo
I'm sorry Mrs. Jackson, did not intend to upset your daughter
I only tried to share a glass of my finest shit water
That pungent smell and the unmatched viscosity
These uncultured swine call it a terrible atrocity
They fail to consider the potential of art
One can produce with a fugazi fart
So coat your brush as well as ink blotter
This modern Picasso paints with only shit water
A master of strokes and a blender of cultures
The smell is so awful it repels even vultures
Create new beginnings while the toilet faces slaughter
The power within comes from stanky shit water
So naturally the next step is to focus on poo
I'm sorry Mrs. Jackson, did not intend to upset your daughter
I only tried to share a glass of my finest shit water
That pungent smell and the unmatched viscosity
These uncultured swine call it a terrible atrocity
They fail to consider the potential of art
One can produce with a fugazi fart
So coat your brush as well as ink blotter
This modern Picasso paints with only shit water
A master of strokes and a blender of cultures
The smell is so awful it repels even vultures
Create new beginnings while the toilet faces slaughter
The power within comes from stanky shit water
Written by Girthquake
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Mable: A Coy Dutchess
Two buns and some meat
A burger or some anal
Two drums of some skeet
The synagogue or the cradle
I have chosen the crib
The results could be fatal
This baby needs a bib
Some cream cheese for its bagel
It wants to reason with me
It’s age makes it unable
I’d ignore it if it could
Some would call me unstable
We sit at opposite ends
Of the mahogany table
I think “slip the tip in”
I want my hog in ye, Mable
But before I throatpie the infant
I gift my sack with a staple
My cock oozes sweet syrup
I’m not talkin’ bout maple
A burger or some anal
Two drums of some skeet
The synagogue or the cradle
I have chosen the crib
The results could be fatal
This baby needs a bib
Some cream cheese for its bagel
It wants to reason with me
It’s age makes it unable
I’d ignore it if it could
Some would call me unstable
We sit at opposite ends
Of the mahogany table
I think “slip the tip in”
I want my hog in ye, Mable
But before I throatpie the infant
I gift my sack with a staple
My cock oozes sweet syrup
I’m not talkin’ bout maple
Written by Girthquake
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Secrets
Five secrets to ensure
a perfect and good relationship:
It's important to find a man
who has money
to pay your bills
and take care of you.
It's important to find a man
that make you laugh
that make you happy
and be happy with you.
It's important to find a man
to be responsible
who never lies
except to praise
your beauty in the morning.
It's important to find a man
who's good In bed and out of it
who loves to have sex with you!
But the important!
Very important!
The most important of all this...
To secure a relationship
perfect and good...
Take appropriate precautions and actions
to ensure that these four perfect men
never and under no circumstances have
any opportunity to meet.
PAR
a perfect and good relationship:
It's important to find a man
who has money
to pay your bills
and take care of you.
It's important to find a man
that make you laugh
that make you happy
and be happy with you.
It's important to find a man
to be responsible
who never lies
except to praise
your beauty in the morning.
It's important to find a man
who's good In bed and out of it
who loves to have sex with you!
But the important!
Very important!
The most important of all this...
To secure a relationship
perfect and good...
Take appropriate precautions and actions
to ensure that these four perfect men
never and under no circumstances have
any opportunity to meet.
PAR
Written by PAR
(PAULO ACACIO RAMOS)
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Many thanks for your highly generous offer re: funding of the promotional tour. Will be arriving Yeoville, Tuesday with full entourage. Remainder of trip to be completed on unicycles as per contract.
I trust all our special dietary requirements will be covered including copious fresh shrimp for the two red lipped bat fish.
Can you guarantee adequate security or should we pack flak jackets?
Dec 17th Disturbing news.
Pilot and co-pilot stricken with amoebic dysentery mid flight forcing diversion to Hosea Kutako. Red lipped bat fish not happy with quality of Namibian shrimp and Mrs Abra involved in fracas at customs. Ugly scenes after two of the unicycles went missing. Entire party now facing quarantine. Please advise President Cyril Ramaphosa's office we are delayed. Imperative initial contact established before the Germans arrive on the 24th. ps check still not cleared.
Dec 18 Free
Managed to slip through customs cordon at dawn after bribing guard with pocket watch and Mrs A's cellphone. Have decided to head east although entire party 'babbelas' after Namibian vino experiment. The red lipped bat fish will be on dried shrimp ration until Botswana border where my hope is they can feast on mophane worms.
