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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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Dunno why Wordsworth felt the need to use an extra four lines, myself!
Nice lines above - have incited me to give it my best effort

The country life, the country life
‘tis to be free of the city’s strife
Floods, drought, and frost
Are loves labor lost
And you’ll wake up sore as a banker’s wife

When a field is lying fallow
There is nothing more I hallow
As sowing the furrow
To rise up tomorrow
Waist deep in wheat tall and yellow

When the silk is nee on the corn
And the ear on cob is new born
The stalk is a castle
Enamored in tassel
- Come harvest my kingdom is shorn

I get my grapes straight off the vine
As do I berries and fruit for my wine
Though sugar were free
- my lil honey bee -
You’d still get all the business of mine

Today I’ve tickets to a play
But I haven’t that far to stray
That actor in the pine
That squirrel, he is mine
God has lent him to me for the day

Some folks: they long for, and go to sea
Beguiled by whales on the open lea
But the far cry of geese
‘tis that gives me no peace
It’s over the next mountain for me

Excellent!
Half a league, half a league did they ride
With "Forward the Light Brigade!" cried
"Charge for the guns"
Obeyed six hundred sons
Who rode into that valley untried.

"Forward the Light Brigade!" thundered.
No soldier knew someone had blundered
Not their's to ask why
Their's but to do and die;
To the valley of Death rode six hundred.

Cannon to left and to right
And ahead were more cannon of might.
Storm'd with shot and with shell
They rode boldly and well,
Till the jaws of Death were in sight.

They flash'd all their sabres so bare
They flash'd as they turned in the air
There sabring the gunners
As all the world wonders
They charged on their foe without care.

They plunged through the battery smoke,
Through the Cossack and Russian line broke.
All shatter'd and sunder'd
Rode back not six hundred
As the foe reel'd from their sabre-stroke.

With cannon to left and to right
And cannon behind out of sight
Storm'd with shot and with shell
While horse and man fell
The mouth of hell passed in their flight.

The world as a whole truly wonder'd
As out of that valley they thunder'd
The brave Light Brigade,
Can their glory e'er fade?
As we honour the noble six hundred!

[Phil] Tennymerick!
This is from 1958:
Half a league
Half a league
Half a league downward
Into Division IV
Drop Crewe Alexandra.
For IKB

Some say that he was a sage
And his railway was once all the rage
But despite the sweet ride
The tracks were too wide
And he lost the war o'er "Break of Gauge"




A dozen, a gross, and a score
Plus three times the square root of four
Divided by seven
Plus five times eleven
Is nine squared and not a bit more.

[Marc] S'a guddun
My first, second, third are in "slime"
My fourth twice in "lager and lime"
My fifth is in "brandy"
My sixth in "mild shandy"
Sev'nth and eighth in "Cork gin". How sublime!

And now that the end has come near
My friend, let me say this quite clear,
As I face the last curtain,
Of this I am certain,
To my way I'll surely adhere.

Regrets? Not a lot, that's what I say.
On each careful step on the byway,
Avoiding remorse,
I planned each charted course,
And much more than this, did it my way.

There were times, I'm sure that you knew,
That I bit off more than I could chew.
But when there was doubt,
I ate up, spat it out,
Faced it all and stood tall, as I do.

I've loved and I've laughed and I've cried.
And now as the tears subside,
My full share of losing
All seems so amusing.
In all that I did, I take pride.

What is a man; what has he got?
Not himself? Then he surely has naught.
To say things that he feels,
Not repeat one who kneels;
He truly must heed his own thought.

Though now I have travelled each highway
Let me say, and not in a shy way,
That the record will show
That I took every blow.
But more, so much more, did it my way.


My friend sent me a mail:
I also play baritone sax
It helps me unwind and relax
It's great for the lung
My fingers and tongue
And the noise clears the ears of all wax...

A variation of an old bawdy poem:

Over the hill came Pistol Pete
Ninety-five lbs. of swinging meat
He met up with a gal
By the name of Big Sal
Who had the Grand Canyon betwixt her feet.

The question remains when this tale is done
Should Pete of stood there or should he of run?
And though it is moot
One cannot dispute
Pete's now married cause he did neither one.

The albatross flew in the sky
I aimed my crossbow and let fly
But the fates were unkind
I went out of my mind
Now I sit here and bore passers-by.

*chuckles*
My benevolence comes at a price
To wit should you leap through the ice
Limit your spree
To less than three
As I will pull you out only twice


A girl of Brazilian extraction
Liked rock stars and double the action
She said with a swagger
She'd had Richards and Jagger
And BOTH had achieved satisfaction.....


When in the course of the times
The government tends to grave crimes
It's the right of us all
To send them to the wall
And get new ones and pay them our dimes.


I'm your God, have no others but me
With my name you mustn't make free
Rest one day, 'spect the 'rents
Don't kill, lust, steal pence
Tell the truth, covet not, and you'll see.

[Raak] Hoorah!
on a lighter note

To the eyes of the ignorant rabble
It looks like a load of pure babble
But my motives are pure
(Though my diction's obscure)
Either that, or I'm cheating at Scrabble


The mind-bending maths are all done
The race was a killer, it's won
All this mental corrosion
Suggests that implosion
Will best the Uranium Gun.


