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The Obligatory Limericks Game Reincarnated
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And so it begins....
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My brain, too, is f****d rhyme it as you wish
But there's two Roses left!
Shall I have 'em? Why, yes! On your nelly!
It is grim and I want for some sun
But the rain and the fog aren't quite done
And tonight, snow and ice
Will be playing at dice
With hailstones (for even more fun!)
This was fun, but I have to be going
Next morning for Cambridge I’m rowing
The cox says my stroke
Needs that much more poke
And I must ditch the hamper I'm towing
The whales off of east New South Wales
Are relaxed about storms, floods and gales
Well, some like it rough
(Orcas surf in the buff)
But enough off-the-cuff whale details.
Have you recently fallen in love?
I wouldn't quite call it that, bruv
Then have you been dating?
I'm equivocating
Such pedestrian stuff, I'm above
As the weather grows colder and colder
The White Walkers roam south ever bolder
No wall is too high
The zombies draw nigh!
Someone stop them! We need a door-holder!
Here's the carrot and there is the stick
So which are you going to pick?
The choice is so hard
Like picking a card
Incentives should best do the trick.
The cave where the blue monkeys dwell
Has a very particular smell
Of typewriter ribbon
And erudite gibbon
So pongy, and funky as well.
O, to follow a winding canal
To somewhere more calm (not banal) Margo Leadbetter vowels invoked
With Prunella Scales
Whom Basil fails
With fawlty unsafe rationale
Sail a boat, bonny girl; be at peace.
You'll find all your problems will cease (Chalky) Classy, that
Your peace is assured (Rosie) too kind, dear chap
For the time you’re unmoored
If you keep all your rollocks well-greased.
When one tunes in to Radio 1
One will wish that one hadn't've done.
For it's radio crap
(moans the grumpy old chap)
It's like tuning in to The Sun Would rather not have used 'tune in' again but couldn't think of anything else that scanned.
While listening to Radio Two
- Which is what one would rather not do -
I was bored out my mind
Then thought "search and you'll find"
'I'm Sorry I Haven't A Clue'
Go to bed in a bitter bad mood
And then breakfast on mountains of food
Then maybe you'll find
Your bogrolls unwind
To keep pace with the quantities pooed
The rate of inflation's insane
By the time I wrote this line, the gain
Is forty percent
So I live in a tent
As for cash, I have naught but disdain.
When one listens to Radio Three
(Which is not at all smug or snobby)
One's erudite taste
Does not go to waste
With Darjeeling as one's choice of tea
Now Radio Four's for the few
Such as those who Haven't A Clew
And those who like Ambridge
Or speak the welsh language
Tuned in from Lundy in a canoe.
(Chalky) Ofnadwy! Ti'n medddw neu rhywbeth?
Radio Caroline for me is the best
For those who are pop tune obsessed
But if you like jazz
Scuttle Radio Caz
And give Tony Blackburn a rest.
There's four thousand holes in the hall
Through which the kobolds will crawl
Even Superman quails
His power fails
So holes blocked, therefore, sod all.
There’s nine million bikes in Beijing
Each with a bell that goes ping
They fly through the dawn
And park on the lawn
Against the law of Comrade Xi Jiping
When the clock strikes out four steady chimes
It's the signal to set loose the mimes
Whose blitheness of spirit
Is of great mirit NZ pronunciation invoked
And moves along with the times
There isn't a reason I know
Why the cat should be starting to glow
Perhaps it's on heat
And hoping to meet
A cool cat to lay on a show.
I'm feeling some strange feelings, man
And I’m not sure it’s part of the plan
I seem to be joined
(While my reason’s purloined)
By James Bond in a VW van.
I've just taken leave of my senses
And I've start to relinquish my tenses
My ego is stilled
Libido killed
Ennui's destroyed my mental fences.
A spell at the track, watching dogs
In pursuit of fake hare each dog jogs
But a jog supersonic
(and that's NOT a mneumonic!)
Cannot be achieved wearing clogs.
It grows in each corner, like mould
When the air becomes stale, damp and cold
But if rats intervene
Just apply margarine
A rodenticide, so I am told.
If it's butter you seemingly lack,
Then make use of this genius hack:
Find a dandelion field
And ‘neath your chin wield
A small knob of Danish Lurpak
All the poems that ever were written
Can't compare to the new of a kitten
*mew
BIFURCATION!

But "new what?" you may ask | That soprano cry
Well! Let onlookers bask | Could bring tears to the eye
And they'll note that I've just been bitten/And a language that's yet to be written
Hmmm... Let's see if this one goes any better. :)

