Tuesday, April 21, 2009


On March 26, 2009, I requested sonnets from my readers, to be written using this motley list of blasfomys:

grammor errors
book shalves
gobal warming
I was blind sighted
brake the law

I went first, thusly:

Gobal warming and grammor errors --
Are there any darker terrors?
Such charachers, dare I ponder?
Are they canabals or aritsts, I wonder?
I was asolutely blind sighted! I see, but I do not see,
For what can there be when I will not see what's in front of me?
If the world disappered, supposidly becauase I permote
What's on my book shalves, who would tote the crippled goat?
Oh, I am done for.
I should run for the hills and fear no more.
For should I stop quickly and brake the law,
The comapny attornry would call it a draw
And sue the faux cartographer for millions of bucks,
While I in my daiper -- oh, fluck a duck.

And I had only one brave soul to pick up the gauntlet, but it was a winner:

Skunkfeathers said...

Taking liberty with literary permote,
with these few lines of text I smote,
the idea that one cruciverbally spited,
would lead to this, and I am blind sighted,
in the midst of spring of blizzard's fury,
I falls on my arse, in literal asolutely.
Pathetic is as pathetic's smarming,
and pathetic is those who believe gobal warming,
for it is but for them I say "pshhaw",
and do all I can to brake the
This only gets worse and enough to encourage,
a negative scree couched in verbal descourage,
cuz sonnets ain't much of that what's for me,
and if writ bad enough will bring a stop order from an attornry.

Gnomish Poetry

On January 2, 2009, I requested gnome poetry from my readers. This is what I got. Don't you love it?

Skunkfeathers said...

I gnome he was there
when the sh** bit my ankle
and I punted him.

Free verse...

We had a tiff,
this gnome and me,
when he sez widda smile,
"I didn't mean to get short with you",
and I replied,
"you couldn't help it, ya little runt".
The fight was on...

January 02, 2009 12:53 PM
/t. said...
this bit
of gnome wit


To gnome gnome gnome
Is to love love love
And i do
Love me, too,
Yes i do

January 02, 2009 12:55 PM
VE said...
You know what a Gnome lover I am.

Time for a parody...think John Denver...

Country Roads
Take my gnomes
to the place
They belong
West Virgina
Mountain mamma
Take my gnomes
Country road

January 02, 2009 7:39 PM
g-man said...
Roguish little Gnarly man.
Guardian of yard and booty.
You aren't overly friendly.
But you are very rarely snooty.
They've been stolen out of gardens,
and they occasionally make it home.
And I'd give the world to have in my yard, a female, red-haired, gnome...:-)

January 02, 2009 8:05 PM
NYD said...

Like VE, I can't think of any poetry so here's a jingle. (Home on the Range)

I and a Gnome with hair thoroughly combed,went out to a party one day.
we got a litle too stoned on some good 'ol home grown. Then found out it was karaoke day

Gnome,gnome on the stage
With a microphone, beer and a "J".
Now it's time to go home,so I'll just pick up my Gnome. And say: "Thanks for inviting us,Yay!"

January 03, 2009 6:58 PM

Friday, January 2, 2009


On October 21, 2008, I gave my readers a list of TWISTED LINGUISTICS blasfomys and asked them to write poetry with them. I had only one taker, Bilbo, but he did a bang-up job.

People’s spelling’s gone to pot,
I don’t know how to handle this;
When words like “viddles” and “wherf” abound,
It’s nothing short of scandulous!

(And more to the point, ridiculious!)

Not any more can one still have
A pleasant conversatioin;
When words are spelled so cavalierly
All across the natioin.

It’s time to say our catacism –
Pray it long and loud;
That we avoid the cataclysm
Of the foully-spelling crowd.

So take your misspelled words away,
Submit them for proper wharehousing;
And then go back to what you do best:
Linguistically carousing.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

Ooooo, Penguins!

On September 2, 2008, my readers wrote me some adorable Penguin Poetry. Don't you love it?

puerileuwaite said...

I balanced the egg on my feet.
In fact, just above my toes
Is precisely where I parked it.
For this is what pretend penguins do
To get banned from the supermarket.

G-Man said...

Flightless little hobbler,
Fish-Breathed and slow.
Chased by Sharks and Orcas,
Always on the go!
But in the water you are graceful,
More so than Gulls, Geese, and Ducks.
And you always get invited,
'Cause you always wear a Tux!!!!

NYD said...

Australia and South Africa, the Galapagos too.
You'll find them boids everywhere, they belong in a zoo.
You think they're cute?
Have you smelled their poo?
Nothing worse than a bird who has nothing to do!
(Except those who get banned from supermarkets.)

Roxan said...

There once was a penguin named Mux
Who always wore a tux.
He waddled when he walked,
Squeaked when he squawked,
And sold some fish for the bux.

quid said...

I think that I will never see
A penguin lovely as a tree.
A bird that doth in winter wear
An icicle atop his hair.
Poems be writ by fools like me
But only a mommy and daddy penguin...
Well, you know.

Mona said...

Penguins here,
Penguins there,
Penguins, Penguins everywhere.
But not a morsel of them to eat...

Skunkfeathers said...

There once was a penguin from Nantucket,
Who tried to do his penguinette in a bucket...
While wrestling to see, where to put in his thingee,
The penguin got stuck and said ... "Oh, fiddlesticks!"

Tuesday, August 5, 2008


On July 22, 2008, I requested from my readers at PS poetry on the heated subject of ungodly heat. And boy, did they ever rise to the occasion. I thought they did a beautiful job.