While singing an opera by Strauss
(in fact, it was Die Fledermaus)
I delighted the hordes
While treading the boards
And completely brought down the whole house.


standard singer's modesty....
The choirmaster asked for staccato.
The chorister sang it legato.
And his final top C,
Sounded more like a B -
There's a chance he might end up castrato

While Pablo was singing some Strauss
(It might have been Die Fledermaus)
I swung the iron ball
Knocked out the front wall
And completely brought down the whole house.

[Phil] Excellent! [Stevie] Calumny!
[Pablo] Thanks :)
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:

What I'd call a #

Hidden texthash sign
, I've found,
Americans mostly call #
Hidden textpound

Though in C♯
Hidden textsharp
it warps
To look like ##
Hidden textoctothorps
.
And would #
Hidden texthex
in Malaysia astound?

###


Marc, love the math one! That's brilliant!
[Phil] Stop waffling, man!
"When landing on water", they said,
(and presumably not being dead)
"Remove your jacket
from its packet
and place it over your head."

The last three lines are, word for word, part of the script for Ryanair's safety demonstrations, which sound like part of a Limerick every time I hear them (>50 times in the last four years), even though the scansion is, admittedly, a bit stretched.
[Moom] Ha! Oh the irony. An Irish airline oft-ridiculed for the way it handles matters making safety instructions in poor limerick form!
(KS) You'd like this, then:

∫ dcabin/cabin = log cabin.


[penelope] Heard it again today on the way back to GC from England, and have to make a small correction: it's "Remove the jacket". Doesn't help the scansion though.

Stevie -
To a boring volcano experiment
I added magnesium for merriment
And by sad mistake
Thermite I did make
And suffered a temp'ry impediment

[Stevie] Yikes.
[Stevie] An admirable approach to empirical research. Top marks!
Another from a friend...
This young man at graduate school
Did find a red ring ‘round his tool
He went to a clinic
The doctor was cynic:
”Can´t you see it´s just lipstick your fool!”

The proper version...
There was a young girl from Aberystwyth
Who took grain to the mill to get grist with
But the miller's son Jack
Lay her flat on her back
And united the organs they pissed with.

The first "y" in Aberystwyth is actually a schwa. Too bad

Remember, remember, remember!
That day on the fifth of November
When gunpowder, treason
And Popish malfeason
Are why we must traitors dismember.


There was a young lady called Hannah
Who had the effect of a spanner
With no ifs or buts
She could tighten men's nuts
In a frankly incredible manner.


I've been a wild rover, I fear
But the end of my roving draws near
For I'm clean out of dosh
And I drink orange squash
'Cos my insides were ruined by beer


The first valve is pressed firmly down
And the music it moves round and round
Then it comes out from here
In a tone bright and clear
(It began as a lip-farting sound)


I've a love of the tenor trombone
And in that I don't think I'm alone
For some it's The Valve
That's their musical salve
It's The Slide that puts me in The Zone


Eye of Newt, Wing of Bat, Leg of Frog
Anne of Cleves, John o' Groats, Hair of Dog
Add lemon 'til sour
Then stir for an hour
Drink down fast, and then run for the bog

[Stevie] Have three Bravi on me
I wrote this following my first reading of Watership Down - many moons ago ..
Intuition, sixth sense, second sight
Thus the panic began before light
An atmosphere foreign
In their once homely warren
Became reason enough for their flight

Infra Red Spectroscopy
From messing with quantums we glean
That symmetrical modes can't be seen
Asymmetrical change
Dipole moments derange
And a sharp peak's revealed to the keen.

Raman Spectroscopy
A laser makes the bonds vibrate
Just like infra red does. But wait!
With a polarized glow
Only symetric modes show
Which chemists find a useful trait

Because when both techniques are used on the same sample it can remove the need for dicking around with bond extinction coefficients and make structural analysis a matter of mental ball-and-stick topography. Result!

"Let's go to the ice-cap" he said.
"We're British! We can't end up dead!"
Well, the ice got a grip
So we cut up the ship
What we needed by then was a sled.


A question both deep and profound
Is whether a circle is round
In a paper by Erdös
Written in Kurdish
A counterexample is found

Not mine, this one, of course
Which reminds me of this mnemonic one I wrote more than a decade ago:

How I wish I could calculate pi!
Assess twice the ambit. Simplify:
Bisecting through
Canceling two
As the diameter thou divide by.

[CdM] Tremendous!

Möbius bands
A mathematician confided
That a Möbius band is one-sided
And you get quite a laugh
If you cut one in half
For it stays in one piece when divided.

(Anon)

A mathematician named Klein
Thought the Möbius band was divine
He said "If you glue
The edges of two
You get a weird bottle like mine."

(Leo Moser)


I do hope Attila the Stockbroker doesn't mind me posting one that he's just put on Facebook:

A smelly, stub filled old ashtray.
Badly kept Greene King IPA.
Grim, pinched-face psychosis.
Severe halitosis.
That's Faragery in the UK.


A bunch of editor-types with what I correspond came up with a deadly set of alternative lyrics for 'God Save The Queen' but about Oscar Pistorius. It started...
Oscar Pistorius
Short through a door for us
Girlfriend injurious...

