limericked
1.
Fair Youth, I've a bee in my bonnets.
You're young and you're pretty. I fawn. It's
from here I begin,
I just hope you're in
for a whole lot of (limericked) sonnets.
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2.
Your vigorous youth will abate,
just cold blood and wrinkles await.
Make use of that spunk
while you're still a hunk —
before you get old, procreate!
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3.
Your beauty just shouldn't go solo.
You really should be someone's beau, so
those looks get passed down
'fore you're in the ground.
I guess what I'm saying is #YOLO?
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4.
When I warn you of "all of your fair
features failing," you claim not to care.
You're a master debater
but sooner or later
you'll see my side and try for an heir.
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5.
It's fairly unfair how time's chilling
your beauty; please get to distilling
that lusty young essence
before its senescence.
You've heard the whole thing re: Seed Spilling.
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6.
Said it once, and I'll say it again;
have a babe. Even better, have ten.
Just work with me here—
stop shaking your spear;
maybe go on a date now and then.
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7.
When en'tring a room everybody
just hollers. It's really quite bawdy:
"he's as hot as the sunlight!"
Can you please have a son right
away, so your sun stays a hottie?
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8.
If music to your ears sounds tart,
there's no use in keeping your heart.
Get thee to the altar;
'member what I taught ya:
stop soloing, just play your part.
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9.
You're worried your widow would swoon?
That argument's quite picayune.
We're now nine poems in,
start making some kin.
I ain't stopping 'til you change your tune
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10.
Yes, I know you've a different plan,
but you really must start your own clan.
You're beloved of many,
but don't want to get any?!
Well, I'm here if you need a wingman.
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11.
Your fine beauty deserves veneration:
nature built you for good duplication.
You're so well-endowed,
fields
want
to be ploughed.
Sow the seeds for a new generation!
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12.
The clock keeps on tocking amid
time, death, and the seasons. Forbid
their scythe from a-knocking:
get that bed a-rocking.
(I'm dead serious! Have a kid!)
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13.
Repeating again what I've said:
please procreate, 'fore you drop dead.
Don't shoot that sweet issue
off into a tissue —
you know where to put it instead.
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14.
You know that I don't read the skies,
but I can see the stars in those eyes.
The prognostication
that's within my station:
I'm doomed lest those eyes multiplies.
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15.
It's hard, tricking you into the pricking
of a fertile fair maiden; for ticking
Time can still necrose
ev'rything that grows
except verse — so I keep limericking.
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16.
And I'm sorry if you see these succors
as a pain or as something that tuckers.
But there's no use in fighting,
I've committed to writing
a hundred-ten more of these fuckers.
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17.
These poems are a devious sort,
because the good looks they exhort
will seem misconstructions
without reproductions—
a hot kid's a perfect retort.
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18.
Perhaps, as I sit here imploring
I shall, in the in'trest of scoring
compare thyself, say
to one summer's day,
for thou art so hot but so boring.
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19.
This one's for that criminal Time,
who devours young things in their prime:
go ahead, do your worst.
Because I still have verse,
and my lines and your lines just don't rhyme.
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20.
To my man (with womanly moods),
my heart (about Nature) concludes:
she switched rotors for stators
'cause we're both creators
who are into the pricking of dudes.
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21.
The muses are nothing but bitches
who compare love to flowers and riches.
My man's still a hunk
without all that bunk.
It's my truth gets me into his britches.
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22.
I've decided, on further reflection,
to declare my undying affection:
even as we get old,
I'll have and I'll hold
you heart, and not (just) your erection.
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23.
I know, when my loving tongue loses
its words to mercurial muses
that I could succumb.
They've rendered me dumb,
but a silent tongue still has some uses.
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24.
My eye reflects something much deeper
that paint on a painting—my peeper
sees love's very best
when it stares at your chest.
So what if I look like a creeper?
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25.
Win my heart not with favor or fame;
or with honor or titles — that's lame.
Be you uncouth or proper,
a king or a pauper,
just love me, and I'll do the same
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26.
Loving Lord, even if it seems witless,
I declare, with this poem at my witness:
you're not seeing my head
outside or in bed
'til you prove that you're worthy to hit this.
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27.
I can't sleep, though my body's quite tired,
for my mind recalls nights since transpired.
It seems when you're away,
I'm kept up (so to say)
by the thoughts that your presence inspired.
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28.
Still exhausted, but to my dismay,
those old bastards, the dastardly day
and night have conspired
to leave me untired
and pathetically pining for bae.
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29.
