I knew a hawk named Ostentatious
Who was ridiculously flirtatious
Formel or tiercel didn’t matter
Tho’ he much preferred the latter
As his appetite for size- was just voracious.

He considered courting to be nonsense
All useless folderol and pretense
Just a quick roll in the skies
Talons nestled in plump thighs
Preferably those of a lover, adept- at playing defense.

His foul antics went on quite unhindered
Till he swooped on the wrong him-bird
Who through public castigation 
Sought Ostentatious’s castration
Could his inordinate fowl appetites- not be deterred

Left woebegone poor Ostentatious
Now leads a life much less salacious
Yet eternal abstinence exchanged
For a manhood left unchanged
Has driven his appetite for worms- beyond capacious.

This little ditty was inspired by the photo prompt provided by Crispina on Crimson’s Creative Challenge #56 and includes the words Ostentatious as provided by Sheryl on Your Daily Word Prompt, and Nonsense provided by Michael on MLMM Tale Weavers.


Borne more of angst than understanding
Employing methods, far off from upstanding
The young anarchists ploy
Was to seek and destroy
Whilst obtaining all they were demanding

The first threw himself on the tile
At Walmart, in the Christmas toy aisle
He screamed and he pitched
Held his breath till he twitched
As his mother did her best to smile

The second locked himself in the loo
And screamed out, “There’s nothing you can do!
I will not wear that Tee!
Kids will make fun of me!”
Till his mother, her demand she withdrew

Now sister thought herself a bit slicker
She’d not fight mom, instead she’d just trick her
Off to study she’d go
And little would mother know
Till she came home awash in malt liquor!

Chelsea Ann Owen’s Terrible Poetry Contest this week called for limericks about birth. I guess mine is more about after birth, but what can I say. At least I tried…..

A yardarm armada

CCC #53

Wynken Blynken and Nod
Got in a row over a broad
Each bouy was a fixin’
To net the sweet vixen
Based solely on the size of his rod.

Big Nod won the toss for first go
But his skiff was judged only so-so
By the crew on aft deck
Who cried “Bloody ‘eck!
The chaps belly’s ‘alf ‘idin’ ‘is cargo!”

Wyken was second to cast
But his yardarm was stuck at half-mast
The stern crew yelled,”Wanker!”
When he dropped his anchor
Leaving poor Wynken’s dinghy downcast

Last up, Blynken set sail his raft
But while the galley was ogling his craft
The first mate slipped his pontoon
Into the vixens lagoon
Proving our bouys to be understaffed

This off color verse was inspired by Crispina Kemp’s photo prompt this week on Crimson’s Creative Challenge #53.