I don't think it got an ending because we all decided we would all go straight to hell if we finished it.
Keep up the good work, chaps.
oh, and
Inspired by penelope and other editor-types

An athlete of deeds meritorious,
Whose life had been largely victorious,
With blind gunshots multiple -
Homicide Culpable -
Guilty of acts most inglorious


I like the # one.
Soon frostnights again

During winter we must feed the birds
They are hungry and come in great herds
They love sunflower seeds
It fills most of their needs
And the pay us with white little turds...

And they pay us with white little turds...
I'm just going out for a while
Said Oates, with a hint of a smile.
He's a good chap, I thought
He'll do what he ought
With a stiff upper lip, that's the style!

I once had a highly trained moggie
Who could do anything that a doggie
Could – but it wouldn't.
'Cos cats know they shouldn't.
It's a core part of their psychologgie

That miserable cur, Ebeneezer
Thought Christmas a costly purse-squeezer
Then four ghosts in his sleep
Showed him how being cheap
Made him quite an unpopular geezer.

What's red, fat and goes "ho-ho-ho"?
One's stuck in my chimney, you know
It's blocked up the flue
And between me and you
This prevents proper draw and smoke flow

The stockings were hung up with care
But we snuck down and hid (on a dare)
At eleven o'clock
Me and sis got a shock:
Uncle Frank and our Mam tot'ly bare.

There's a sleigh on me lawn, full of tat
And a bloke lying near, red and fat
It certainly gives pause
To think Santa Clause
Could arrive quite as plastered as that

Two tramps spend a long time in wait.
"Let's go," one says, "Godot is late."
"I'm sure that he'll come,"
Says the other, face glum.
They don't move, but continue to wait.

His codename is Ack-Ack Macaque
He's teamed with a newspaper hack
He's battled the Hun
With booze, cuss and gun
I reckon he's earned his own plaque

Please guide me, by thy steadfast hand
A pilgrim through this barren land
You're mighty, I'm weak
Deliv'rance I seek
And food evermore's what I've planned.

Tom Cromwell served Henry (mark 8)
Juggling life, limb and law for the state
Though for long years traduced
His repute's now been spruced
- for the next episode, we can't wait!

An Easter limerick:
I remember the stable that night
God's birth was a hideous fright
If you crossed him you'd choke
And he'd think it a joke
But we've got him nailed up now, all right.

A very disrespectful, and potentially offensive retelling of the Easter story - hell, here I come (not that you exist). You have been warned!

Hidden textWe killed him, then waited a minute / Took him down, found a tomb, stuck him in it / Rolled a boulder in front / And then somehow that **** / Survived! Now that's magic, innit!

Unashamedly stolen from my Aunty Maureen, who has Scottish parents.
A young fellow called Cholmondeley Colquhoun
Once kept as a pet a babolquhoun
His mother said, "Cholmondeley
Do you think it quite colmondeley
To feed your babolquhoun with a spolquhoun?"

- Inspired by something I read

Boobs boobs boobs, boobs boobs boobs, boobs boobs boobs
Boobs boobs boobs, boobs boobs boobs, boobs boobs boobs
Boobs boobs boobs, boobs boobs
Boobs boobs, boobs boobs boobs
Boobs boobs, boobs boobs boobs, boobs boobs boobs boobs.


To write dirty limericks you need
Dictionaries in which you will read
Dirty words that will match
A word rhyming with "snatch"
If you’re filthy like us you’ll succeed.

But if you're a bit of a cock
With a mind like a smelly old sock
Your feeble endeavour
To seem bright and clever
Just gives us more reason to mock

These boobs just keep running and running
As Stevie writes verse oh-so-cunning
As cool as ice cubes
He delivers his 'boobs'
And his final-line scansion is stunning

Enough of this outrageous hammery,
It makes me all stuttery-stammery,
I blush to my nose,
And just stare at my toes,
When the topic's unceasingly mammary.
(Sorry, wasn't very bold there...)
Not original, but an old favourite because of its sheer silliness:

Said the vicar of Old St Paul's
"Concerning these cracks in the walls,
would it be faster
to use quick-dry plaster?"
And the Bishop of Leicester said "Balls!"



The message came in bit by bit
It was clear things had gone all to shit
The chap on the wireless
Was tapping out, tireless,
Dit-dit-dit, dah-dah-dah, dit-dit-dit.

My name is Mouldy Muldoon
And I am a shade of maroon
That is kind of green
So it's never been seen
But you will discover it soon.

OR

My name is Mouldy Muldoon
And I am a shade of maroon
That is kind of green
With an opulent sheen
That shines with the light of the moon!


It's Monday: can't get out of bed.
It's Tuesday: A gas bill that's red.
It's Wednesday: a bruise.
It's Thursday: blown fuse.
It's Friday: Hooray! Still not dead!

A nod is as good as a wink
To a blind horse. But pause now and think
All this nodding and winking
And unseemly blinking
Could drive the poor creature to drink


Trainspotting in my teen years
Once was a cause for some tears
I was hit by a train
Then a tram, and again
By a linesman who boxed my poor ears


Humidity's getting me down
Every evening the Sun plunges down
But the air remains hot
And I find that it's not
So much sleep I get, more like I drown

A friend mailed me this one:
There was a young lady of Niger
who smiled as she rode on a tiger.
They returned from the ride
with the lady inside
and the smile on the face of the tiger.