Google reassures me almost no traffic signals to hold us up en-route but potholes extremely hazardous for our remaining unicycles. 1100 km in a week is cutting things fine for the 24th so I urge you to be ready to quit your pozzy and take my place in Pretoria should we fail to arrive.
I know the peyote harvest on the Cape is in full swing but we must confound the Teutons at all costs.
Multiple intelligence sources indicate they plan to unleash a diabolical poetry offensive which includes repetitive use of a series of sixty three letter words. The future of poetry as we know it rests in our hands.
ps check still not cleared
Dec 19 A fateful day
With overwhelming sadness I have to inform you that the two weakest members of our party have met with an untimely demise.
As you know the red lipped bat fish were already on short rations.
Overnight they became ravenous, mistaking the Grand-Pa powders I purchased at the garage shop for dried shrimp and wolfed down all 38 sachets at one sitting with fatal results.
They were buried this morning in a clearing a mile inside the Botswana border their bodies draped in the Galapagos flag, following full unicycle salute.
I'm convinced they are now at peace in bat fish heaven and certain their sacrifice and courage on our journey thus far will never be forgotten, their souls immortalized within the annals of poetic history.
We are all shaken, but 'now-now' more determined than ever to complete our mission. Mrs A's phone withdrawal symptoms appear to be slowly abating at the prospect of milk tart and freshly fried doughnuts.
ps alas, my bitcoin account is currently beyond 40 below. Could your check have been trampled underfoot, rendering payee name illegible? Suggest cancellation and reissue.
Dec 20 This uneasy silence does not bode well.
I fear all is lost if you have been abducted by an advance guard of Teuton poetry fanatics. It now seems most unlikely we will make the 24th after scrambling our bearings during ferocious dust storms while crossing the Botty salt flats. Navigation almost impossible without pocket-watch, suspension on unicycles is almost shot and underwear badly shredded.
Currently wilderness camped beneath star spectacular at Kubu Island but like the moon morale sinking fast.
Mrs A still refusing to take the bus and demands a launderette so I seriously fear for our mission's timely resolution and can trust no-one from this point on.
I also worry our exchanges are being intercepted by poetry moles disguised as emo-Teuton rappers.
We can not underestimate them as they run an elaborate communications network using Bavarian hilltop villages capable of beaming stanzas into space, plus they are highly trained in sophisticated infiltration techniques.
Every elephant herd we encounter from here on may include one of their spies. No rhino is beyond suspicion.
With this in mind it would be prudent to encode your future correspondence using proto-elamite script combined with random iambic pentameter.
After resting, we shall strike camp and head directly for Limpopo for a long overdue shower at the falls (a detour in relation to Pretoria I know, but Mrs A says she is taken by the name).
She may have a point as I have no wish to limp along Fairview Avenue and up the Union building steps in our current state of disarray.
Ps penultimate strip of half chewed biltong now significantly thinner and still no sign of nice fat checky-wecky
I trust all our special dietary requirements will be covered including copious fresh shrimp for the two red lipped bat fish.
Can you guarantee adequate security or should we pack flak jackets?
Dec 17th Disturbing news.
Pilot and co-pilot stricken with amoebic dysentery mid flight forcing diversion to Hosea Kutako. Red lipped bat fish not happy with quality of Namibian shrimp and Mrs Abra involved in fracas at customs. Ugly scenes after two of the unicycles went missing. Entire party now facing quarantine. Please advise President Cyril Ramaphosa's office we are delayed. Imperative initial contact established before the Germans arrive on the 24th. ps check still not cleared.
Dec 18 Free
Managed to slip through customs cordon at dawn after bribing guard with pocket watch and Mrs A's cellphone. Have decided to head east although entire party 'babbelas' after Namibian vino experiment. The red lipped bat fish will be on dried shrimp ration until Botswana border where my hope is they can feast on mophane worms.
Google reassures me almost no traffic signals to hold us up en-route but potholes extremely hazardous for our remaining unicycles. 1100 km in a week is cutting things fine for the 24th so I urge you to be ready to quit your pozzy and take my place in Pretoria should we fail to arrive.
I know the peyote harvest on the Cape is in full swing but we must confound the Teutons at all costs.
Multiple intelligence sources indicate they plan to unleash a diabolical poetry offensive which includes repetitive use of a series of sixty three letter words. The future of poetry as we know it rests in our hands.
ps check still not cleared
Dec 19 A fateful day
With overwhelming sadness I have to inform you that the two weakest members of our party have met with an untimely demise.
As you know the red lipped bat fish were already on short rations.
