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The Obligatory Limericks Game Reincarnated
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And so it begins....
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X-Box Ones, PS4s
And it sure gives him pause unfinity or thinks
to think of these crooks on the make.
My old Van Der Graaf's on the blink
With a megavolt spark that is pink
It's stopped making static
Its behaviour's erratic
And the noise... you can't hear yourself think!
Is there some sort of shindig next week?
If so, then the outlook is bleak
I've maxed out my card
From the pub I've been barred
Nonetheless I am off to take a leak...
If you walk 'bout a mile heading west
Wearing naught but a grotty string vest
You'll be stopped by police
Wearing vinyl and fleece
Who'll say you're improperly dressed.
Five four three two one LIGHT THE FUSE!
Firework legislation we'll abuse! (Happy New Year all!)
As the district burns down
We'll be out on the town
Runnin' wild - crawling pubs - hit the booze.
The New Year has brought gloom and dismay
For Charlie Hebdo, so they say
Life goes on - nice and swift
Though for most somewhat miffed
Live on, but die another day. Mercy killing, if you'll excuse the phrase. The stalling of this limerick for a week possibly supports my hypothesis that there are better channels for serious commentary on terrorist atrocities. (I come here to be entertained and show off.)
The chief mistress of Louis XV (Fifteen, n'est-ce pas?)
Had much better legs than his Queen
And as for her bust Well done, pen; it was becoming a right clunker.
If it hadn't been trussed
T'would have sagged somewhere south of her spleen
Finance, it's all Greek to me
And it's mostly a Greek trag ed ee
But the show must go on
'Tho the coffers are gone
Next up: The Great Greek de fault ee.
I once scaled the Rock of Gibraltar
To meet with my bride at the altar
My ardour then wilted
I said somewhat stilted
When I found that her real name was Walter
I once strolled the beaches of Wales
Consid'ring successes and fails
With the thought in my head
"Am I better off dead?"
So I jumped off the cliff - left no trails...
My dear mortal coil is unwound
By a process of reason unsound
With a match, a gas leak     Not until it's over
Hidden textshould be simple to seek but alas twas not so as I found
We'll fly high, with a shriek
And five miles away, hit the ground.
In my an-nu-al HR appraisal Careful now...
I was told that my tone is too nasal
So I blocked up by doze
With some sweat from by toez
Ad disguised duh sbell wid widge hazal
In order to play the bassoon
You must warm up from April to June
But when playing the flute
You just give a quick toot
and blow (but you'll be out of tune)
My tax return's well overdue
But HMRC, they can stew
The money I owe
For my 'petite Chateau'
Has been spent on a cruise. Toodle-oo!
Last night as I went to 'de loo
An owl in the dark said "too-woo"
If you're hoping to pee
Please don't wee over me
Or I'll spray you with my number two. ( thanks, Mother)
Last night, as I dreamt of my beau
My face was suffused with a glow
'Twas not mere desire          
Hidden text'Twas the ceiling afire, World war two era wiring, you know
Not til it's done.
That kindled my fire
'Twas the treasure concealed down below.
Last night as I grouted some tiles
I tested my masculine wiles
Hidden textSo this is unlikely to end well.
I said to my wife
Please pass me that knife
She stabbed me, but I was all smiles. Muahahahahaha!
Last night I was out of my wits
As I searched the bird-table for tits
All I found was some seed
And something to read It's a bit nippy out, I will take a coat if you don't mind...
-in the chaos of life, it all fits.
This bright Monday morning I'm on
Benzedrine. I'd take more, but they're gone.
Still, life is just dandy
Cos I took them with brandy or shandy
For synergistifica-shon.And rather poor rhythm.
I can think - I can read - I can write
My classification is "bright"
But I just can't do sums
So I'm put with the dumbs
Which I think of as rather a slight.
Top marks for the last one!
But you're boring, you're boring as hell
You're up there with Wisty, E. L.
You drone on and on
'Til all sentience is gone
What is left is just unpleasant smell...
What a pain to have bagged the first line again
For some that's a terrible strain
It challenges the wits
And is very annoying following Software's lead
But turns out alright in the end
There was a young man of Dundee
Who was stung on the neck by a wasp
When asked if it hurt
He replied "Not a bit,
It can do it again if it likes"

One of my favourites. And now, back to our usual program...

How much do you want for that horse?
(I can see you have "Foxhunt Remorse")
Shall we say thirty quid?
That's my last final bid
(three dots and sev'n dashes in Morse).
Huzzah! Pop'n'crisps all round!
"Excuse me", I said to this bloke
"Can you lend me a bob for a coke?"
He looked in my eyes
(That's a trick I despise)
Said "No, here's some pot you can smoke."
I say! What a hideous hat!
What on earth possessed you to wear that?
'Snot a hat, it's a mitre
And it feels so much lighter
Than the halo i wear in the Vat'...