If Godot eventually comes
He'll rescue this pair of old bums
They despair of their fate
Yet hope while they wait
That Godot next day surely comes.


Dad, into night, do not go gentle
For all who have made that descent'll
Avow that, old-aged,
Against dusk they raged—
Our desire to stay's fundamental

I don't think I'll never recall
What I've not had nor won't miss at all
I'm torn, yet I'm not
About unthings not got
I'm not running before I can't crawl.


When I attain 26
Balding, with fuses to fix,
Will you grow old with me?
For the best's yet to be
And you can't teach an old dog new tricks


I believe I shall rule the land
And you shall be my right hand
And naught will us keep
In our union deep
For our story's just a one-night stand

A swimmer I wish you could be
So sleek like the kings of the sea
But yet naught again
Shall our closeness maintain
Glory's short-lived dear, you see?

I a time can recall
Where you and I stood 'neath a wall
O'erhead the shots hissed
While you and I kissed
With no fear inside us at all

Perhaps we are nothing my dear
And nothing surrounds us I fear
In which case now flee
This solipsism with me
Heroism's a lousy career


A friend posted this one somewhere else
A prudent young schoolgirl named Lucy
who wanted to do something juicy
along with a dude
undressed herself nude
and stepped in a juice-filled Jacuzzi


There once was a farmer from Polk
Who made a trade for a pig in a poke
Though what I cannot divine
Is word he'd butchered the swine
When the sack held no pig ... what's the joke?

A pilot I know from Phuket
Had Baked beans but had to regret
As this enormous fart
broke t'propeller apart
Now he's feeding a biofuel jet
(Hi Geo, nice to see you are on the air again!
I really don't quite understand
How matters got so out of hand
That even the Pope
Said that he couldn't cope
When Jeremy Clarkson got banned.

Approaching the end of November
I find that it's time to remember
The uncle I hate
And a cousin (or eight)
That I really would like to dismember

'Tra-la-la!' I declaimed, and 'Tee hee!'
'Woo-hoo!' and 'Ha-ha!' and 'Yippee!'
Then later, 'Oh, cock!'
Once I'm not on the clock
And need no more simulate glee
Time to rewrite a Limerick from October 2014:
An athlete of deeds meritorious,
Whose life had been largely victorious,
Fired on quite regardless -
Dolus eventualis -
Guilty of murder inglorious

As a brief diversion from lecherous Limericks, a lecherous Shakespearian haiku:
My Love doth me wrong—
But still, 'tis better than not
doing me at all.

Time for a Christmas carol:
Away in a manger, a child
Was born and grew up meek and mild
But when he turned thirty
He got rather shirty
And was nailed up for making folks wild.


We three kings of Orient are
With these gifts we have come from afar
Myrrh, frankincense, gold
For we have foretold
By the light of yon wandering star.

[Raak] GMTA. It's terrifying that that was 3 years ago though!
Slightly mixed carol(s)

In the city of David, a shed
And in it a crib for a bed
A mother so mild
JC was her child
And there she laid down his sweet head.


I am some hours behind;
So if you like, pay me no mind.
But it is with great cheer
I say Happy New Year!
(But then it's back to the old grind...)
This is all getting too nice. So -
I practise all day on trombone
My neighbour does nothing but moan
But were I Glenn Miller
I'd go round and kill 'er
'Cos the dopey old bat's on her own.
My neighbours are actually very nice.
My neighbour's a lousy tromboner
He thinks that I'm just an old moaner
His playing I'd pardon
Were he Jack Teagarden
Instead of a bitter old loner
I don't live next to Rosie, and my neighbours are also very nice, and don't play the trombone.

To my right there's a lousy tromboner
To my left, a trumpeting moaner
I'm stuck in the middle
With the old plywood fiddle
flerdle sold me for forty five Krona


I also practise the piano
Which is made from string and Meccano
short "a"
'Twould not be ungallant
To say that my talent
Ain't mini or micro; it's nano.


That blasted tromboner's now tinklin'
A piano. That bugger's no inklin'
He's a Les Dawson bum
When he's not George Chisholme
As for me my ear drums are a-wrinklin'

I hasten to add all persons referred to in this limerick are fictitious and that any resemblance to persons living, dead or undecided is a most unfortunate coincidence. Besides, my tromboning pianist doesn't know anything about meteorology or chemistry. He's an insurance salesman and he lives in Chipping Sodbury.
(Stevie) Now that is an insult. Local names for it include Sodding Chipbury or Chips and Sod All, according to my Bristolian informant.
I thought I might repair my watch
But my skills made the job one big botch
All the springs, cogs and wheels
Scattered under my heels
It seems I'm a watch botch sasquatch.

There once was a milkmaid named Gretchen
To say she was fugly 'twarnt stretchen'
She eloped to Nantucket
With her beau [and a bucket]
So he'd have him something to retch in.
(my apologies, it's the best I could come up with on the spur.)
I practice my trombone inside
But I do leave the doors open wide
So the the neighbours can squiz
And see what a whizz
I'm at doing strange things with my slide

Dear god has someone stuck a dart in
Pablo's backside? No! He's startin'
His etudes and scales.
Amateur dentristry pales
To that squealin' and screechin' and fartin'

A mate of mine played the trombone
Down the line, from an old telephone
The sound, like a fart,
Went straight to my heart
Like a dying man's sad final groan

[Stevie] Actually not a bad description of my teenage trombone playing
When the U.S. of A. starts to vote
There's hardly thinking a mote.
Electing a chump
Such as Donald J. Trump
Is hardly of a good note.