My miserable mind can't forget
the torture that fortune's beset.
But despite my disgrace,
there's a smile on my face—
with your love, just how bad can things get?
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30.
To fight off a silent influx
of tears, I've a trick. Here's the crux:
thoughts of you, my dear friend,
cause sorrows to end
(even when my whole life fuckin' sucks).
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31.
When I'm loving my love's loving parts,
long-dead lovers come, in fits and starts,
to my mind just to say:
the man in me today
is the sum of those former sweethearts.
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32.
Eventually, I'll kick the bucket,
while young poets (perhaps from Nantucket?)
will make my rhymes seem worse
with superior verse—
my darling, please tell them to suck it.
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33.
My love's splendor shines on everyone,
except me, it seems (and it's no fun).
Though it leaves my heart gray,
I don't know what to say.
How do you throw shade at the sun?
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34.
Every time I agree to be hosted
by my special hottie, I'm roasted.
Despite my travails,
my beau always bails.
Turns out even The Bard can get ghosted.
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35.
Fair Youth, when your conduct offends me,
I'll still be the fool who defends thee.
I don't have the sense to
hold things against you,
because you still hold you against me.
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36.
My darling, I have an admission:
in spite of our tight apposition,
I think our pair should cleave.
But there's no need to grieve,
in just days I'll reverse my position.
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37.
This Daddy Decrepit's been dreamin'
of your body's abundance; I'm schemin'
to sit in your parts
with the hope it imparts
your beauty, worth, wealth, wit, and semen.
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38.
I'm tired of the tired veneration
of obsolete Muses. Creation
comes from passionate groans,
not those boring old crones.
Look to lovers for true inspiration.
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39.
Is it really a bit narcissistic
(perhaps, some would say, inartistic?)
to sour my doggerel
with all this orthog'nal
pining and whining for his dick?
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40.
My Love's love has done me quite rotten
by loving the loves that I'm not in.
If they won't release him,
I'm okay with a threesome
as long as my love's not forgotten.
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41.
I want to forgive my fair vandal
for screwing my mistress. No scandal
can sunder our pair,
yet I still despair.
Betrayal is quite hard to handle.
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42.
One more note regarding our threesome:
as third wheel, I've reason to be glum.
But if two become one
we can all have our fun—
I'm technically still getting me some.
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43.
I loathe these dark, dreary, dim days.
The night's when I see the bright rays
of love while I sleep,
though I'm not counting sheep.
I love thee, and I'm counting ways.
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44.
Were that bodies could move with the freeness
of thought or of Heavenly Venus —
the land and the sea
both make misery
with the distance they're placing between us.
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45.
Love, fixing this darkest division
means giving the wind a new mission:
to bring you the fire
of burning desire,
and a few hundred poems in addition.
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46.
There's a war inside me. I must choose,
for loving my love, what to use.
I see you in my breast,
but I gaze at your chest.
It's full eyes v. clear hearts; which can lose?
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47.
In the case of mine heart v. mine eyes,
I'm quite certain detente can arise.
For ocular gazes
feed cardiac blazes.
Used together, they both get their prize.
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48.
Though I lock up my love in my chest,
I continue to feel second-guessed.
Would that it were not,
you're so goddamn hot
that it thrusts truest trust into test.
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49.
I fear you'll eventually want to
allow our romance to all fall through.
In time you'll regret it.
But hey man, I get it—
you can't tell someone that they love you.
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50.
Just one day into travel's divorce
e'en the nag feels my wry heart's remorse.
We each give a groan;
I hate sleeping alone,
but it's that or I sleep with the horse.
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51.
As I hear my slow horse's hooves drumming
it's impatience that's set these loins humming.
I've comfort in knowing
despite my slow going,
I'll be quick when it comes to the coming.
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52.
Fair Youth, you're my heart's greatest treasure.
So, when I partake in a measure
of your fine liqueur,
I always prefer
small sips, for it prolongs the pleasure.
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53.
Who care about Helen of Troy, though?
Or other such beauties that we know
from verses Adonic,
when you're the Platonic
ideal and the rest are but shadow?
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54.
Preserving love's beauty and might
means capturing more than the sight
of a rose that looks rosy,
for everyone knows we
need substance for truest delight.
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55.
What I'm holding will last a long time
and provide you with mem'ries sublime.
No, I don't mean this willy.
It's much longer, really:
the lasting endowment of rhyme.
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56.
My love, a fair bit of forewarning:
I'll never grow tired of your thorning.
Though you fill me up nightly
with your loving so spritely,
my hunger's renewed by the morning.
