Fly Noon

A prowling blowfly, on the cruise,
alights upon my meal and chews,
and then regurgitates green ooze.

Upon his gut the swatter hits:
eviscerated, Louie splits.
The moral: don't give Dave the shits!


Assorted Limericks


In the decadent verses of Dave,
he tends to corrupt and deprave;

though he strives to be clean
it just ends up obscene,
and his colleagues all think him a knave...



The horse-loving Catherine the Great
met a fitting but horrible fate:
her steed's mighty prong
was a great deal too long,
and it skewered her onto the gate!

A lonesome young lady, Amanda,
fell in love with a randy young panda;
he dismembered her tights
to explore her delights
and painstakingly tried to expand 'er.

I encountered a charming young hag
whose body screamed out for a shag;
she could cast a mean spell
but her features were hell,
so I covered her head with a bag.

An enchanting young maiden, Rebecca,
had twin peaks that would raise a dead pecker;
their voluptuous curve
prompted many a perv,
but alas, I could never undress her.

A well-bred but flighty dame, Binkie,
plundered dictionaries ancient and stinky;
she found many a word
that should never be heard
and her tastes became more and more kinky.

When a slim sex-crazed lady named Linda
found a well-hung young stud at her winda,
she contained her delight
to express some slight fright,
but did nothing his entrance to hinda.


A Moving Tale

Last night's dreamt headline:
DAVE SACKED FOR MISSING DEADLINE
DUD POET JOINS BREADLINE.
Awoke all wet
in a cold clammy sweat,
my very worst nightmare yet,
a spine-chilling shock
that chronic (habitual!) writer's block
could put me in hock --
what a crock.
With rare resolve
I sallied forth to solve
the problem -- make it dissolve!
Got me some senna
the bright colour of henna,
willow bark from Vienna
(thanks to friend Jenna),
a half pound of hot chili
(less would be silly),
some licorice in Alfoil
unwrapped from a coil,
put on to broil
in delicately perfumed castor oil
(with no little toil),
boiled up the lot
in a simply gorgeous enamelled pot,
swallowed it hot.

Ten minutes later, I kid you not,
clutching my bot
I started to trot
in the infamous gastro gavotte,
God wot!
After bomb-runs unending,
death feared impending,
much groaning and bending,
wails heartrending,
I was unblocked,
family shocked
but word-hoard unlocked
for better or worse.
That's the perverse
end of my verse --
yes, it could be more terse!



© David Nourse 2011