He's not been now for four hundred years
There are no more Othellos or Lears
And Wives can't be merry
For they come just to bury
The rest is all silence and tears
A hoary old campaign designer
Who never thought anything finer
Than mud-slinging crusades
Has done it in spades:
A Trumpedo has sunk the Cruz liner


They won't rub their hands now in glee
Both Democrat and GOP
For on Hallowe'en
They must choose between
The Devil and the deep blue C

For an hour and a half, at a loss,
I lingered in Three Mile Cross
I consumed more than one
In a pub called The Swan
But I'll soon be back home to the boss.

An old one, but a favorite
There once was a Scot from Loch Fyne
Who married three wives at a time.
When asked, "Why the third?"
He replied, "One's absurd,
And bigamy, sir, is a crime!"
One from ISIHAC, with Tim Brooke-Taylor having to field the last line :)
I once saw a crime that was heinous
The first act of Coriolanus!
Some mischievous joker
Picked up a large poker
Which really did not entertain us!

This was from Orange MC about 15 years ago, written by Thos, blamelewis, Simons Mith, Drewsxpa, and myself. It might be the best single limerick line I ever wrote (he says, modestly)

Greetings to you, one and all
Welcome to the Cheesemongers Ball!
We've plenty of crackers
Supplied by our backers
The Tedbiscuits, with their son Saul

And here's another from that golden age (by me, pen, Raak, Néa, and Thos), featuring a candidate for Thos's best line ever.

I like that my women be strong
Said Tarzan, who wore a sarong
If they can't climb a creeper
I'm not gonna keep 'er
My life is vine, women and thong

The Ig Nobel prizes are also summarised in Limerick form. Among many I liked this one:
It repeats every word that you say,
But after a tiny delay.
A more irksome machine
Has never been seen.
It's SpeechJammer. Buy one today!

[SM] Thanks for the note. The Ig Nobel limerick standard is appallingly high. I wonder who does them?
I once wished my daughter had listened
To advice, but instead her eyes glistened
With adult desire.
Now her boyfriend's a sire,
And on Sunday my grandson gets christened

Our Boris is back in the saddle
While Gove's up shit creek with no paddle
And so come what May
At the reckoning day
They will meet their fates in the Eubattle.

A mathematical one I got from years back, no idea where from:

6,129,872,700,011.97425683

Six trillion one hundred and twenty
Nine billion eight hundred and seventy
Two million and seven
Hundred thousand eleven
Point nine seven four two five six eight three

Who wrote this 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.

Bism, that's from Martin Gardner.
Stop me if you've heard this one
I bought the new iPhone today,
Which shortly filled me with dismay
For its sister, the "Six",
Does all the same tricks,
But with headphones that you won't mislay.

[Marc] You wrote it here, Marc. I see that it's down to your usual standard. Do you think you will ever be able to make a post on this server that is not smutty or misogynistic or lewd?
[Pen] You are probably right and I will never be able to reach your supreme level. It is a pity though that you don't post more than once a year or so... This is yours from 2012 by the way:
On the chest of a barmaid from Sale
Were tattooed all the prices of ale
And on her behind
For the sake of the blind
Was the same information in braille.

So that was my forty-ninth summer
And winter draws on, what a bummer!
With each passing week
A new joint will creak
And my toes will get number and number.

From the limericks on this site, a collaborative effort by [penelope], myself, [Pablo], [Rosie] and [Stevie] in line order. (I modded my line a bit to improve the scansion.)

There was a young man out of Rhyl
Whose gigantic restaurant bhyl
Came from scoffing ten courses.
He thereby endorses
Credit card use at the thyl.
But now you've ruined the Welshness by taking out the distinctive double L, you Phyllistine!
I have a heart of Fflint... and don't call me Phyllis!
[Marc] - That barmaid limerick is older than me; my dad fished it out when I was a teen as an example from his youth (though the scansion here was busted by the unnecessary addition of "all" in the second line). The Highland one is an ugly thing, the putative author having chopped the indefinite article twice to make it scan, rendering it into something other than English. Filthy is OK, but such works have to fit the scheme without turning into furbish, surely? Otherwise we have a Stuffed Owl.
[Stevie]I have never claimed to be the author of the Highland one. If I remember correctly it was sent to me years ago from a friend with his roots in Dundee, Scotland. Nevertheless it gave you the opportunity to show off as the smartass I think you are. The only reason that I wanted to remind Pen of her contribution The barmaid was that some might think it is also misogynistic in one way or another. However here is another old one for your critique:
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.

[Mark] If you read again with your eyes open you'll see that at no point did I attribute "the highland one" to you. I just said, rightly, that it had been turned into near gibberish by eschewing the needs of the language it was written in in order to make its "joke". This is one of the criteria laid out for bad poetry in The Stuffed Owl; an anthology of bad verse. In point of fact I didn't think the idea was strong enough to warrant the energy needed to write it, but I never blamed you for it.
I did out penelope as not the author of "tattooed barmaid", with the same comment I made the last time it surfaced in the wild.
Buttinski here

Us humans are all just the same
Always too ready to flame
When it comes out
That it's us that you doubt;
And then it's no longer a game.