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57.
My knave, I'm your slave, even though it
means nothing but pain for this poet.
While you treat me like shit,
my devotion won't quit.
I'm helpless in love and I know it.
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58.
If I'm honest, love, being your vassal,
well, most of the time it's a hassle.
Because of your beauty,
I maintain my duty;
but it's hard when you're being an asshole.
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59.
Is nothing new under the sun?
Is time a wheel spinning and spun?
When it comes to my boo,
well, it just can't be true.
There's no way there's been more than one.
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60.
As said by the Greek Theophrastus:
we start to live as death moves past us.
The end of our story
is "Memento Mori,"
unless we write works that outlast us.
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61.
I sit in bed, lonely and moping,
imagining you out and groping.
The thought shines so brightly,
it keeps me up nightly;
but not in the way I was hoping.
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62.
It's the sin of self love that I view
as the hardest of all to eschew.
Though I'm sinning routinely,
it's done quite serenely,
for I love myself thinking of you.
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63.
The garden of youth is a-blighting,
as Time's keen knife continues biting.
The rancorous thief
will pluck every leaf
and all I can do is keep writing.
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64.
One more for that criminal Time,
and dying, his ultimate crime.
I'm fearful, forsooth,
for he'll take my fair youth,
but the fear makes the lovin' sublime.
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65.
Love, I write these because it's my duty
to preserve your encompassing beauty
from mortality's rage
with the ink on this page;
else the future can't know you're a cutie.
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66.
While I'm done with society's illing,
and consider my person quite willing
and ready to quit it,
I cannot permit it;
for my loving prohibits my killing.
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67.
Though, given the tragic infection,
of ev'ry last man in connection
with society's ills,
I must say it kills
me, seeing you feel its affection.
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68.
My glorious lord is the verso
to dainty curled darlings who're so
compelled to the snatching
of wigs for the thatching
of unworthy heads (it's perverse, no?)
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69.
When my fair flower's out, I'm here dreading
that in secret, the place that he's heading
is a good night of whoring—
I know he looks boring,
but he's really a freak in the bedding.
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70.
I've been a bit harsh, I admit it.
I've green eyes and it's hard to quit it—
enlarged in my envy
especially when he
goes out and the world wants to hit it.
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71.
When I shuffle this coil, don't combat it.
I love you, but death is such that it
just won't be sweet sorrow
if there's no tomorrow.
So forget it, and me while you're at it.
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72.
And love, when I'm finally dying,
please don't go about testifying
of me and my virtue
or other thing untrue,
say nothing; then you won't be lying.
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73.
The clock of my life is past noon;
I can't make my Autumn a June.
I've been harping a while,
but just once more for style:
we're all gonna die fairly soon.
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74.
but dying? There's no need to fear it.
I will, with Shakespearean spirit
transcend this cruel plane
but my verse will remain,
to keep me alive when you hear it.
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75.
I'm forlorn, for a hunger's beset me.
I pray that its pangs will forget me,
but it's hopeless, alack!
For you look like a snack
that I'd eat all day long if you'd let me.
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76.
There are other things I could proclaim
in my verses, if it were my aim,
than my love in my lord.
I might stop when I'm bored,
but I've still got too much to acclaim!
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77.
Sore was I ere I saw Eros;
my writer as bright as Polaris
may see in his glass
our love come to pass,
but sore I was ere I saw Eros.
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78.
I 'spose I must now outmaneuver
these lovesick young bards who'd "improve" the
grace of their books
with your lofty looks.
My muse, you've bewitched the whole oeuvre.
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79.
It seems that it's singing your graces,
but really, they're stealing your face's
light. Darling, I'm fighting
this devious writing
that would, if you let it, replace us.
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80.
There's another that sings more ornately
of my love than me; it pains me greatly.
We can both sail his ocean,
but I know that fine motion
is now felt by a mast much more stately.
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81.
Would that we could be eternal
but alas, we must meet the infernal.
My dear don't despair,
time's boundless and bare
but mighty words are sempiternal.
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82.
There once was a time (not too distant)
when beauty was but my assistant.
These flatterer's verses
will bring me to curses
from rhetoric far too insistent.
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83.
When I write of you, greatest affection,
words but capture the faintest reflection.
Even cleverest verse
provides so much worse
than the simplest glance at perfection.
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84.
Base flatterer's words can't express
the truth of you that I profess.
Still, your need to be praised
leaves me feeling quite crazed—
its curse causes constant distress.
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85.