It is Friday and life is so good
Can't be bothered to work, though I should
I'll sneak out to the pub
For a pint and some grub
And drink more than I normally would
An evening in front of the telly
A South Bank Show rerun (George Melly)
A pizza, some beers
Then a rerun of Cheers
And a great rumbling sound in my belly
A protesting voice I must raise
Against your lascivious gaze
My face is up here
So please transfer that leer
To a smile that confirms my boobs you praise
[Marc] I think you were too keen to get your boobs into that last line. I can imagine you're proud of them, but I think you could have tried harder to make them fit. Shocking scansion there, miss.
There was a young fellow from Hull pronounciation ad lib
Who thought that the place was too dull
So he signed on a ship [pen] Yes, I think you are right, there’s much too few lines about boobs nowadays
Donned a pink, silken slip
That would show off his boobs to the full
While donning my pads, gloves and box
Hidden textCricket, if you're confused.
I was shocked when I found my boll-ocks If you can't beat 'em, join em, eh Marc, you mysoginistic arse?
Though my jockstrap is big[pen] I know you are rude and now you have proven to be ignorant and stupid as well, what a pity
It's stuffed with my wig
A banana and two pairs of socks
[Marc] If you must post smut (which, it seems, is all that you have to offer) at least be decent enough to make it rhyme and scan. It's probably too much to ask for it to be interesting, clever or funny as well.
A true sanctimonious mind,
Isn't needed - you'd have to be blind u.s.a.
Or denying the truth
To not know what is couth
So let's all be nice and refined
Refinement, I have it in spades
Hidden textI fucking do.
Well, at least if I look through my shades
I'll see Rosie's demure
And raise it to 'pure'
As she wafts through the sun-dappled glades.
Again, poor Rosie's changed sex
Was it drugs and the knife, or a hex?
No, it's all in the mind
Though it's still undefined
But not if I lower my kecks.
Hidden textLook away NOW.
I'm thrilled with the latest advance
In captivity, they've bred a Wild Pants
It is white with red spots
You can play 'join the dots'
Though its parents may well look askance.
In Midsomer a man has been shot
There it happens more often than not
It's a great place to die
'neath a clear English sky
Do I really think so? Not a lot.
Thank god! Morse and Lewis are here! Netflix Binge declared.
So tremble, ye villains, with fear!
For Oxford is filled
With forensically skilled
And detectives that drink lots of beer
Oh well played everyone! Crisps all round!
And as for Inspector Jack Frost
I fear that his marbles are lost
Though when bending the rules
And suffering fools
That old bridge too far he had crossed.
When you sit on the rail breaking wind (A nice sailing trip anyone?)
Having drunk too much beer that is tinned
Spare a thought for the mate
As you shamelessly deflate
Though my nose and my bum are thick skinned.
While sorting the junk in my loft
The rafters felt distinctly soft
When I trod on a joist
I felt something moist
That gave way the moment I coughed
"It's a very fine object," *cough cough*
It's starting, though, to go off (gough ough)
The pong goes right through
One's sinuses to
make stuff you'll spit into a trough.
A little tidying up:
"It's a very fine object," *cough cough*
It's starting, though, to go ough
The pong goes right through
One's sinuses tough
make stuff you'll spit into a trough.
The maximum speed of a tortoise
Can never keep up with a porpoise Grabbing the only rhyme.
With turbot installed
And the shell well close-hauled
It'll speed up until it has caught us
However, the rate of the hare
Approximates that of a bear
If your math's a bit wonky
I'm certain that Don Qui-
-Xote will make it all square!
Hidden textRaak: Mortise?
Oh Lord, will you please tell me why
The cyclops has only one eye
Yet still remains jocular
Despite being monocular oblig.
And can't watch 3D movies on Sky.
There was a young fellow from Reading
Whose cat just lay sleeping and shedding
amounts of black fur
Fell out at each purr
And he sold it to Hypnos as bedding.
When at the computer I find
I'm not in control of my mind
So Cntl-Alt-Delete
And get to my feet
And go for a jog to unwind.
Egad! From the taps just a drip This one in sympathy for Raak. Limerick Aid
No bathing - no stiff upper lip
I'll be a bit whiffy
So I'll dip in the Liffey
Just as long as no gals see me strip
It's never the greatest idea
To start a fight on Top Gear.
Now Chris E's the new face
A ginger disgrace
Can you hear a toss given? Not here. Sorry chaps! =)
We're on strike 'cause our wages are low
And we're dealing the bosses a blow
They'll have to cough up
And feed our new pup
Or next we'll run a go-slow
Is the Euro to go down the pan?
The Greeks would cheer that to a man
The Drachma'd be back
Get a meal for one sack
While the rest of you pay, that's my plan!
"Can ya lend me a bob 'cause I'm broke?"
"Being totally skint is no joke"
Haven't eaten for days
(My "austerity" phase)
"Here's a quarter of rum and a coke."
There was a young lady from Thame trad.
Who decided to go on the game.
When she spread out her wares
She provoked several stares
Now she's ninety - still on - with no shame...
Now please sharpen your pen and then write
Of the joys of a Flexifoil kite
Or just jot a few words
On its danger to birds
And the warnings of flying at night
The last time I ate a hot curry
I had to dash off in a hurry
My bowels were a-bubble
In the air smell of trouble
And then the inevitable slurry
well done P,B,S,M & R!
