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Limerick Showcase
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A chance for players to showcase whole limericks for amusement & edification. Standard winning move for the purposes of euthanasia.
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I posted something like this one a long time ago, somewhere in the Morniverse:
For the crown that is rightfully mine
I shall poison my uncle's best wine
When he shuffles off
Past that dread bourne whereof
None return, I'll at his table dine.
I'll sing, "Happy Birthday to You"
And repeat, "Happy Birthday to You"
Whatever your name
The song sounds the same
"Happy Birthday to you". Yes, to you!
Half a pound of tuppenny rice
Half a pound of treacle
That's the way the money goes –
Unexpected item in the bagging area
May God save our wonderful Queen!
May God save our wonderful Queen!
May God save our Queen!
May God save our Queen!
May God save our wonderful Queen!
According to my late father, a school music teacher, a lot of the children only knew two lines of "God Save The Queen": "God save our gracious Queen" and "God save the Queen". You can sing the whole thing with just those.
Although all the lassies protest,
They love when you’re kissing their breast,
And caress, ‘you know what’,
While you’re rubbing their butt,
Then they let you go South heading West.
A golfer once said to his caddy,
“You know that I could be your daddy,
Cause I courted your ma,
When I caddied your pa,
Though to score was your own Uncle Paddy.”
Her stern was much wider than her aft
Though her starbord side looked like a raft
But the width of her gunwales
And fill of her mainsails
Made her deepness the same as her draught
When I hear Cliff sing "Mistletoe
And Wine" it makes me want to throw
Up into a bucket
But then I think. "**** it,
There's only five more weeks to go!"
To deal with a shrew needs no guess
I know just the thing that works best
At first she said "No!"
And again she said "No!"
But at last she said "Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!"
Eye of newt, wool of bat, hubble bubble
The Thane's hopes shall all come to rubble
By lying with truth
He'll do deeds that aren't couth
Banquo's line shall outlive all his trouble.
The answer the great men had sought
Was given, at last, by Deep Thought
But the question, it seems
Is concealed in our dreams
And can't be begged, stolen or bought
Don't believe everything that you hear
Unless told at a pint of good beer
If it's Guinness you’ll know
She confirms she's aglow
When she nibbles the lobe of your ear.
Antonio's ships come to naught
So by Shylock's harsh contract he's caught
But he proves black is white
And the court finds him right
So he walks, leaving Shylock distraught.
There once was a man from Siberia
Who excelled by so many criteria
Still, his wit and his style
Were surpassed by a mile
By his fetchingly sculpted posterior

G. Samsa's strange metamorphosis
(Which renders him horribly gross) is
Perhaps metaphorical
Or else allegorical
Or just unexplained mass psychosis
There was a young man, name of Swann
Whose sentences went on and on
Whatever he thought
He thought that you ought
To have every detail upon.
That night when we danced on the roof
We just did not want it to poof
So we took off our shoes,
Danced away all our blues,
Then I saw your left foot was a hoof....
A gay friend proposed that we wed
It’s the perfect solution, he said
We’d save on our taxes
And still we’d have access
To whomever we wanted in bed.

We both love collecting antiques
And cooking with garlic and leeks
You write and I edit!
And with our tax credit
We can wine dine and travel for weeks

And I thought, well—he laughs at my jokes
He’s more civilized than other blokes
He knows about money
He’s cute as a bunny
And I do get on well with his folks.

And so I agreed that we’d marry
He designed the bouquet that I’ll carry!
He picked me fab shoes
And booked us a cruise
And a bridesmaid -- an old queen called Barry.

Now I don't need to mow or to leaf rake
There's an all-you-can-eat plate of beef cake
Parading the house
Where I live with my spouse
Such bliss -- and it comes with a tax break!
[cfm] *applauds*
[Raak] Nice translation. But I thought I should post the original.

Ce bonhomme, nommé Swann, qui voulût
Que nous sussions sa vie et que nous
Ne perdissions pas même
Une miette de ses thèmes…
Hélas! Il se souvînt de tout
There once was a virgin who said:
"My hymen is safe 'til I'm wed",
Though one night in my Chevy,
When breathing got heavy,
She lost it, my back seat turned red.

There once was a man by the sea
Who farted at quarter-past-three
The smell lingered on
A full hour past dawn
I've got to admit it was me…
[CdM] Excellent translation! (I assume.)

