Lymerick

With all due respect to poets I have a complaint
Their language so obscure they need a patron saint
St. David of Wales
Said faith prevails
And while limericks is fun but poetry they ain't

(I learned from the americancatholic.org website that the patron saint of poets is St. David of Wales, b 500AD. They also had a Saint-O-the-day app for your iPhone. Strange but true.)

Saint David of Wales wondered, How?.
Sasquatch bragged, after taking a bow,
"I'm a writer of verse
And to make matters worse,
I'll recite all my verses right now."

There once was a big-footed bard
Whose poems were most avant-garde
He sang of the forest
And the brontosaurus
Yet others thought him a retard

He's a retard as everyone knows
And his poetry reads like bad prose
Full of angst and despair.
Let the reader beware,
But we hope he'd just put on some clothes.

The muse Sasquatch danced the fandango
Whilst accompanying himself on banjo
He's a poet
Don't he know it
Wild and free and going commando

Though his muse thinks that Sasquatch is cute,
There are some who think he's fit to shoot.
Does his wife ever care
With that muse always there?
If he's messing, she'll give him the boot.

There was a young fellow, Portnoy
Who was told to go play with his toy
"Not that!" said his mum
"Stop beating your drum!"
Lesson: metaphors don't work on the boy.

Kundera thought: "Sex sells better than tanks.
A Czech Don Juan, that's money in the bank!
Not so much the Prague spring
More 'my ding-a-ling-a-ling'
I'll call it, 'The Unbearable Lightness of Spanks!'"

A young German seeking some solace
Sought a book of the Odes penned by Horace
But he took down a book
And said with one look
'Ach mein Gott! Nicht Dave Foster Wallace.'

There was a young lady named Margot
Who despised the cold up in Fargo
She'd be in Havana
A warm beach cabana
Except for the Cuban embargo

Steamy sex is a wonderful thing.
Busy bees giving honey can sting
Like a wife who finds out
Then goes out and about
Getting hers in a steamier fling.

One day while at work
Working for a jerk
Jerking wrath I keep
Keeping fast a sleep
Sleeping with a smirk

Here's a famous one that betrays its age by referencing the actor Gerald Du Maurier and bandleader Jack Payne:

There was a young lady named Gloria
Who was had by Sir Gerald Du Maurier
As well as Jack Payne
And Sir Gerald again
And the band from the Waldorf Astoria.

^good one, Emil.
Here's one that'll play out on June 7th in New York:

There once was a horse that was reddish-brown
Who was fastest of all at Churchill Downs
Used a nasal strip
Not a jockey's whip
With any luck he'll win the triple crown

Though postmoderns' try to invite us
But rarely do they incite us
To read all those novels
Where each author grovels
At the altar of obscure detritus

Rocinante got it on with a pony
Deaf to the pleas of Quixote
The owners beat them
"Don't do it again!"
But Rocinante ignored them, he's horny

The spy who came in from the cold
Was met by his girlfriend, we're told
"It's smaller than a winkle!"
She said, as he tinkled,
And gave her his MR to hold

There once was a dragon of old
Who was hot but left fair maidens cold.
They preferred a tall knight
With a steed do them right
Than a beast popping pills to get bold.

There was an old chap with a major malfunction
His wife only smiled at his awkward compunction
Had love in his eye
But his pepe was shy
His affliction it's said was erectile dysfunction

BUT ALL WAS NOT LOST.

So his wife then sat on his knee
And whispered "I'll stiffen your tree
Just take this blue pill
It'll cure your ill
Though in your case you'd better take three"

There was a young man of Japan
Whose limericks never would rhyme.
When asked who this was,
He replied "It's me, the poet,
That handsome young man from Tokyo."

This was inspired by:

There was a young man of Japan
Whose limericks never would scan.
When asked why this was,
He replied "It's because
I always try to fit as many syllables into the last line as ever I possibly can."

MI5 file: XL878: Telegraphic message from "the east" 12/4/99:

I am a young man,
of Japan, now limited to
writing Haiku. I

On the same theme:

http://qrystal.name/a-limerick-haiku/

There was a young guy from the island of Honshu
Who set out to write a limerick-based haiku
He wrote of Mount Fuji
Whilst eating some sushi
Once done he sat back to eat a slice of pie too

Sweet geishas prefer
a haiku. A limerick
simply won't do. Their

tastes are extreme. In
bed, they're a dream. They get what
they want and me, too.

War Poem

An artist of the floating world
Greatly admired a geisha girl
His wife started a spat
When he went to her flat
Then it was goodbye to all that

Everyone's a critic

There was a young guy from the island of Honshu
Who set out to write a limerick-based haiku

But...

His lines were too lengthy,
Eating habits unhealthy,
And dramatic pauses aren't part of the stew.