Hazy heat wraiths rising from the pavement
Undulate with wild abandon
Like lost souls, reaching for heaven.
But they find no surcease, not on Earth,
Not in July, and they will descend into
Hell if need be to find release,
And they will take you with them,
No questions asked.
"Bring me ice!" cried the sweltering queen,
"July's holy grail. Bring it in great frozen blocks
and your reward shall be ... inside duty."

G-Man said...
The air is dancing.
Undulating waves from Hell.
Man! It's fucking HOT!!!

Kanrei said...
Outside today,
Believe it or not
Even though it's Florida
It ain't all that hot.

Not like the other day
Or two days ago
Where I would sit on the corner
And watch heat waves flow.

They would ripple and wave,
Appearing like some gigantic lake
Off in the distance,
Relief just a fake.

But today for some reason,
I am not questioning why,
It is just a bit above 80
And the humidity is dry.

So I guess what it is
I am trying to say
Is thank you, Serena,
For obviously taking the heat away.

ThatGreenyFlower said...
It's so hot that the cicadas,
Instead of singing,
Evaporate and leave only shells.

NYD said...
Hot! Too hot.
Sweating and squishing from all this damned heat.

The roots of my hair down to smelly feet,
Will get no relief while summer mistreats.

My armpits are swampy and butt crack's a bog.
I lay in my kiddie pool and swell like a log.

Nothing feels good and nothing feels right.
I'll peel off my clothes and dance with delight.

The dancing was done, solace not found.
I'll peel off my skin and lay on the ground.

I start at the toes and end at my top.
A grisly sight, but I just couldn't stop.

Next went the muscles; I tossed them away .
Internal organs just get in the way.

I sat in my bones while a breeze blew right through me.
I suggest that you try it. You'll feel better, really!

Skunkfeathers said...
*tuning fork*...
*shattering ice*

Fire is red, water is blue,
The ice is all melted
And no high ground's in view.

Sunday, June 8, 2008

On: Voodoo Pastry!

On May 19, 2008, my readers wrote Voodoo Pastry poetry.

G-Man said...
Come hither, you gooey filled 'Brownie-Boy,'
Come get licked by Serena Joy.
Chocolaty belly all filled with Cherry,
Yearns to be sucked out by the beautiful Sherry?
A tasty treat that will not be forgotten,
It so wants to be devoured by Miss Begotten.
But it's a Voodoo Brownie, and it has great power!
(After penning this prose, I need a cold shower!)

Charles said...
Flaky outer layers,
Gooey Filling,
Its not a turnover,
Its Zombies illin'.
Not from Dover,
Not from Detroit,
It's hurting immensely,
'Cause it once was a boy.
Parts fell off,
The worst was its 'toy,'
Now there's no proof,
It had ever known joy.
Its not really pastry,
Even though when he was living,
His mind was toasted and baked.
Ah, crap. Why'd I write this?
Now I want cake.

Kanrei said...
This is my Voodoo Pastry Poetry mixed with today's TWISTED LINGUISTICS entry:

Do it weel?
"Yes!" cried the Nawleans cupcake daddy.
Campiong at one hundard calories per hour baby,
A tummy sergon cannot compete against the sweet carmel high priestess delight.
Casteration is payment enough for this Eunich enriched pastry souffle.
Wedding reings and bridal cakes complete the decedent array.
Poliete people pass on the pumpkin Voodoo pie.
Darogitory and all baby.

Mona said...
When Voodoo pastry screamed
"Bean there, done that!"
I could feel accidents a la Mr. Bean
Right at the place where I sat!

/t. said...
voodoo donut

deep fried ring
of batter with pins in it

maybe some of those little sprinkly things on top.

Bilbo said...
There are people you like,
There are those you disdain,
There are those who are pains in the butt.
But what can you do
When they're bothering you?
You can levy the curse of the donut.
The pretzel-stick stake
Is all it will take,
You stick it like Little Jack Horner,
It's not quite as fun
As explosives or guns,
But it won't draw the wrath of the coroner.

On: What's Important to You?

On April 20, 2008, I requested from my readers verses on ... something that is important to you.

G-man said...
Sometimes Love .. Just fits like a Glove!!

Love ... Forever!

Filing for Divorce

Charles said...
Man's Needs:
A job worth a damn.

Hale McKay said...

Where There's Smoke

While I lie there at rest
Watching her upon the bed,
She sensually got undressed;
Nothing needed to be said.

The way she moved was such
It drained the strength of me.
I tensed at her finger's touch
As it traced the length of me.

It was that moment she chose
For her tongue to wet her lip
Before she pulled me so close
That I felt it play on the tip.

Her mouth pursed into an "O,"
And I felt her heat, so warm.
I relaxed as she drew in slow,
Fire coursing through my form.

When she stopped for a minute
I felt tickled, almost laughed;
And the game she was back in it
Teasing and caressing my shaft.

When I had nothing left to spend,
She let me go and turned away.
Alas, all good things must end
As a cigarette dies in an ashtray.

NYD said...
It was an instant

now gone past

...maybe not...


Serena Joy said...
Light from the moon, full,
For better, for worse, courses
Like fire through my veins.

Mona said...


he loved
his brood of chicks
before the avian flu struck...

then he had to slaughter them...
cull them...
spreading gore,
spilling blood
of the ones he loved
as they got diseased...

now he hates the feeling
of memories...
"no brood"
he roars
with finality...

yet...offer him one
passed through fire
offer him one
all spiced
and juicy
tender and throbbing in pain...

offer him one
and he will swallow her
without a comment.