Anonymous Linesmen unite!
You know that it is our plight
And highest ambition
To check each submission
And underline all with delight!

Tonight brings the last night of Yule
A time to get pissed, as a rule
Life returns to the drab
So let us all grab
Umbrella-drinks and jump in the pool

When Santa rides out on his sleigh
The little kids all shout "hurray"
Rudolph's nose is alit
So is Santa's (a bit)
From “Glühwein” with gleaming bouquet
Previous three excellent pieces of art were created some years ago on either of the 'Mornington' sites by some of the most frequent and genius submitters, so I am not the only one to blame!

A very old sailor once said
"Woe is me! I were better off dead!"
For he killed a great duck
Which incurred some bad luck
'Bout which Coleridge's tale must be read.
I can't get this one to scan very nicely - needs more work, but here's how it stands at present:

I lost my legs in Suvla Bay
How I wished I had died on that day
The survivors march by
Kids and I wonder why
As I hear Waltzing Matilda play

Btw, Raak - I'm thoroughly enjoying your Reader's Digest versions of the classics.

Enhanced version:

I lost my legs at Suvla Bay.
How I wished I had died on that day.
Now survivors march by
And as I wonder why,
I know "Waltzing Matilda" will play


In the house of a man that I tarried in
There was kept, in the attic, a harridan
But he wooed me with looks
Bade me put down my books
And eventually, Reader, I married him.
[Kim] Bravo!
Not a Limerick, but Rosie's "My friend Billy" poem in the Limerick game reminded me of the scansion of a George Formby style "Daytime TV" song I tried writing a while back:

I was lying in my room, one Monday afternoon, and I didn't know what to do.
I scratched my head, rolled over in bed, and switched on BBC2.
So I'm watching the telly, and scratching my belly, still in my dressing gown.
It was Cash in the Attic, with a woman in a static caravan in Braunstone Town.

Hidden texta grim part of Leicester

She sold everything she owned, 'cause she hated Methadone, and she wanted some better kicks.
She got one commission bid, for just twenty-seven quid, which was just enough for a fix.
Then a thought came through, this is BBC2, and a light shone over my head,
'Cause it's usually on on BBC1, this was Cash for an Addict instead.

A few samples where my undisciplined contribution made a big fuzz on http://parslow.com/mornington/
Version 1
Pablo: As I oiled up my ancient French horn
y_hron: I regretted the day I was born
Marc: 'cause my Ma the great cellist
Copper: Married pa known as Franz Liszt
Copper: Then they played out of tune all forlorn.
Version 2
As I oiled up my ancient French horn
I regretted the day I was born
'cause my Ma the great cellist
(and tubular-bellist)
Squeezed her legs around me - her firstborn.
Another version
As I oiled up my ancient French horn
I regretted the day I was born
'cause my ma the great hornist
Married Pa who was Franz Liszt
And he played till our ears were outworn.
 An excuse to Pablo and y hron whose great ambitions the rest of us obviously could not accomplish
And a big Thanks to Moom for the constructive suggestions to improvements!
As I oiled up my ancient French horn
I regretted the day I was born
'cause my Ma the great cellist
With her hairstyle up-trellised
Stopped playing and went into porn…
As I oiled up my ancient French horn
I regretted the day I was born
'cause my Ma the great cellist
Married Labours Dave Nellist
They'd expelled to his withering scorn.
There once was a storm in my head
Simulposting, made ‘Rosie’ turn red
Lim’rick experts beware,
Backseat drivers take care,
Frequent stops in our mainstream you’ll spread.
Our Pen, she is mightier than't' sword
A view that must not be ignored
For tilting at sails
In westerly gales
Is quixotic, and earns much reward.
Very good Rosie!
I'm writing this verse 'coz I'm bored
using time that I cannot afford
so much else I should do
such as sit on the loo
and flush when I once find the cord.
I've got rather a tickly cough
And my tonsils are feeling quite rough
As I sit here in Slough
And think this all through
I feel a bit better now, though.
Well done Phil, that's a tough one! ;-)
In the Highlands when new moon is full
Little lassies will give a hand pull
After while they will suck
And if you are in luck
You may mount them in kilts made of wool.