The most desperate words ever spoken
I exclaimed as I woke in Hoboken:
"Send Marmite! And cheese!"
"And some toasted bread, please"
And a 50p gas meter token!
[CdM] Another flub. 50P? In Hoboken? Woe, lackaday etc 8o)
All the dreams of my youth are long faded
All my sensuous tastes are long jaded
I shall lie in my bed
And watch TV instead
Then wink out, just the way the display did
Now the arc of my plan's more a spike
What's that? Speak into the mike
A bang then a whimper
A fart and a simper
(And the heckler can get on his bike)
[R,R,C,P] Now that was a limerick!
(CdM) Agreed. Top-drawer.
Can the real Mister Shady stand up?
So that we can present the cup
And a small piece of paper
Freshly dropped by a vaper
Which proves his real name is Miles Jupp
I am a Morniverser
May I revise as I think you put a glow worm in the limericks (and vice versa)
I play in the Morniverse games
Wearing gold-plated spectacle frames
But have noticed of late
That they're losing their plate
So I guess it's time for new frames.
Be young and be foolish, he said.
So do it now, before you are dead (Pj) Yeah, funny stuff, alcohol. A small molecule that goes round the brain pulling out a few plugs.
Because once you're deceased
Turns out everything's leased
Sink your gold in a cask lined with lead.
O! Were it not for my vanity
I'd eschew this vexatious insanity
I’d cast off my qualms
Call out saws; sing out psalms
I'd live in total inanity
Oh, I wish I'd looked after me teeth[1]
'cos for now they just need a wreath
All the toffees I chewed
And the plaque I accrued
Means they're not even fit to bequeath To some lucky relative, obvs. :-)
On the day that the music ceased living
I remember that I was then giving
Out newspapers, news
Of the dry levee blues
And such heartbreak went deep like a shivving
While rooting around in my shed
Up with which I soon got fed
Then off with which pissed
Hidden text [RtG, P, g, C] Beautiful— particularly the lovely and unexpected closing line. I am not sure if the echo of “shiver” from the opening verse of AP was deliberate (though, knowing Chalky, probably yes), but whether intentional or serendipitous, it was icing on the cake.
I was - you - grabbed my wrist (pass the parse-l)
Which down balloon went like a lead
The legs that I grow in my garden
Need concrete and sun for to harden
And when they are done
With concrete and sun
I'll be stuck; can't move; beg pardon.
I'm refined: I drink sherry and port.
A mixture my grandmother taught
Though she'd also opine
That strawberry wine
Was poison, and lands you in court.
Be awatch, for the tigers may come
Sneak up and bite on your bum
If they come from the side
You’ll be swiftly de-thighed
Leaving one buttock startlingly numb
The most perfect example of karma
Occurs if one unmasks a llama
When their cover is blown
They despairingly moan
They love to make it a drama
Alpacas are much more relaxed
E'en when their patience is taxed
Can I suggest a tweak?:
Though their patience must sorely be taxed
By the wool in their eyes
And so it's no surprise
That they're calmest when recently waxed
So may we now welcome the spring?
Or is it but premature bling?
Should we really focus
On tulips and crocus
Late April, O where wert thy schwing?
Although last month was awfully cruel
Often I come back and re-read these lines, and find the scansion/stress in my head is less clear on the page. :(

Although last month was awfully cruel
So cold it used up my fuel
("...all my fuel"?)
The forecast's Set Fair
For somewhen; for somewhere
So will now head south-east to Kitzbühel
Take one pound of self-raising flour
And some free range eggs into the shower.
Add dandruff shampoo
And a bath bomb or two
Then bake Gas Mark 4 for an hour
I unwisely deployed a molossus
A poetical speed-bump to boss us (Pj) That was difficult
The confounded thing
Took an almighty swing
And impacted my smarting probscis
When it's Friday you don't seem to know it
Then you're told it's the Day Of The Poet
But most say "Thank God"
This verse is not cod Invoking polari
But the lim'rick's a cramped space to show it.
The bin round has started and, phew,
Now diesel fuel's refused - who knew?
Ah! No-one will touch it
But they will take mutt-shit
So my dog's joined the diesel-fed crew.
[Bismarck] Excellent!
It's raining, oh misery, woe.
My home's flooded, oh where shall I go?
On second thoughts, strike the "oh".
Try the roof, for a while
Bed down on pantile?
Failing that, well, just go with the flow
I've acquired a decanter for whisky
But there’s no call to be so tsk-tsk-y
Let's have no half measures
Simply the pleasures
Of raising the urge to get frisky.
In the process of looking for flowers
I was caught in a series of showers
But I had my brolly
And wellies, by golly
Such meteorological powers!
Rising early, I wended to Wales
To research the fledging of snails (They take to the wing and leave the nest mid-June or so, I believe)
I've spent my whole grant
So now I just can't
Deny that it's one of my fails.
A while ago I had this thought:
For greater scansion clarity, given that the line could also be read iambically
A while ago I had this thought:
Can a poetic licence be bought?
Or is it innate?
Let's ask the laureate
Just nick one but do not get caught. It is I, Rosie
My darling cannot understand
Why her planes can't be friends with the land
They circle above
Sighing deeply with love
This whole verse is rather bland
Everything I have done, or would do
I'd do it again, painted blue
I've bought futures in woad
So I'll make a load
Now I own this hex color code too
"Hast seen the white whale?" Ahab cried
It's white on only one side!
On the other — who knows!
Look out! Thar she blows!
”My God! That side’s—”. Then he died
In this bitter and blind and bleak land
Hidden textCompleting my Yeats sequence: I had this thought a while ago / My darling cannot understand/ What I have done, or what would do / In this blind, bitter land
That fell unmade from God's wearied hand
I see nought but crap
Oh, please give me a slap
In return for this gold Krugerrand
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