Articles in Category: Poemeanderings

A collection of generally expletive and euphemism-filled rhymes and utterances.

I Dreamed a Dream

Last night I dreamed of boobies
Abounding in the sun.
Tits amassed before my eyes
The dream had just begun.

Last night I took my cock
And popped it in a bag.
I took it out to show the girls
And hoped I’d get a shag.

But all that was on offer
Was a swallow, with a blush,
I agreed and thrown in free
Was a little thrush.

Last night I dreamed of chicks;
Of course, I’m talking birds.
My dream was ornithology
You filthy-minded turds.

A New Years' Love Song

I must insist, 
Though oft I’m piss’d,
I’d ne’er miss
A New Year kiss.
I purse my lips,
I sway my hips,
Erect my nips
To pointy tips.
I turn to thee
On bended knee.
I count to three,
I weep a plea.
To Auld Lang Syne
I offer wine.
I take out mine,
Still you decline.
I give a rose,
I write some prose,
You stay composed 
And fully clothed.
So I stand here
As twelve draws near.
I down a beer…
…No kiss I fear!
And so you win.
Play violins.
I’ve given in.
I’m on the gin.
With no dismay,
I walk away
And softly say
“She must be gay!”

An Atheist Christmas

An atheist Christmas is steeped in tradition,
Of showing your love without the addition,
Of mystical beings and trite superstitions
Or nonsense beliefs in bearded magicians.
Some call it hypocrisy, asking for presents
But why can’t I party with turkey and pheasant?
Asking my mum to explain omnipresence,
Whilst lacing her vodka with antidepressants.
At atheist Christmas, we all make amends;
A ritual release, our sins all are cleansed.
Akin to orgasm when abstinence ends,
Perchance it’s less sexual with family and friends.
Some call me blasphemer for voicing my views,
For showing no faith in the King of the Jews.
I don’t offer children for priests to abuse;
Nor choose to excuse all the ooze on the pews.
An atheist Christmas is not a hard sell;
No life everlasting, no miracle spells.
You can be gay, straight, bisexual as well
And wearing a condom won’t send you to Hell.
So join me and sing out along with the rest
“An atheist Christmas is simply the best!”.
If Jesus existed, he’d say “I’ll be blessed!
They’ve finally twigged I’m a fraud in a dress”.

Rapid Cycling

I have a mental issue;
It makes life quite a mess.
One day there’s I, I’m on a high,
The next I’m quite depressed.

You may see some behaviour
That most consider “strange”.
If I’m true, I’m telling you,
They’d likely say “deranged”.

When the mania settles in
I’m full of energy.
Sleepless, rude and really skewed, 
A reckless spending-spree.

Perchance you’ll see me drink too much.
I may take my cock out.
Always tense with mass offence,
Of that, there’s little doubt.

Then I’m dashed upon the rocks,
The steel clouds fill my head.
I scream, I stall, I shake and fall;
The world seems full of dread.

I push away all helping hands,
I hide myself away.
I turn my mind to dark declines
And want to run away.

To cloak this turmoil in my head:
This mask I hide behind.
Childish rhymes of sexual times,
And jokes so unrefined.

Consider it a way to cope,
Creative therapy.
A way to train my screwed-up brain,
To stop butt-fucking me.

If I did offend you,
Or made you want to run,
I’ll let you part, ‘cause hand on heart
I think there’s more to come.

All Works Copyright © 2017 Benedict Francis

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