On the way home last night - a kebab
Then to A & E for a jab
Seven stitches then home
Wrapped in urethane foam
And then off for six long weeks of rehab
I'll pay for my meal with some rupees
E'en here in Stockton-on-Tees (KS) -You'd have got better rhythm if you'd just left out the word "some".
This Chicken Madras
Spiced with pure Sassafras
Will bring me down to my knees
/hr seems not to be working.....?
I really must protest dear sir
The print on the label's a blur
The tin may have leaked
'Cos my kitchen, it reeked
And smelled like some rotten liqueur. (Rosie . . . um, nope, sorry . . . "Lines 1, 2 and 5 of a limerick should ideally consist of three anapests each" My first line has three anapests just like a limerick should . . . now, as for Stevie's line, it doesn't).
Compare and contrast with English as she is spoke and limericks as they be scanned:
I REAlly must PROtest dear SIR: correct metre, but "PROtest" is the noun.
I REAlly must proTEST dear SIR: "proTEST" is correct, but the metre is trying to be a different verse form:
I really must protest dear sir
This printed label's just a blur
The tin it leaked, my kitchen reeked
And smelled like déclassé liqueur.
I'll PAY for my MEAL with some RUpees: correct metre and word stress but difficult to rhyme with.
I'll PAY for my MEAL with some ruPEES: extraneous "some".
I'll PAY for my MEAL with ruPEES: correct metre, and the stress in"ruPEES" is also correct.
There once was an expert who knew [Raak] Many thanks dear Sir for the lecture, we needed it!
Fuck all about making a stew [Raak]
Hidden textSorry, the stress doesn't turn it from noun to verb in my neck of the woods and it sounds just fine when I say the line out loud. I've never heard anyone call them pro-TEST songs either. So, all-in-all, Thrrrp! 8oP 8ob 8oP
The bucket of gravy Wade in, chaps.
Supplied by the navy
Had a frighteningly bright crimson hue.
"We've defeated the Spanish Armada,"
Cried Drake with consid'rable ardour
We chased them round Britain
So now they're once bitten [Raak]
Hidden text I think KS was claiming the line should be read as 'I'll pay FOR my meal WITH some ruPEES', which is (sorry KS) a very odd reading, given that it requires stressing propositions that would most naturally be the least stressed words in the sentence. As for Stevie's line, my sense, which dictionaries appear to confirm, is that 'protest' as a verb can be stressed on either syllable; I'm not sure if the stress on the first syllable is primarily Am. Eng., but it might be. That said, I do--like you--find the stress on the second syllable to be more natural for the verb.
They'll realize that we are much harder
It's Monday and i'm feeling bored
So I pull the emergency cord
The ejector seats fire
And as I rise higher
"Where's my parachute?", Oh dear Lord!
Those men in their flying machines
Eat nothing, so it's said, but baked beans
And for their own part
The beans will impart
With brown stains on the back of their jeans...
Are you sure that this airplane is safe
Are you sure that this airplane can fly?
If it's safe we can certainly try
So shall I take the stick?
Get aboard and be quick
Just don't tell the pilot! Bye-bye! [Marc] chafe, strafe, waif, Ralph? :)
The dark clouds that are blocking the sun
Remind me just what I have done
As Guildford lies flattened
And seemingly patterned
It's a shame it can't be undone
I've wiped out the Jewel of Surrey
She was hot - kind of cuddly and furry
With a come-hither grin
And a rather square chin
So don't click that link in a hurry
If Guildford's a jewel, what's Dorking?
'Bout 4 hours away, if you're walking.
But if you're on a bike
There's a pub you might like
So step on! Stop standing and gawking!
I thought that I'd broken my wrist
When I swung at your mother, and missed
As my fist hit the wall
The last thing I recall
Was her cackling at me "You're pissed."
So here I sit, in the ER
With my elbow stuck in a jam jar
The sixth hour has passed
I'm having a blast
While the doctor slips off to the bar That's probably not fair and could cause a storm of protest, but all for the sake of scansion and mirth.
The weirdos who live on the hill
Have put all their pigs on the pill
So no little porkers
Will get nobbed by rogue orcas [Softers] Oh, I do so like a challenge...
And think what they'll save on the swill.
The chaps at Piers Gaveston think
That life is all orgies and drink
Countess Marg'ret de Clare
Had better beware
Lest she'll end up in the clink which she did, BTW
In a small, central part of my brain
Is a place ornamented with pain
It's the fault of my mother
'cause she killed my big brother
And it's likely she'll yet kill again.
A student of madness would think
"Funicular! Crucible! Blink!"
or perhaps, "nadge my toes"
Or "nobody knows"
That I normally crap in the sink.
I've bought myself a winter coat true
It's made of weasel, fox, and stoat I think we've just invented the iambic limerick. Lines of 4, 4, 2, 2, and 4 feet and the usual rhyme scheme.