Written by me, full disclosure/responsibility/etc.
I found myself burdened with cash
So I gave BDSM a bash
Now my body's a mess
I've got eighty quid less
Just like any old night on the lash.

Who is this Pep Guardiola
Is he fielder, batsman or bowler?
He can speak Catalans
And write in Gill Sans
And will not touch Coca-Cola.

"It could be the starter-ring gear"
Screamed the young AA man in my ear
"Either way I'll just go
And give you a tow
Off this M1 on-ramp*, never fear!"


* - Newport Pagnel Service Area, Northbound, 1984
"I've checked, and you've no magic wand
So I don't think that you will abscond
Since you're fastened down tight
Under my laser light
I expect you to die, Mr Bond!"

"How on earth did you ever get free?
Never mind, makes no difference to me.
Fort Knox is your tomb
You're about to go "boom"
Mr Bond as you clearly can see"

"Damn and blast, you escaped once again!
This is getting too much. What a pain.
Please throw Mr Bond
In that bottomless pond
Wrapped in twenty five feet of steel chain!"

Double post. How strange. Removed.

"Impossible! Free again! You!
Dripping wet, Mr Bond, it is true
But otherwise no
Ill effects are on show
I assume it's the work of old 'Q'!"

"No more "watch" Mr Bond, no more "keys"
I'll take both your "shoes" if you please
And your "belt". And your "Hat".
And your oiled "cricket bat"
Time to die. We are done with strip tease."

"And now into the chamber you go
Where two quarts of nitro will blow
As the cyanide gas,
Whirling blades and ground glass
Make an end to you Bond, don't you know?"

"Hahaha! There Bond lies burned and torn
No escapes. No more jokes old and worn.
Wait? What's this I see
On his singed laund-ery?
It's a tag. And it reads 'Jason Bourne'!"

"I'm off 'fore this "Bourne" chap comes round
For he's not dead, just stunned I'll be bound
And when he finds out
Who did this, I've no doubt
My Germanic bonce he will pound."

[Stevie] Congrats, and do have a cup of tea. I think you've earned it :-)
Take "The", [proper name] and a filler
For the title of your Ludlum thriller.
Then on to the plot
Which is mostly rot
With a secret, three spies, and a killer.
The chuck key was here, in the drill
But the chuck's gone AWOL from the quill!
Events now play Hob
With my "ten minute job"
Wasting time, adding cost, sapping will

The election's past, over, and gone,
Spoils now go to those hangers-on
Who, Jan 20, in pomp,
Will jump in the swamp,
Where the biggest hippo is Don!
Don said, "It's quite easy, you see:
My team must just resemble me:
White, male, and can shoot,
Or has lots of loot,
And lacking a college degree."

Did I read clearly that the Pres-to-be has put a munchkin in a top role?


Jingle bells, jingle bells all the way
Oh what fun! That's what people will say
Wearing red Christmas slacks
With my shotgun and axe
In my festive one-horse Christmas slay
While I rode on the LIRR
I recalled that there once was a bar
As part of the train
Where we'd reduce the pain
Of commuting while smoking (low tar)

While I rode on the LIRR
An announcement was heard, "Goodly DL"
"Would there happen to be
"The occasional Stevie
"As passenger, or part of the PL?"

Terribly contrived, but happy new year anyway


"Goodly DL"? Can't figure that out. Sorry.
Prof Stanley Unwin mate - "Goodly daylode", a general greeting.
Ah. A bit obscure for anyone not of my age I'd think. I plugged that in as my final answer but couldn't figure the etymology for the life of me.
Three cheers for Mahendra Singh Dhoni
A professional, sir, not a phoney
When batting at cricket
Or keeping the wicket
It's quite clear that he stood alone-y.
Hip hip, hooray! (thrice)
From MCIOS, a couple of days ago, with yours truly, Projoy, Software, Stevie and Chalky providing the lines:

The "Dark Lady", for whom this is written,
Is the one with whom I've become smitten.
Her sensuous manner
With torque wrench and spanner
Transformed my once shy to twice bitten.

Just presenting Alternative facts on an Alternative meter with some Alternative rhymes on an Alternative language
Mister Putin is truly an arse
And fat Donald is playing a farce
Mrs. Theresa May
Like Frau Merkel’s okay
Only Barack and Hill’ry are stars!

Just parlaying my good cheer. (belated Greetings for this new year, Marc.)
Though the Bourgeois was played like a chump
Knowing the game was rigged in the swamp
When the ante got raised
On he soldiered, unfazed
He called ... and game's won with the Trump.

Hi George, best wishes to you as well!
The crack of doom swallows this world
But life to the galaxy's hurled
By the might of our powers
The stars shall be ours
So the crack of doom may have this world.

Always liked the Ogden Nash 4-liner

On Seduction

Candy
Is dandy
But liquor
Is quicker.


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...

Seduction, an old hobby of mine, and another reason for Pen to file complaints?
Global warming makes sea levels rise
As we pump CO2 to the skies;
Yet fossil fools will
At the top of their Hill
Still claim it's all a pack of lies.