In order to seem more appealing
I'll plaster myself to the ceiling
From my lofty abode
'bove the family Spode
I'd welcome a cup of Darjeeling
.. from around 11 years ago - remember penelope and Kim being involved :-)
Don Quixote, a knight of La Mancha
Sallied forth on a life of advancha
He lived for the thrills
Of tilting at mills
Accompanied by Sanzo Pancha. (I know, but it rhymes better this way.)
I studied Midsummer Night's Dream
Where Bottoms are not what they seem
And nosegays abound
Puck a girdle puts round
And Titania takes one for the team (It was 30 years ago, and I've read no Shakespeare since)
[Chalks] Indeed. it was July 2003 - I just did some reading back. Wow. And wow again. There's an awful lot of pointless creativity here.

Could a day out in Dublin express
Ineluctable separateness
Of insight and knowing
And coming and going
And is it art? yes it is Yes
[Raak, Phil] Very nice, by the way. I think that, between the three of us, we have the makings of a book here. :-)
This is sort of a companion piece to Phil's earlier version of 'The Band Played Waltzing Matilda'
Will McBride, well I'm dead on my feet
But these poppies, they look really neat!
And so I'm here to tell
You that though war is hell
You'll find history doomed to repeat
[CdM] There's something very spiritually satisfying about the Limerick form. I think it's grossly underused in so-called "serious" poetry.
When the train stopped one hot afternoon
Adlestrop, I remember. 'Twas June.
Hay and meadowsweet, dry.
Scarce a cloud in the sky.
While the birds of two shires sang their tune.
[Phil] A mere five lines and I'm right there. Exquisite.
[Chalky] That was one of the several poems I was supposed to study for O-Level Eng. Lit. I managed a B, thanks to reading Lord of the Flies about 6 times, and Midsummer Night's Dream not being too dreary. I didn't like poetry then and, to be honest, I'm none too keen now, with a handful of exceptions. But I hated Adlestrop. Perhaps my English teacher (Mr Collins, a moron) would be pleased with my work at last :)
[CdM]
Hidden textOn reflection, I don't think I've ever seen a book of great works reduced to a Limerick abstract. Might I venture Limeriture, Limarature , Limericture or Literick as a working title?
[Phil, CdM] Do! Literick Limerature I Have Known or Literick Limeratures Down The Ages. Brilliant. Must try to get my head round one.
[Phil, pen] Well, the best example I know is by Wendy Cope.
Hidden textQuite what Wendy Cope is doing on a Best American Poetry< site is a mystery to me
On the other hand, she required five limericks for a single work, so we are clearly five times as good.

Also, I should note that while Phil, I and particularly Raak have been the most prolific on this theme, Kim supplied a nice entry as well, and there might be others I am forgetting.

The Brangwens, when women in love
Symbolically raven and dove
One craved adoration
Her kin, confrontation
So tragic - when push came to shove.
On a topical note:
We all know that roses are red,
And violets are blue, it is said.
But this lovesick old rogue
Thinks like Kylie Minogue
And I can't get you out of my head
Reposting from MCiOS's "HULK NEGOTIATE!":
What a wonderful verse form is this!
Sonneteers can all go take a piss!
Short, merry, and sweet
And as fast as bird's tweet
With my lady it surely can't miss!

My wife is a Lady, I think,
Cause her knickers are narrow, and pink
On the rim there is lace,
On the bottoms a trace,
Of the finest of beaver and mink.

On the ides of March Caesar was slain
"Et tu, Brute!" he cried out in vain
But Mark Antony knew
How the public to woo
The conspirators died for their gain.
Here's one I wrote on the Google game at MCiOS, in response to "beer limericks".
On the thirty-first day of December
I drank seventeen pints of Knee-Trembler (I had to -- any less wouldn't scan)
I then climbed a tree
And took a long pee
That was certainly one to remember!
Off the top of my head, as a month has passed:
When I hear Lenny Henry (that crooner)
Say a word like "safari", I'd sooner,
That a language so maimed
By a Brummie, be named
"Dudley Bantu" by Reverend Spooner.

On a tree by a river - Tom-tit
Sang of willows, tit-willows, a bit
When a gurgle he gave
And plunged into his grave
The Mikado became a huge hit
A dog is a fine friendly fellow
Even if his fur is yellow
Yet when his bark is loud
It scares the whole crowd
And makes most of them mellow.
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