Bill stared at a cute butt going by.
Wishing he were much bolder, he sighed,
"I would give all my pay
To roll that in the hay."
But looked up to see 'she' was a guy.
The weeds in his yard were sky high
"Just PULL them!" nagged his wife, said he'd try
But the thought brought him sorrow
Said, "I'll do it tomorrow!"
As he sat, eating junk food and fries
Written on 6/19/2015
It’s true! I heard it myself!
No academic learning tomorrow!
The roads are too icy,
and travel is dicey
try to contain all your sorrow.
Big Potato..for limerick contest
Kevin L Fairbrother
Old Joe the potato grower
Was beside himself in sorrow
For down at his boots
Was a hole so darn deep
His potato’s now resided in China
Oh give me a rope
With a noose that is loose
And i'll tie it up on a beam
Then give me a pill
That will give me a thrill
And i'll end it all on a high
Death Death is the way
For life is to sucky to play
So give me a gun
That is loaded for fun
And i'll blow my brains far away.
Hair today, gone tomorrow,
My follicles falling to my sorrow,
Ten thousand dollars to my surgeon,
Some people think I might be splurgin',
But I can't wait for my new hair to grow.
Staring at the shy pale moon*
I came to realize rather soon
That without you on my side
My sorrow wasn’t able to hide
That bright night of month June!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
27 MARCH 2014
*Inspired by a Limerick written
by Mystic Rose!
There once was this girl who was pretty
Who resided in New York City
Got mugged Friday night
Weak attempt at a fight
Life as a harlot is such a pity
Striking beauty from a dinner gown and the jean
the absolute chase of sorrow through the dry gin
cursed is the hopeful bed and night
mockery on masculine might
the whole stays wonderful but bad is the engine.
My co-workers, like clowns, are laughing.....
plotting against me; I get an eerie feeling.
I am the nicest fellow,
sharing joy and sorrow;
guys have secrets they shouldn't be telling!
Liberty Bell, cracked and muted after the war
Apostrophe after every catastrophe under par
Homerun in the Long March of Second War
Coins on cairns of foes and heroes in jar
An exclamation point in war under par.
There came a dark rain from above
With sorrow we released all our doves
They flew up through the night
Some plummeted with fright
One returned framed by God's Glorious Love
I heard the sweetest cry: “Jack Ellison!”
Soon after birth of Joe my Cherubim Son
That bestowed bliss and not sorrow-
A symbol for a judicious tomorrow
Evocative of erstwhile Lord Tennyson!
** With the Wise Poet, Jack Ellison, in mind(A Limerick)
19th Oct’ 2013
The devastation is beyond comprehension
Little can be done to control its dimension
Fort McMurray is ablaze
For relief we all pray
As the tragedy continues in spite of intervention
I'm tired of fighting.
I'm tired of trying.
Tired of hoping,
When you leave me crying.
There was a woman with a heart of malice,
drowning her sorrows within a chalice
Weep not, brighter days are ahead
Truth sinks in as she lies in bed
The loud cries of her name echo, "Alice"?
Some things are impossible to do with one hand
To clap at the concert of your favourite band
You can give it a shot
But believe it or not
All that happens is the guy beside you gets fanned
Farmer Fred headed into town
Seeking for his sorrow to drown
He went in the bar
Someone stole his car
Merely more misery he found
Fred is mostly a happy clown
He’s almost never feeling down
Fact known near and far
Fred, life of the bar
Covid has life turned around
A man who cares about tomorrow
Is certain the day will bring sorrow
So Trump's Golden Rule
Is, "Find any fool
And live well on all you can borrow!"
Outlook travels farther from being groovy
attracts human sympathy not envy
at it, illness nibbles
getting the more feeble
wall slowly climbed by the deadly Ivy.
Is it sorrow in canine disguise?
Is it pity empathic and wise?
Or is it not either
Nor sympathy neither
But hunger we see in its eyes?
Incomprehensible, absolute bloody horror it evokes
Beyond human comprehension, total rage it promotes
Immediate death without pity
No question he's guilty
Destroy this lunatic for killing these innocent folks
That stuff we slurp up like there's no tomorrow
Is called “Kickapoo Joy Juice” a name I borrowed
From Al Capp's Li'l Abner
A strip from another era
For 43 years till Al Capp passed away to our sorrow
I refused to bow down to the mean.
To be average would not be my scene.
I’d avoid every trap.
This would be but a snap.
When I thought this, my age was eighteen.
Andrea once mentioned life's rough spots
At the time seem insurmountable and we cry a lot
But as sure as tomorrow
We get over the sorrow
And carry on undaunted with whatever upcrops