The day when Washington's drowned under water
The politicos may say "We oughta
"Have prevented this day!"
But I think they'll say
"It's just a problem for those that are shorter."

The day DC drowns under water would scan better and remove the geographic ambiguity.
On tour in the far Kalahari
My guide gave a glass of Campari
I felt warm – really hot
Was undressed in one shot
Now I think he’s on pussy safari

There once was a Kshatriya prince
Who was given three reasons to wince:
Sickness, death, and old age,
But he then met a sage
On the Way, which he taught ever since.

While addressing Conservative toffs
Mrs May was afflicted with coughs
With the aid of an actor
It seems Boris sacked her
To a mixture of cheers and "**** off"s.

There once was a girl from Decatur
Who thrashed as a crocodile ate her.
While MC'rs on the dock
Argued. 'That is no crock.
It's just a big ALLIGATOR.'

Of Man's First Disobedience I'll write
And how from Eden's gate they took flight
Blood, toil, tears, and sweat
Would be all that they'd get
Till a new Adam set things aright.

Fürst Hermann von Pückler-Muskau
Came to England in search of a frau
He delighted the salons
But his mercenary talons
Brought him only a scandalous row.

Long, long ago, in days of old
A Limerick got chaste by a Knight so bold
Neck to neck with him in speed
She failed, to outrun his steed
T'is why, in nine months time, the Limerick foaled

Long long ago in days of yore
Limericks were virginal and pure
Then elites took them to bed
...... and chivalry being dead
They'll not blush if you call them whore

The Olympics are on in Korea
Where all countries unite like Pangaea
With victories notching,
While I'm busy watching
The Head of Alfredo Garcia

Today it is Saint Patrick's Day
So later today we will sway
And drink Irish Whiskey
Although it is risky
We daringly drink anyway!

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.

The AA Milne original is here.


Let the horizontal rule

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.


The life of a Scotsman in Liskey
Can – literally – be pretty risky,
'cause once in a bar
When rolling an ‘r’
The chap found an ‘e’ in his whisky.


In my mind's eye, I see this great wall
And behind it we'll have such a ball.
It's manned by bald eagles -
Keeps us free of illegals -
I'll be re-elected next fall!

Building walls is a question of will
Which the Dems that are now on the Hill
Have never possessed:
But mine is the best,
And the Chicos are footing the bill!

A good friend of mine told me how
The Sixties were better than now:
When, with no sense of guilt,
His boss had a wall built
Round Berlin, by soldiers, from Moscow.

And this one I heard in the Army
There was an old man of the Isles
Who had measles, consumption and piles
On top of all these,
Yes - venereal disease
You could smell the old bugger for miles.
Found this anonymus pearl at the side of a statue of Winston Churchill:
There was a young man from Dundee
who said: "They can't do without me.
No house is complete,
without me and my seat.
My initials are W.C."

(Must be an alternativa Winston...?)
There's a chap from the Mull of Kintyre
Who does dubious things with barbed wire
I could tell you a tale
That would make you go pale
But you'd probably call me a liar.

[Marc] I believe Winston lost the seat of Oldham early in his career, and got 'parachuted' in to represent Dundee as a way of returning to the Commons.
(checks) Sorry, not Oldham, Machester North West.
[Marc, Projoy] I thought that ditty was witty in the combining the Dundee MP with household conveniences. Well, it made me laugh anyway. ;)
Where I hoped an opener on MCIOS might go...
If you like, I'll put in a word
That you'd like to play Richard the Third
On the Lyttleton stage
Despite your old age
Though there's bugger all chance you'll be heard


So Theresa has gone off to Brussels
For a feed of hot chips and steamed mussels
To seek a new deal
At a Head-of-State meal
Getting nowhere, for all that she hustles

The place of her wedding is set
At the cost of penurious debt
I don't see the need
Of why I have to feed
80 relatives that I've never met

A                      whose                      and clucked
Was                      when he                      and                     
                     with his                     
And                      was in                     
The                     , he said I am                     .

[penelope] The version I know is:
"Fu**! Sh**!" listen who swears.
Christopher Robin has fallen downstairs.
On first looking into GPT-2's Homer:

It sounds like the real thing, for sure
But will its works really endure?
Or does its success
Mean that we must confess
That "real" poetry's just as obscure?


(Reusing old stuff is not a sin)
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'm bored, and it's getting to me
I've been all that I want to be;
Done my bucket list;
Still, I have, when I'm pissed
A much better class of ennui.

The difference between Johnson and Hunt
Is that Boris is awfully blunt
And will say things, I bet,
That he'll later regret,
And the other's a bit of a lookalike for Kenneth Williams when he looks sideways, don't you think?

Chalky and CdM started this off in t'other game, which inspired me to try and finish it better than was managed there. It may not have succeeded...
I hail from the island of Crete
Where minotaurs roam in the street
Whom Theseus fights
On Saturday nights
An attraction that's quite hard to beat.

Bravo!
An inventor of games, Erno Rubik
Made his name with a toy that was cubic
He said its creation,
Was rife with frustration
He tore out his hair, all of it

A dying mosquito exclaimed:
"A chemist has poisoned my brain!"
The cause of his sorrow
was para-dichloro
-diphenyl-trichlorethylane.

