Lymerick

There once was a fellow named Stan
Who lived by a creek in a van
He went all veg
An easy pledge
Since he mainly ate beans from a can

Coffee I’d drink hot or cold.
My life I’ve enjoyed young or old
And that wonderful air!
It feels good every where
Whether timid or a tad bit too bold.

I'm fond of a little black bean
That goes by the name of caffeine.
The pleasure it grants you
Will damn near unpants you:
Your hijinks can scarce be foreseen.

Coffee’s a wonderful bean
Makes me happy when I would be mean,
Makes me wake up and say,
“What a wonderful day!
Praise the God who invented caffeine!”

There is a bold liquid called Java
That makes for much friendly palaver.
It's my kind of drug,
But when spilled on the rug
Its aftertaste lingers fore-ah-ver.

In heaven we’re cured of our vices.
In hell nothing’s cured but the prices
Are outrageous and may
Inflate any day
And good coffee’s as dear as fresh ice is.

In Heaven the coffee's sublime
And they serve it with cream all the time.
But down in the fire
They use a supplier:
The same as United Airlines'.

Oh, why can't two words simply rhyme
Exactly? Would it be a crime
If verbiage bent
To poetic intent
At the end of each metrical lime?

Those allowing a rhyme that is slant
Just encourage those poets who can’t
Figure out how to rhyme
Any lemon or lime.
Any nose knows a rose is a plant.

A limerick's a rhythm precise;
It requires a roll of the dice.
Never jump for a fast rhyme
For there on the last line
You still have to rhyme with--oh Chrsit!

There was a big fuss called Convention
That stirred up internal dissension;
We're stronger together
Sang birds of a feather,
And other poetic invention.

There’s nothing more enjoyable than a political convention to give one that rush of meaningfulness

Those conventions I’m planning to miss
Where the bull looks for someone to kiss.
There are words and replies
Wound-up cheering and cries
Then the bull hits the fan spraying bliss.

Too speedily comes the election,
The people's own sovereign selection.
Will it be the old lass
With the pantsuited *ss
Or her rival, the orange erection?

Useless victories predict a loss.
Unexpectedly give them a toss.
When you push on some fat
It reacts much like that
And I wonder who’s really the boss?

There once was a confab in Philly
Which contrasted Cleveland's silly
Mr. Kahn gets credit
The Dem's didn't edit
At the end of the day I'm for Hilly

The monster was happy he had
A damsel but she wasn’t glad.
She had a pet dragon
She rode as a wagon
Whom her monster shot down being bad.

There once was a shy necromancer
Who never made much of a dancer;
He tangoed a specter,
Then bashfully pecked her:
She vanished in flame for an answer.

Dancing requires some skill
To make gravity play with you, still
If you fall in her lap
She might give you a slap,
Or worse, let you do what you will.

There once was a limerick I made:
Its second line shocked an old maid;
Its third line was rude
(As it ended in "nude"),
But its fourth could have got a nun laid.

There once was a limerick I wrote
Describing a randy old goat.
It tended to corny
With wordplay on horny,
And could rhyme only with petticoat.

It is nice on a beach in the nude
While I wait for the sun raw and crude
To come out. Make me tan!
Hey! Don’t run! Well, it ran
And those cops are especially rude.

In August I oft strut my stuff
(Including my Pompey Bum duff)
Till on beaches and strands
Both by womens and mans
I am sorely dressed down and rebuffed.

A dragon deserves a dark friend
But that damsel is on the light end
And her knight loves to fight
Not for wrong but for right.
There’s his gold, dark, and he can pretend.

A dragon loves piles of gold;
Like damsels, they're something to hold.
In killing potential
It's always essential
To keep others' assets controlled.

A coin to the eye should be bright.
In dark caves there’s that dimming of light
And the smell can get worse
Than a poet’s best verse
But the sound tinkles clear and just right.

That tinkling sound in the night
Might be physical need--well it might!
If my poesy lacks taste,
I assert: in your face!
I should rather be right than polite.

What’s unnatural likely is strange.
Take what’s normal apart, rearrange
What one’s hoping to see,
Or to smell, as in pee,
And what’s worst becomes best for a change.

A dragon once peed on the rug.
His damsel cried: "Hey you big lug!
I just washed the damn thing,
So drop the 'Yes, ma'am' thing
And wipe that flambé off your mug!' "

In order to find out the truth.
P.C. Law went in search of some proof.
But the herrings he found
Drove him far underground
When the answers were all on the roof.


Hmm, definitely not my thing I think :)

Welcome to Lymerick Ms. Cassie!
Your poetry's vivid and sassy.
As you probably know,
YesNo's gets quite slow,
And mine is appallingly gassy.

There once was a falsehood, aloof,
Who discovered an outstanding proof
That what’s what is so true
And what’s not will not do
That it vanished and left just its poof.

Welcome, Cassie!

Well thanks for the welcome YesNo
and to Pompey Bum, hello and yo!
With some practice I'm sure
I'll improve to match your
unsurpassed lymericity's flow.

Six famous blind men touched an elephant:
Each mentioned the part he'd found relevant.
Oh, I get the moral,
But why (not to quarrel)
Were they groping the thing? For the hell of it?

I once had a limerick in mind
Which was somewhat less than refined
The rhyme was stupendous
The meter horrendous
The subject a lady's behind

If to ribald verse you are inclined,
I have written that very same a kind:
Two ladies are running,
But one is more cunning,
And that means a lady's behind.

A butt is best viewed from behind.
From the front other things you will find
And you’d have to take care
She don’t see where you stare
But with luck you’ll find she doesn’t mind.

Now gentlemen do have a care
when at ladies behinds you do stare
for if you raise their dander
with sauce for the gander
the goose will pinch your derriere

A gander's a masculine fowl,
But so is the great horny owl:
He takes quite a gander
Whose goosing whose dander;
But only asks "Who?" with a scowl.

Jack Schitt reported that he had finally gotten over how Peeca and his cousin Dipp spent that weekend decades ago which led to darling Lill popping out nine months later and when Peeca was asked how she felt about Jack she asked, “Jack Who?”

Forgiveness is best some have said
And forgetting will come when you’re dead
Unless you live on
After they say you’ve gone
On to fight in some heaven instead.

There once was a gal's derrière
That was high and fine and most fair
It wiggled and shook
Drew many a look
But then expelled an unholy air