It's wholly organic
So no need to panic
The collar is made from the arse of a goat Adding a few syllables as a reasonable compensation
The good folk of Accrington, Lancs
Were often mistaken for cranks
They spun round and round
With a murmuring sound
As their only football team tanks
This island is home for the night
Although it's a quite gruesome sight
The ferry has sailed
The banshee has wailed
And I'm stuck on the Isle of Wight.
There's a rumour that's doing the rounds
That my head makes peculiar sounds
That's 'cos it's hollow
And so, when I swallow,
There's a noise like the baying of hounds
I have heard there's dog on the moon
Whose bowl is in fact a spittoon
His kennel's a crater
Around the equator
His cries won't be heard 'til next June
I hope that my bonfire will light
So I can fry bangers all night
With a can of cold beer
I shall quote lines from Lear
"O, thou side-piercing sight!"
"Guaranteed from boot-to-bonnet!"
That's Clarkson's first go at a sonnet
It could have been worse
If he pictured a hearse
With luck he could have be on it
I awoke to a fine morning sight
Of the hay in my barn set alight
The insurance will pay
For my next holiday
Due in just a fortnight
I simply don't know how to start
My new sixteen horsepower go-kart
I yanked on this string
It went 'wicketi ping'
And then the machine fell apart.
So I cussed and I brandished my spanner
In typical Clarksonian manner
But Jeremy and Kelly
(Them two off the telly)
Have ordered the parts from Fermanagh
The business of ordering parts
Proceeds both in fits and in starts
Look at the book
Ring them up; they're in Nuuk
And deliver by husky-drawn carts.
When eternity fits in an hour
I barely have time for a shower
But when deadlines draw near
I quiver with fear
And withdraw to an ivory tower
My Cumbrian fell is a-flood
My "carpet"'s now three feet of mud
The rain doesn't stop
Needs more than a mop
And the switch on my ark is a dud
Will it rain now for forty more nights?
Will it reach the top rain record heights?
Because if it does
We'll call out the fuzz
To claim that we've got human rights.
So Christmas has come back around
And Santa, I've heard, is southbound
With his over-full sleigh
He may brighten our day
As he slips in with barely a sound.
Oh my dearest I long for your kiss
Though I fear your technique's hit and miss
Your French kisses I love
They are just hand in glove
And I do care that you are my sis
Farewell to a very poor year
The weather was shite, that is clear
So let us revive
The jitterbug and jive
And party with burgers and beer
I will not stand for whiny complaining
In spite of long immersive training
Though I must say it's wrong
To moan all day long
When the rhymes here are SO entertaining
So farewell then Bowie: bye Dave
You did all the genres, save rave
And for that, we're in awe
'Though our tear ducts are raw
For ecstasy beyond the grave.
Sometimes I cannot resist
Adding whisky to my shopping list
It goes on with the gin
Make our heads start to spin
As slowly we're getting pissed
Hmm.
It's time for a jolly distraction
Like Longleat or some such attraction
Or maybe we could
Stroll through Odell Great Wood
Watching grass growing slowly in action...
Then she said: "I'm lying in your bed"
And I think that butler is dead
So I said, "Call Poirot!"
But Mycroft said "No!"
"We'll eliminate the impossible instead."
To the greenhouse I summoned the cook
"Over there!" I exclaimed. "Take a look!"
"The tomatoes have rust!"
"The sprouts turned to dust!"
He's from Yorkshire, so said "What the fook?"
While I stood in the Post Office queue
And I hoped for position two
But the fellow in front ...careful...
With a snort and a grunt
Said: "I'm stuck. Who the hell spilled that glue!"
The cyan-ACrylate glue sealed his lips
On the table he had fish and chips
But unable to eat Hello Cook
His cod-and-spud treat
He studied the lunar eclipse
It's the year of the Monkey, beware...
That you dress with attention and care
And stop making faces
When you tie your shoelaces
God! You're not doing that with your hair????
In accordance with Standard 14
You must paint your front door in sludge green
Lined out in puce
Or else we'll reduce
The money for being Europeen
The good folk of Chorlton-cum Hardy
Were known for their love of bacardi
When applied to the skin
It was better than gin
And creme CeraVe - it's too lardy
The Burghers of Port du Calais
Have been whooping it up at the Palais
Now the jungle is flat
They think that is that
But more migrants will be there next day.
Last summer I swam 'cross the Channel
Wrapped in the finest of flannel
My expensive pyjamas
With their imprint of lamas
Were hidden behind a pannel.
There once was a fellow named Clark
Who was quite afraid of the dark
So he switched on the light
And got a great fright
As he found himself next to a shark.
It's due time that you upgrade your app
Or else you may fumble your snap
The latest UI
Helps you shoot on the fly
But the editing suite is pure crap
What time does the ferry depart?
The minute that I've found my chart
And topped up with diesel
And fed my pet weasel
But this is Condor and we're missing a part
The Andean Condor's huge wingspan
ex-ceeds the width of my fry-ingpan
And so to sauté it
I bent it to fit
Which spoilt its vocal range, or sing span. Dreadful.