I don't know what to say; it's confusing,
to be proving I'm worthy of choosing.
The praise from a pen
gets a hearty "amen,"
but it's hollow compared to my musing.
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86.
Please don't think I've been scared into quiet
by some rivals' fine verse; but here's why it
does seem that's the case:
his wry lines on your face
can still send my mind into a riot.
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87.
Farewell my love, I'll be releasing
my grip on you given you're ceasing
to give riches most vital,
for I have no more title
to love that I've only been leasing.
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88.
Oh my dearest, my vexing obsession
makes it hard to withstand your aggression.
When we get in a fight,
I assume that you're right
and confess to a new indiscretion.
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89.
In the face of your words most sadistic,
my response may well seem masochistic.
My amorous ardor
makes fighting much harder;
I can't help but remain pacifistic.
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90.
And if you must hate me, I'm ready.
Don't wait until Fortune's unsteady
returns take their blow.
I'm already low,
so come and do it already!
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91.
While some get their glory from earning,
and others, from strength or from learning,
mine comes from my lover's,
so unlike the others,
it's hostage to spurious spurning.
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92.
I can't live without you, believe me.
You shan't ever leave or relieve me
with your vexing charms.
For I'll die in your arms,
or else die just the same when you leave me.
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93.
Despite your repeated declaring,
I can't know the truth of your caring.
As much as I want to
find out what's inside you,
I'm stuck on the outside just staring.
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94.
Fairest faces, so sweet to behold,
still feel sour when I'm in the cold.
I chafe at the rudeness
of acting with prudeness
while they flaunt the fine gifts they withhold.
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95.
He's shameful, and sinful, and haughty,
lascivious, too, but my hottie
still shines like the day.
Well, what can I say?
We like it when they're a bit naughty.
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96.
To admonish my young libertine
for his wantonness would feel obscene.
Every time I try loathing
my wolf in sheep's clothing,
his charms always leave me serene.
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97.
The year and the seasons get older;
my love's love, once fruitful, feels colder.
Remembering summer
can feel like a bummer
when getting a wintery shoulder.
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98.
I sit here despising the spring,
while life booms in ev'ry young thing.
Its succulent sight
brings me no delight;
it haunts me with what it won't bring.
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99.
These flowers are fine, but think 'tis
much finer to stare at my love, viz.
they've stolen their grace
from my sweet thief's face,
and these tulips are pale compared to his.
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100.
Come on, you dumb Muse! Can't you see?
Your absence impov'rishes me.
Without the foundation
of your inspiration,
my lays lack their lively esprit.
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101.
In truth, you dumb muse, I don't need
your absent assent to proceed.
I'll praise my fine youth
whose beauty is truth,
and you can just watch and accede.
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102.
I silently savor the sweetness
of love, for within its repleteness
I can leave lays unsung
and find work for my tongue
that requires less lexical neatness.
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103.
To clothe you with verse I've imbued
with praise, love, it would but occlude
my true acclamation
of no decoration:
I think you look best in the nude.
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104.
A threesome summers can't kill
my summery lust for your skill
in looking a prize —
they say that time flies,
but sat on your face it stands still.
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105.
Idolatry's not my pursuit
when worshipping my absolute.
I just want me some
of his holy threesome:
he's fair, kind and true (also cute).
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106.
I'm not the first poet whose lusty
emissions describe you, love. Fusty
old poets send praise
from back in their days;
predicting a beauty that must be.
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107.
Though everything feels so frenetic,
I know the pain isn't prophetic.
With you I can bear
the darkest despair,
for love is the great anaesthetic.
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108.
As long as he lives I’ll endeavor
to praise my sweet if and whenever
I find him appealing.
So, once more, with feeling:
I love you, you’re lovely, forever.
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109.
Just trust, my departure's a clue
that nothing is better than you.
I'll return to you love,
for you're all the above,
my nothing, and everything too.
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110.
And though I have been about slumming,
my heart's never wandered. Becoming
another's new boo
just reminds me of you,
when going as well as when coming.
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111.
Philanderer, actor and writer,
too crude, too low-born, anoutsider.
A badly-dealt hand
is my personal brand;
I beg you to make my soullighter.
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112.
You're the salve to my painful abjection,
my world and my source of direction;
I love you for you,
and all that you do,
like filling this hole with affection.
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113.
I'm captured by visions of you
that render my vision untrue.
You’ve entered my mind
and stricken me blind,
but who needs true sight with this view?
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114.
My head and my eyes are embattled;
it seems that their keenness my cad dulled.