What about a verse you can reverse, wikipedia suggests:

This limerick goes in reverse
Unless I'm remiss
The neat thing is this:
If you start from the bottom-most verse
The limerick's not any worse

Surely we can do better! (Can you really call a line a verse?) Here's a first feeble attempt:

Maybe start reading the last line
To the top, if that's your incline
To start in the middle is just fine
From whichever way that you climb
This limerick is just as divine.

Send up the Master

Ted Lear's limericks are very clean,
There's not a trace of the obscene;
This makes them very boring,
They'll soon have you snoring,
And suffering a nice, tedious dream

---------------------------------------------

Sorry Edward, here's an exception:

There was a Young Lady of Dorking,
Who bought a large bonnet for walking;
But its colour and size,
So bedazzled her eyes,
That she very soon went back to Dorking.

First and last

Edward Lear was a lazy old rhymer
Maybe he was writing to a timer?
First word your last, eh?
Come on, that's passé.
Edward Lear, you lazy old rhymer.

Old classic:

There once was a man from Nantucket
Who kept all his cash in a bucket.
But his daughter, named Nan,
Ran away with a man
And as for the bucket, Nantucket.

--------------------------------------

The other side

There once was a girl from Nantucket
Who ran away with cash in a bucket.
Her dad, that famous man,
Asked, "Where is it Nan?"
She said, you've guessed it, "Nantucket."

That old bemused man from Nantucket
Asked, "Nantucket meaning None took it?"
Or, perhaps it's Nantucket?
Or, is it Nan took it?"
"Yes," said that cute girl from Nantucket.

The Bard gives up Botany

On deciding, "To be or not be a tree"
Would be better without the botany
The bard sat down and cried:
"No, my muse has not died!"
A conceit with which we'd all agree.

There once was a lady from Dorking
Who loved it when guys went uncorking
Their bottled up lust
With a pop, bang and bust
To tick off her hubby from Dorking.

Was Lear a Corker?

On imitating the inimitable Lear
One should always remember he's queer,
So the guys don't go uncorking
With the Lady from Dorking -
For Lear the guys were corkers, I fear.

Happy New Lear

Mr Edward Lear has a new image today,
They say he's no longer sexy or gay;
Mars-Jones says, "Nonsense!
This all maketh no sense."
But, at least, his verse is here to stay.

Why do you write Limericks?

"Epilepsy derives from masturbation,"
Is a conceit that inspired a nation;
The fits punished bad boys,
So they stuck with their toys,
Writing nonsense verse for recreation

Edward's Diet

Edward's meat & two veg dropped off
After giving in to his need to boff
Like the Pobble without toes
He is happy without those
But doc can't do the old hold & cough.

Edward discovers Psychoanalysis

"In life, the greatest Evil done to me,
Excepting that done by my sib' C.,
Must last until the end,
To reason will not bend;
The solution, must be, a nice cup of tea"

The Female Academic praises Lear

"How pleasant to know Edward Lear,
Even though he's ill-tempered and queer.
His epilepsy's a drag,
And he's no money bag,
But at least he doesn't fondle and leer."

Lear repeats himself

Lear's use of that repeated rhyme,
Is oddly unsatisfying every time.
Thus sayeth the critic,
But don't be a critic,
A repeated rhyme isn't always a crime

Inspired by: http://www.theguardian.com/books/200...ighereducation

Edward Lear had his problems, I'm sure,
But his worst wasn't that he's impure.
On the fifth line his rhyme
Matched the first all the time
And for that now there isn't a cure.

Some of Lear's rhymes were shockers
So of course he had his knockers
From that time hence
He wrote nonsense
To annoy the critical fokkers.

There once was a poet when caught
Re-reading what readers had bought
Dropping praise on his stuff,
Got perturbed, said, “Enough!”
What he wrote was not quite what he thought.

There was a young Kurd from Erbil
Whose weekend was down right surreal
He had a near miss
While trapped by ISIS
From a shot fired by a schlemiel

There once was a wonderful Woo
With nothing, no, nothing to do.
With a pin it was popped
And the wondering stopped
Till the Woo woke and wondered anew.

There once was a lobster named Lou.
Some water was boiling near, too.
Though he knew less of fate
Than he knew how to wait
He was homesick for water more blue.

In the deep blue sea lived a crustacean
With his bride he sought consummation
In the heat of the act
His claws did contract
Resulting in lady lobster bifurcation



-whoops

Lou’s lady was lovely and Lou
Knew that lobsters do what lobsters do.
When she died in Lou’s bed.
“It’s his fault,” someone said,
“Lou got jealous and snipped her in two.”

Lobster Lou feeling low down and blue
After cleaving Lady Lobster in two
It happened so quickly
Was horribly sickly
Now Lou is blue and his lady is stew