The first day of Spring has just sprung
And I feel like a stallion I'm hung
I'll be frisky for sure
And with all my allure
I'll hide what Spring has just sprung.
Hidden textHey, Lear repeated words in his limericks
There once was a fella named Lear
Who said that he felt a bit queer
When asked what was wrong
He burst into song
And demanded I bring him a beer.
I've a problem with one of my glands
My prostate's come off in my hands
Just squirt it with glue
Then fixate with a screw
Then to hold it in place - rubber bands
There's a stock room of spare body parts
For my practice of ghoulish black arts
In the box labelled "Noses"
Nothing's smelling of roses
And some carrots, Jack Frost's private parts.
The question is free I've been told
But the answer will cost all your gold
Not "The Meaning of Life?"
"How To Murder Your Wife"?
No, it's down the river you're sold
"We are sinking, please finish your soup,"
"Use the loo - we mustn't leave poop."
And then take your turn
As the ship starts to burn
To play "Nearer, my God" on a loop.
It has eight legs! It's there on the floor!
How'd that Octopus get in the door?
It's fresh from the sea
And it's smarter than me
And my God it looks just like Al Gore!
In the land that we now call Iraq
They're proposing to place a blue plaq
On a house in Baghdad
A home for jihad
Where there once lived a young man called Raak
Can you eat up the rest of this flour?
It won't last much more than an hour
We must not let it rise
Or else its sheer size
Will swallow up Shipston-on-Stour
'Tis the 400th year of dear Willy
The bard not the whale, silly billy
After four hundred years
His oeuvre appears
So much better than Milli Vanilli
's
It's May and the sap is a-rising
The new cider looks most appetising
So come all ye drunkards
Lift up your tankards
(Whose contents don't bear analysing)
Through the blossom and meadows I dance
Gazelle-like I pirouette and prance go for it, pen
But, hid by this sedge,
Is my five fruit and veg!
And all of them produits de France
Well, that was an odd one. I hadn't expected that.
The world of Gerard, Count of Nice
Was described in this nice press release:
A Master of Biscuits
Despiser of Triscuits
In quantities from "un" to "six". Sorry [pen], let continental-themed weirdness abound. Nevertheless a stylish finish from [Pablo]
[Meadow Dancing pen] I expected at least one person to post about not wearing any pants. I was going to on line two but thought it would be a better punch line for line five.
In the city of Aix-la-Chappelle
Danced Penelope, like a gazelle
Is that Stevie - both are nude!
In his hand - gee that's rude!
I just hope that they don't kiss and tell
While I was tending my garden
I received from the Queen a full pardon
Writing long lines that don't scan at all
Sent the Sovereign right up the wall
Causing her stance on such infractions to harden.
An infinite number of monkeys
Assisted by five EU flunkies
Rough-drafted a treaty
UK rules for graffiti
To reserve it for registered junkies.
To work out the square root of pi
Please first the last π-digit quantify
Then by taking the log
And a sly sip of grog
You'll be fine - just bluff your way by.
It's one and a bit!
When time, space, and knowledge combine
With superior shape, form and line,
One ought to be dazzled
Or even brain-frazzled
By the stuff that's produced - it's all mine!
When you think you are ready you're not
And the things that you got, you ain't got
So live while you live
'Cos life is a swizz
What you've not got can fester and rot.
Could this chicken be up to fowl play?
From my vantage point, hard to say
It does seem inclined
To sneak up behind
'Til a cock crows and gives it away
It wasn't a fowl 'cos he dived
A move, as in football, contrived
With a kingfisher's grace
To fall flat on one's face
And a red card from the ref is survived
Monday morning - the struggle goes on
To house-train my iguanodon
I'll be hailed as a wizard
Of incontinent lizard
Where a nose-peg's a sine qua non.
I've managed to train up a gazelle
To fart without making a smell!
This flatulent trick
Involves mud and a brick
An ending occurred, but I already had a go -
Hidden text- And it will win me the Ig Nobel!
And a diet of silica gel. (Bis) V. gentlemanly
As I looked out me window last night
I could not but notice a slight
Nasty nip in the air
Though the weather was fair
Fukushima was within sight.
When you're leaving Japan please make sure
That your thoughts and your deeds have been pure.
For the Shinto religion
Protects even a pigeon
From charges of being "manure"
I'm wearing a lightning conductor
Made of copper as per my instructor Stormy in Clogland, pen?
's advice. He was right!
Look what happened last night -
Prematurely discharged when I...engaged her in consensual acts of an intimate nature.
One red carrot I've offered my horse
It bit off my fingers, of course
But aren't horses veggie?
But they can be quite edgy
As my A&E can endorse!
Oh woe is me, I am undone
I thought it was comic and fun
But alas and alack
Everything has turned black
Can we undo the referendum?
So, what is he going to do now?
While waiting to take his last bow?
Will he come 'round again?
Or collapse in great pain?
Or renege on "resign is my vow!"
I'll resign again and again and again
The meaning of this is quite plain
What I've wrought is at hand
I am unfit to stand
If you voted for me then you're insane.