Because he's so hot,
my mind's gone to pot.
I drink from his love and I'm addled.
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115.
I once said my love couldn't grow.
I lied, it seems. I didn't know
that my loving cup,
when it's been filled up,
keeps growing and can't overflow.
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116.
My love is a love that's resistant
to tempest and to the insistent
tick-tick of the clock.
A seamark, a rock,
a North Star for when joy is distant.
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117.
I'm guilty as charged. I admit to
my dalliance, 'twas but a quick screw.
I appeal and I pray
you'll grant me a stay:
acquit me because I can't quit you.
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118.
When sick of my love and untrue,
my thirst makes me thirsty anew.
Indiff'rence erased
by its bitter taste,
I long for the sweetness of you.
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119.
I fucked around and I found out
that going and playing the lout
can give one a chance
to rebuild romance —
my passion's been given redoubt.
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120.
My last on the subject, I swear it:
we've traded blows, now I can't bear it.
You wounded me greatly,
I've repaid you lately;
we're both hurt, it's time that we square it.
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121.
What good is a bad reputation
with none of the vile recreation?
If it's all the same,
I'd rather acclaim,
but if not, then I'll take consummation.
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122.
I don't write to spur recollection
of love or of my love's perfection.
I can always recall
how you keep me in thrall;
I write to solicit affection.
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123.
To one who is smitten, as ever,
the clock is a foolish endeavor.
I was, I will be,
I am loving thee
perpetually, now and forever.
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124.
My love is a love neverending;
impervious, stable, ascending
far past limitations
like fashion and nations
to heights far outside of Time's rending.
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125.
I still have but one thing to offer;
it comes not with fame or filled coffer.
Once more I will say,
it's better that way.
Pure-water love's what I proffer.
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126.
My love and my lovely; my flower,
upon this unfortunate hour,
Time's fickle sickle
must give us her tickle
and rend us of all but love's power.
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127.
My Youth is hence gone from my sight,
replaced by a mistress whose bright
black complexion
has won my affection;
my tongue will proclaim it all night.
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128.
The wood that your fingers are blessing
with tickling kisses? Depressing
that it's not my lips.
Else your swaying hips,
and even more lips for caressing.
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129.
To listen to basest need, lust,
creates in me poisonus thrust
to plumb the unplumbed
but once I've succumbed,
I only feel deepest disgust.
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130.
My mistress is plain. She opposes
comparison; flowers or snows as
but falsehoods unfair.
For she is so rare,
who cares if her cheeks are like roses?
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131.
To those who might call you unfair
unfairly, I say "don't you dare!"
She can make a man groan
even when he's alone
by recalling her face, dark and rare.
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132.
Hark, mark my dark lady's persistent
eyes, mourning the morning's insistent
and painful disdain,
but I love the pain:
it's hot when my love's cold and distant.
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133.
My Youth and I share a conviction,
our jailor is darkest addiction.
Each subsequent thrust,
my cellmate in lust
goes deeper into our affliction.
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134.
We're victims of vicious compulsion
entrapped in malicious impulsion.
She's spider, we're fly,
it's draining me dry,
imprisoned in blissful avulsion.
click to read the original
135.
If the question you're asking is "will he?"
Of course I Will, please don't be silly—
If you will be willful,
then I will be skillful
in giving you this fair Will's willy.
click to read the original
136.
And love, in the willing fulfilling
of filling full with willful willing,
thy will will be filled
with what Will has willed:
your Will's willful Will fit for filling.
click to read the original
137.
to be limericked on February 07, 2022
click to read the original
138.
to be limericked on February 14, 2022
click to read the original
139.
to be limericked on February 21, 2022
click to read the original
140.
to be limericked on February 28, 2022
click to read the original
141.
to be limericked on March 07, 2022
click to read the original
142.
to be limericked on March 14, 2022
click to read the original
143.
to be limericked on March 21, 2022
click to read the original
144.
to be limericked on March 28, 2022
click to read the original
145.
to be limericked on April 04, 2022
click to read the original
146.
to be limericked on April 11, 2022
click to read the original
147.
to be limericked on April 18, 2022
click to read the original
148.
to be limericked on April 25, 2022
click to read the original
149.
to be limericked on May 02, 2022
click to read the original
150.
to be limericked on May 09, 2022
click to read the original
151.
to be limericked on May 16, 2022
click to read the original
152.
to be limericked on May 23, 2022
click to read the original
153.
to be limericked on May 30, 2022
click to read the original
154.
to be limericked on June 06, 2022
click to read the original