Overnight they became ravenous, mistaking the Grand-Pa powders I purchased at the garage shop for dried shrimp and wolfed down all 38 sachets at one sitting with fatal results.
They were buried this morning in a clearing a mile inside the Botswana border their bodies draped in the Galapagos flag, following full unicycle salute.
I'm convinced they are now at peace in bat fish heaven and certain their sacrifice and courage on our journey thus far will never be forgotten, their souls immortalized within the annals of poetic history.
We are all shaken, but 'now-now' more determined than ever to complete our mission. Mrs A's phone withdrawal symptoms appear to be slowly abating at the prospect of milk tart and freshly fried doughnuts.
ps alas, my bitcoin account is currently beyond 40 below. Could your check have been trampled underfoot, rendering payee name illegible? Suggest cancellation and reissue.
Dec 20 This uneasy silence does not bode well.
I fear all is lost if you have been abducted by an advance guard of Teuton poetry fanatics. It now seems most unlikely we will make the 24th after scrambling our bearings during ferocious dust storms while crossing the Botty salt flats. Navigation almost impossible without pocket-watch, suspension on unicycles is almost shot and underwear badly shredded.
Currently wilderness camped beneath star spectacular at Kubu Island but like the moon morale sinking fast.
Mrs A still refusing to take the bus and demands a launderette so I seriously fear for our mission's timely resolution and can trust no-one from this point on.
I also worry our exchanges are being intercepted by poetry moles disguised as emo-Teuton rappers.
We can not underestimate them as they run an elaborate communications network using Bavarian hilltop villages capable of beaming stanzas into space, plus they are highly trained in sophisticated infiltration techniques.
Every elephant herd we encounter from here on may include one of their spies. No rhino is beyond suspicion.
With this in mind it would be prudent to encode your future correspondence using proto-elamite script combined with random iambic pentameter.
After resting, we shall strike camp and head directly for Limpopo for a long overdue shower at the falls (a detour in relation to Pretoria I know, but Mrs A says she is taken by the name).
She may have a point as I have no wish to limp along Fairview Avenue and up the Union building steps in our current state of disarray.
Ps penultimate strip of half chewed biltong now significantly thinner and still no sign of nice fat checky-wecky
hOT sEX wITH gRANDMAaah
I met an old granny
from deepest Dundee
she danced to the bedroom
as fit as a flea
When I jiggled her titties
she groaned like a goose
so I tore off her bloomers
and sucked up the juice
She wailed, I am ready
for full intercourse
then leapt on my cock
and rode like a horse
I asked do you do this
for all the young men
She said not that often
only now and again
Now and again
and again and again
Now and again
only now and again
But granny grew breathless
as she ground down the beef
She said would you mind
if I take out my teeth
I'm afraid I might choke
as your member's so fit
they'll be safe in your navel
and can chew on my clit
Now and again
and again and again
now and again
always now and again
But then came disaster
with my rod like a rock
her gnashers went wild
and they bit off my cock
Now and again
and again and again
now and again
always now and again
So please heed this lesson
I've learned to my cost
Send your granny for check-ups
and always use floss
Not now and again
never now and again
not now and again
never now and again
Written by Abracadabra
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Sauce and Ants!
Sorrows stir within.
The funeral retains an aura of raucous silence from our inner cries.
It was more of a sauna, a trance of the sound of rain as I held my rose.
The sun can rest above clouds and care not to show herself to a mortal’s rest.
I look up into the falling rain and hope my prayers shall oust the day star.
There was a moment when all of us thought that we had seen a hand arose from a grave!
What could of roust a soul? Rest!
A score of ants then emerged from beneath the tan coffin lid! The mourning crowd can’t retain their stance!
So, the mourners ran! My aunt raved into a wild rant!
The hand of the corpse drove open the lid, hunched over the side of the coffin,
and out spewed a sauce of vomit and ants!
The funeral retains an aura of raucous silence from our inner cries.
It was more of a sauna, a trance of the sound of rain as I held my rose.
The sun can rest above clouds and care not to show herself to a mortal’s rest.
I look up into the falling rain and hope my prayers shall oust the day star.
There was a moment when all of us thought that we had seen a hand arose from a grave!
What could of roust a soul? Rest!
A score of ants then emerged from beneath the tan coffin lid! The mourning crowd can’t retain their stance!
So, the mourners ran! My aunt raved into a wild rant!
The hand of the corpse drove open the lid, hunched over the side of the coffin,
and out spewed a sauce of vomit and ants!
Written by gothicsurrealism
(Daniel Long)
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