However, I may just bounce back
On my elastic hypocrisy track
As plan B starts fail
My brave face turn pale
I surprise the whole world with my quack.
Let's clear out the old, bring in new
And toss out the false, bring in true
Give us hope, peace and love
And harmony, aw'right bruv?
I've told you 'bout sniffing that glue!

Mercy Killing invoked.
Software - Let us clear out the old, bring in new
Stevie - And toss out the false, bring in true
Marc - Give us hope, peace and love
Rosebud - Olive branches - white dove
Peacemaker - And one day our dreams will come through.
What we need is a quick coup de gr?ce
Oh woe, it doesn't take extended character sets...
What we need is a quick coup de grace
And, should such a thing come to pass,
Don't say "Coo de Grah"
Lest you prompt a fnarr
Then we kill you with pure poison gas...
When you leave will you please close the door
Or the whole house will smell of your spoor
"daw ... spaw ... spaw ... daw..."
Your best friends haven't told you
That fungus on you grew
The day you came back from The War
Men of Harlech! The Zulus are risin'
Dead are heap'd with dying! (How surprising)
On to Bulawayo!
I'm declaring this one a bad steer on account of poor scansion and attempted forcing of people to type something about Ketshwayo instead of opening up vistas of wit. My fault not entirely
Down the church hall they're all on parade
To acclaim killer Stevie's blockade.
Harlech's W.I.
Hidden text[Stevie] what did you have in mind when mixin' races like that? That Zulu chief was far from my mind, it was more a challenge to see what could be found on the Bulawayo road, summat like: Men of Harlech, the Zulus are risin'//Dead are multiplying (How surprising)//On to Bulawayo!//Where the darkies we'll K.O.//Thus apartheid loomed on the horizon.
Went on an excursion to Skye
They sailed o'er the sea
For a nice cup of tea ...normal service etc
With a Talisker dram - oh aye-aye!
There was a young man from Prestatyn
Who saw a knob and pressed that in
A twenty-ton weight
Was released and fell straight
on his head - the result was to flatten
Way back in my Ministry days
In charge of Hampton Court Maze
I engaged Alan Turing
Thus firmly ensuring
That we're leaving the Maze walking sideways. (Alan didn't walk straight, did he...?)
Back then, I commanded the troops I think I'm heading for trouble with this one.
By Jove, I'd them jumping through hoops!
English as she's spoke
With a fnoot sull of coke
S'like impossible hooptroop de loops
How about:
Back then, I commanded the troops I think I'm heading for trouble with this one.
By Jove, had 'em jumping through hoops!
When out on parade
Primed on neat lucozade
They lined up in sugary groups
My afro is fulsome and pert!
Likewise my black rubber skirt Today I am a hovercraft
I'm dressed up so nice
My chin dabbed with Old Spice
You must think me a terrible flirt!
My tonsure requires some repair
It's become overgrown, here and there
In the cloister, it's said
I look like Judge Dredd
A parable I think is unfair.
Do you mind if I ask you to shave?
Yes, I do; I'm going to a rave
It's not OTT
To grow a goatee
In the shape of a stone architrave
Why aye man, Irn Bru's just the thing
At a "Spinners" reunion in Tring
It puts hairs on your chest
Which women detest
So go gay, and let MEN pull your ring. It's OK, I already picked up my coat
The gas-man is mending a leak
Hidden text(Pj) You are disgraceful person:-)
And he uses the latest technique
Of taking a match
To set fire to the thatch
- next thing, there's a blood-curdling shriek.
No smoking! No pipes! No Cigars!
Says the sign in the passenger cars
When I need a good puff
I call the guard's bluff
It went wrong. I was put behind bars!
Now that Hamish has finished his tea
He'll meet Dougal, just wait and see...
And, inspecting his flask
Its contents? - don't ask
(...it's a mixture of Bourbon and pee.) Coat please...
Enough of the Scots! Let's talk Swede!
It's a thing all my vegetables need!
My turnips want more
It's a bit of a bore
But it helps when they start to set seed.
There was a young lady from Bude trad
Allergic to all sorts of food
Nuts, gluten, and soy
She could never enjoy
Their effect on her bowels was just rude
There was a young man out of Rhyll Redressing the balance a taff tad.
Who ran up a huge restaurant bhyll I blame the spellchecker
By scoffing ten courses
He thereby endorses (pen) One "l" in Rhyl. Hard luck.
Credit card use at the thyll
The goddess of love (name of Venus)
Is wearing no clothes - it's tawdriness
She steps out of her shell
But - Dear God - the smell
Being locked up so long is quite heinous
And lo, the seasons doth change
No more hay-fever, now it's the mange
Or frost-bitten toesies
Hidden text(Stevie) Stand nearer the soap
Get out your knee cosies
Home sweet home on the (kitchen) range.
I've been equinoxed twice now this year!
An excuse to break out the beer
And play Jean Michel Jarre
Loud, in my car
Hidden text(Bis) Not quite yet. The equinox is at 1422 UT, 4 miinutes away as I type this.
While doing a ton in first gear
[Pablo] Did you pass me on the motorway this morning?

