Not a limerick, but a piece of found poetry from earlier this week (late April) that slotted into a memory of another poem from a long time ago. Little Boy kneels at the foot of the bed, Droops on the little hands little gold head. Hush! Hush! Whisper who dares! The Mablethorpe Webcam is Awaiting Repairs.
A backward limerick borrowed from James Hogg A backward young fellow from Chester Didn't know what to do, But then met someone who Adored it when fellows undressed her, A forward young lady from Leicester.
There once was a man with no penis Whose ejaculate was intravenous When he'd built up enough Of all that white stuff, So much for his underwear's cleanness!
[penelope] The version of that I first came across was: Little boy sits at the foot of the bed Absently stroking a golden haired head Oh my, what could be worse? Christopher Robin's been f*cking his nurse
Recently on Ye Twitteres, there was a meme flying around stating "Describe the plot of your favorite movie in a limerick; don't use the title." So... I'm Henry, a king like no other Plagued with sons who'd mutu'lly smother Each one, with bare hands Until one alone stands But you know what's worse? THEIR MOTHER!
I've just heard an unlikely claim That Johnson is changing his name He'll no longer be "Boris" But be known as "Maurice" And spout loads of crap just the same
It's the last Test for Alistair Cook Who can now go and write a large book About caring for sheep With a square leg that's deep And a Gray-Nicolls bat for a crook.
Let's go on a jaunt down to Florida! We'll drive the I-95 corridor And in this big van Go as far as we can Till the neighbours find out that we borrowed 'er.
Rosie, Raak, Software, Pablo, and CdM provided this on this site. Having just read an article on FOMMOG - Fear Of Meeting My Own Goals, which could form a new game - I felt this summed the subject up better than the article.
My mother said I should not Complain of my God-given lot But I feel I'm deprived As I have not arrived Where by now I should surely have got.