Pen mentioned Tennyson... who can do better?
There's Tennyson's Charge of the Light
Brigade, that remembers a fight
Twixt the Russkies and us;
But he makes such a fuss
Of a half a league cavalry flight.

[Bismarck] Phil can. :)
[CdM] Phil certainly could! I am not at all sure I can reach that level of scholarship.
I want Michel Barnier's job
For the pay, and the chance to play hob
With ces perfides Anglais,
And to say sans regret
"Oh Boris, won't you shut your gob?"

[CdM] I'll stick to the light-humoured topical stuff. More my line.
I haven't got anywhere else to put this:
Gordon Ramsay came to town
Riding on a pony
He put some lentils in his soup
And called it minestrone

When I was young and in my prime
I'd a wit as sharp as a silver dime
Nae more, as one can gauge
- I have improved with age
With half a brain I've writ this rhyme

My Dad told me this one:
There was a young lady from Stornaway
Who had her virginity torn away
She said "Never mind
I've had a good grind
And taken that young fellow's horn away"


They say there's 12 N on a C
Yet there's 24 H in a D
And 12 S in the Z
But my C's way ahead
Her 9 Ls are just bothering me.

I used to hate those puzzles. No point in trying when they're like this, it doesn't scan!
There once was a king in Great Britain
Who would treat every wife like a kitten
He kissed and embraced ’em
Then killed and replaced ‘em
By such love, may we never be bitten!

[Biz] 12 Numbers on a Clock
24 Hours in a Day
12 Signs in the Zodiac
Not sure what 9 L in/on a C would be . . .
[KS] as follows:
It seems that my cat has nine lives
And he's certainly had a few wives
He's a bit of a rake
And makes no mistake
When deciding 'tween catnip and chives.
I understand now what it means
As you've explained as it's seen
A C is for cat
And L means that
The lives of the cat are ten minus nineteen.


An actor of highest profession
with expressive facial expression
missed the prompt, couldn’t hear
(he was deaf in one ear)
said : “To pee, or not pee, is the question.”

Based on what might have happened:
The Nobel Committee confided
That the Peace prize this year was divided
'Tween one who stopped a war
And one who started four
Do you think that that was misguided?

Inspired by a limerick started by Pablo and Superman:
Now hearken ye all, MC types,
Ye must cease to use Pampers wet wipes!
For Jacob Rees-Mogg
Says they clog up his bog:
"Obstruit stercorem O stipes!"
Inspired by a limerick in progress at MCiOS:
Is a Jaffa Cake really a cake?
The tax man claimed it was a biscuit
The case went to court
Which conclusively judged
That whatever it is, it's exempt.
From VAT.

There's a change in my life which is drastic
My new girlfriend is simply fantastic
She's a feast for the eyes
And to my surprise
I really don't mind that she's plastic.


(My coast is on and I've left the room)
(I've returned, sheepishly)

Some say I'm a bit of a loner
My girlfriend complains I don't phone 'er
I just peck when I kiss
And the reason is this
I'm buggered if I'll catch Corona


(Ok, the coat's back on)
Earl Dumbarton and Lady Kilkeel
Have jointly announced that they feel
So overwhelmed
As peers of the realm
They'll retire, till time all does heal.
One from MCIOS recently, courtesy of Stevie, blamelewis, Projoy, CdM and CdM:
Supplies are now running quite low:
I'm right out of whisky and blow,
And patience, and sorts
And the box with my thoughts;
And my head, depth, luck, it and the know.
Not a limerick, but I want to put this somewhere:

A glose upon the theme
"After waking up in a morgue, an orphaned teen discovers she now possesses superpowers as the chosen Halo-Bearer for a secret sect of demon-hunting nuns"
lately discovered to the writer by Netflix.
A secret sect of demon-hunting nuns
Is all that stands 'gainst ruin of the world
An orphaned teenage girl unwilling hurled
Must fight with holy water, cross, and guns.

A world called into being by this spell:
"A secret sect of demon-hunting nuns"
About this grit the writers' mucus runs,
And hardens to a pearl they're sure will sell.

A name: the Halo-Bearer! Superpowers!
She wakes up in a morgue, shorn free of ties
No parents block the plot; her soul must rise
Take up her quest to throw down evil towers.

So long as bits shall flow and draw the clicks
So long lives this, and all thanks to Netflix.
There once was a man from Nantucket
Who dreamed he was eating a bucket.
When he awoke it had seemed
He had done what he'd dreamed
And then he began to upchuck it.

Hidden textAnd they said it couldn't be done . . .


When it rains and you must not get wet
There are three things you cannot forget
Your oilskin coat,
Your portable moat,
And your trusty forecast from the Met.


You can stand on ceremony
Or on principle, people tell me
But I think it's best
To do like the rest
And stand on the floor, sensibly

To travel to Mars is just spiffing
Or Venus, Or Merc'ry. They're ripping
But stay clear of the moon
Or your find out that soon
Your traveller's luck will start slipping

While strolling a golf course one night
Two randy teens I gave a fright
Their attempt at a snog
Was now rendered "dog"
Because when I've had a skinful of rum I get lost and my route home can become somewhat eccentric on account of me not feeling all that bright.

Let the horizontal rule.

If it's tea you are going to make,
You need to get ready to bake
For drink without sweet,
Is not complete
And everyone will want cake.

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