Roaring past at a hundred and ten
Pablo altered the volume and then
Jean Michel Jarre
Howled out of his car
What an earful for fearful young pen!
Let us dance a Dark Morris to bring
An end to this ludicrous fling
Do some hop 'n bop 'n
To rhythms forgott'n
Then your hook you can sling
While waiting for Godot one day
I think that I thought - 'come what may'
Was a bad Abba song
That stood out from the throng
Coz they sang it in G - should be A
It says not to try this at home
It's a thing you can do with a gnome
But please to take care
When you do it and where
Don't forget your protective Styrofoam.
Use a Styrofoam hat when you bike
With Styrofoam pants, if you like
Then add Styrofoam socks
To ward off hard knocks
It's a trick they used in the Third Reich.
I shall take my laboratory rat
And feed it five kilos of fat
Grow it big as a dog
Then inject egg-nog
And see if it goes for the cat.
Could be, there's a Nobel in this
We can make IPA from my piss! [Sorry Phil, if you're watching]
So, pen, get drinking
And never stop thinking
And telephone Greene King
Hidden textOo-er... simulapologies. Sorry.
That recycling realy is bliss
That brew of the gods, IPA
So don't let anyone say
It's just flavoured water
And drink it you oughta
With a smile, right after you pay
Hidden textFor the record, one really has no high gound to stand on if one goes where that last-but-one effort went so quickly.
I've launched a crowdfunding campaign!
Hidden textThe poor man's Nobel?
To design an intelligent brain
With some High-Tech connections
I've high expectations
Or it's 50 grand straight down the drain
Oh well done everyone! Crisps all round!
[Stevie]You are handcuffed and arrested for inferior rhyming. Here are samples of some correct choises: affections, collections, complexions, confections, convections, corrections, defections, detections, directions, dissections, ejections, election's, elections, erections, infections, inflections, injections, inspections, objection's, objections, projections, protections, reflections, rejections, selections
(Stevie) I think he means choices but what do I know.
[Rosie] I like his/her use of "correct" as the compliment of "inferior" myself. And my response is, as always, that the commentator, having asserted their superiority, is now free to indulge their love of sex and that of travel simultaneously.
Choose your words carefully, now
And enunciate "How now, brown cow?"
And make sure not to write
That the kids is all right [Rosie, Stevie] Hiding behind a pseudonym? Never a good stance for those assuming the role of scansion and rhyming police, nor for Brexiteers for that matter.
For some lurker will make you kowtow.
It is words that maketh the man
Just so long as they rhyme and they scan
Hidden text[Rosie] I think he meant options. There was only one choice to be made. Also, I wonder why 'election' and 'objection' were rendered in both plural and possessive form. Ho hum, we shall probably never know.
But what makes the lasses careful now...
Is poetry classes
Someone should tell Princess Anne. (pen) penult. Not guilty, Miss. The rather bumptious miscreant remains at large.
(Softers) You bin up nawf or sunnink?
Princess Royal - how lovely thou art
E'en when your horses do fart
From a surfeit of hay
Carrots, lentils, and whey
Don't stand too close when they depart.
Good heavens! Don't make such a fuss
They'll all think that you're just a wuss
Stop that complainin'
Just cos it's rainin'
And it's three hours before the next bus
"Give me your arm", said the nurse
While I half-inch the cash from your purse
We're not paid enough
So we have to get tough
But Brexiters' promises are worse
Re: BREXIT: The will and the way
Are frankly in some disarray
Why Article 50
Is getting more shifty Oblig.
And further away by the day
The tabloids are ranting of treason
It's their spleens and their bile that they're easin'
But their ignorant bile Can't call it anything else...
We must take with a smile
Till the count's in. Then comes the apeasin'
Enough with this democracy!
A tyrant's what we need
Who will make up the rules
Not giving a bugger about what works or not
Just like the players of this game
I think a glow-worm was struggling to get out there:
Enough with this democracy!
A tyrant's what we need.
He'd rule without hypocrisy
By one rule: his own greed.
Enough with this democracy
Let's try a spot of anarchy
No political boss
No giving a toss
No Don and no Hil bugging me

Just off the top of my head, in stream of conciousness. My start was good and offered an easy array of pertinent rhymes. Everyone else was to blame. I'm keeping these crisps. 8oP
I preferred the original.

In matters of scansion and rhyme
We abide just some of the time
But when we do not (Raak) It was, and my fault too. I'm 73, you know.
We react on the spot
And wax wroth in interpretive mime.
Hidden text[Rosie] I'm only a decade and a bit behind you.
Dear Hill'ry don't cry - you've got Bill
I'm sure he can give you a thrill
With a Cuban cigar
So nothing can mar
Your joy at the ring of the till.
That's it, for another four years
We'll hear nothing but wailing and tears
And old Lady Luck
Appears to be stuck
And you're all quite correct in your fears
When all the "Trumpettes" start yelling foul
I'll cover my head with a towel
You're donning a turban?
How quaintly suburban!
We Valley Girls wear "Hillary's cowl." that'll do.
Way up on a peak in the Andes
Or down on the banks of the Ganges
One stands and one stares
One mutters one's prayers
While lighting regretful our candles...
The Siberian Filigree Hamster
Hidden text Glad to see Marc is keeping up the tradition :)
Foreshadows a rhyming disaster
So I'll have an orange
One rose that is yellow
Schadenfreude to make Superman swear?
Tradition is seldom surpassed
By stuff that relates to the past
Nostalgia is fine,
Hidden textOoh, I swear... I can feel a Stevie-level strop coming on for that previous limerick treatment :)
Like a noble old wine
But the future goes past rather fast
The meaning with Christmas I think
Is that it's a good time to drink
I can't be the first you're welcome
With a seasonal thirst
But that punch looks suspiciously pink.
This year I'd like Santa to bring
The album Herb Alpert Plays Swing
And a Rover P6
A timepiece that ticks
And a furlong of Number Two string.
Scrooge said, "Now that old Marley's dead,"
"His riches are now mine instead"
But three ghosts made him see
Things quite differently
As one by one they turned up in his bed.
Bob Marley, a singer-songwriter,
Once asked me to lend him my lighter
To stoke up his spliff
And I would've done - if
I could find it. Where is it?, the blighter. I lose things, everything, all the time.
While drinking a small glass of sack
Guess who bumped into my back?
A small, forlorn elf
Who looked like Will Self
For both reasons, he went on the rack.
One for Stevie, as he asked :)
While I rode on the LIRR
I tuned my acoustic guitar
To the key of B flat
As we all sat and sat
But the train didn't move very far
Choose a chord, and then play it with speed
A G minor sixth's what you need
Modulate to E flat
F sharp with that
A very nice ringtone indeed
[pPRSS] A masterpiece for cellphones indeed...
The Finger Print Lock for my phone
Will exclude any omi palone
But if I lose my touch
Or get drunk, or some such
It unlocks with the right type of moan
My telephone's battery is dead
So I think I'll try shouting instead.
At least I won't squint
Or cast it to print
That you put in the shredder unread
We will soon see another dictator
Little Donald, whose motto is "greater"
His first action will be
To grope girls (two or three)
While tweeting "Obama's a traitor."
I just found a bunch of "fake news"
While tweeting "Obama's a traitor."
I just found a bunch of "fake news"
According to Trump, it's abuse
And badly written, to boot
Himself to disrepute
The world thinks he has blown a fuse...
Will they give him a standing ovation
Or just give him a straight flat castration
I'm hoping the latter
Cos castratos are fatter
So fat chance of shafting the nation
This Friday the First Trump will sound
And our dreams will crash down to the ground
Cometh hail mixed with blood
An avalanche of crud
Or a dollar worth more than a pound
But the man isn't president yet! 33 hours at the time of posting...
Sorry, 45 if you count up to midday on 20th
Soon he is and to all that's a threat
The nukes do his bidding
(Don't think he's kidding)
And then it's Auf Wiedersehen, Pet
There once was a loudmouthed clown
Who stuck his name all over town
On a poster that said
"Wanted: Living or Dead"
They shot him, and then he piped down.
A big fat notorious lier
Is the state to which marrows aspire!
For every courge's
Desire to be bourgeois
Grinds the people down. Ready! Aim! Fryer!
My lies are alternative facts
So your claim that my previous acts u.s.a.
Are truly obnoxious
Is thoroughly poxious
Same to you, no returns, to the max.
The last Jedi, alone on a hill
Stared wildly at his cell phone bill
His vast roaming charges
On spacefaring barges
So he hides - but they find him at will!
In an X-wing outbound for the Death Star
I was munching on a Mars® bar
When the Admiral said
"Right - full steam ahead!"
Then we crashed into Star Alcazar
My august predecessor once said,
"If you don't make a million, you're dead"
Now I sell p3n1z p1llz
Made of porcupine quills
Will you test them tonite in your bed...?
"Dear Sir, I am not one of those"
"Correspondents whose flowery prose"
Obfuscates my true meaning
My gist needs no gleaning
It hits you right there, on the nose.
My new novel will be out next week
For a giggle, I wrote it in Greek
And I used pseudonym
Jakob Ludwig Karl Grimm
But the press let my real name leak.
Christ almighty this bad weather sucks!
You'd think that El Niño's in flux!
Snow, hail and fog
It's not fit for a dog
It's the fault of those pesky Canucks.
My moped won't start, so these chocs
Won't stay very long in their box
A sweet compensation
For utter frustration
With a martini, stirred, on the rocks.
Mister Bond with a license to kill
Took position on top of Box Hill
His Sig Sauer set ready
His aiming arm steady
He knows there is no better thrill.
When it gales I'll mither and gall mis-using word types wild
The mizzle will bother and fall
While rainth and sleetch fail
It's time for the shail!
And the frog shall obscure parts of Gaul.
This coffee I made tastes like paint
And just a slight trace of boar taint
I should have used water
'Cos it clogs my aorta
Can I sit down? I feel faint
This paint I've just mixèd tastes sour
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