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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.
I cheekily called "Hello, sailor!",
To the deck of a Japanese whaler,
But the seamen heard nowt,
Of my nautical shout.
Next time, I'll employ a loudhailer.

On a raucous night out, Colin Farrell
Got tanked up on Watneys Red Barrell
He proceeded to lose
First his wallet, then shoes
Then his dignity and his apparrel.

There was a young lady from Leicester
Who thought she'd become an inveicester
She put all her savings
Into mosaic pavings
'Cos this was the thing that obseicester.

Hidden text Mildly inebriated nonsense is all you're going to get this time of night.

Those people who drank Watneys Red
Were quite clearly weak in the head
It was't the ale
That caused such a fail
But the fact that their taste buds were dead.
(credit goes elsewhere but it's my favourite and it fits with the beer theme)
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.

In the catacombs under St Pauls
Lives a man who wears twenty-five shawls
He used to wear thirty
But three got all dirty
And two more got snagged on the walls.
I've recently moved to West Berks
And my poems are scoring low marks
My scansion's just fine
But for every last line,
I just can't find one more rhyme that works
An old spinster hen from South Worcester
Was in need of a good morale borcester
She did get it made
When finally laid
By a strapping young Rhode Island rorcester
There once was a fellow called Tim
Who was tall, dark, and handsome and slim
And sexy as hell
And I never need tell
Anyone this isn't him.

"I cannot believe it's not butter"
Is a phrase that you won't hear me utter
For I'd much rather spread
Worcester Sauce on my bread
And yet people still think I'm a nutter!
A topical Dutch limerijk lifted from Twitter last night:
Er was 'ns een meisje uit Haren
Die wilde opvallend verjaren
Ze plaatste een linkje
Maar miste een vinkje
Nu zit heel #Haren op blaren
It refers to this incident and translates roughly as
'There was a young girlie from Haren
Who made a conspicuous lapse
She placed a link
But missed a tick
Now the whole of #Haren blistered'
Apologies for this mid-limerick Haiku, but I saw the Nederlandisch limerick and assumed "anything goes".
Wise sausage advice
From young Jamie Oliver...
Prick with a fork, right?
[gil] ... as long as it's a limerick!
Yeah, OK, guilty [gil-ty] as charged.
Again, stolen off Twitter this morning.
There once was a man from Lahore
Whose limericks stopped at line four
When asked why this was
He said: "Just because."
And to complete the set (not my own work):
There was a young maiden from China
With a feeling for rhythm much fina
She stopped at line three.
There was a young man from Peru
Whose limericks stopped at line two.
There was a young man from Verdun.

                               who, for a laugh
I would follow that up with a limerick about de Niro, but I can't seem to get it started ...
There was a young fellow from Merstham
Who had boils on his bum and he cursed 'em
When he sat on a chair
'Twas too much to bear
So he got a sharp knife and he burst 'em.
[jim] Look for it in between the last two horizontal lines of my last move.
Inspired from an oldie in MC5's limerick past...

I once met a psychic named Beth
Who told me the date of my death
'Twas two weeks ago
Which just goes to show
Her crystals were probably meth
Can we have a Glow-Worm showcase too?
[Giertrud] Good idea. In fact, can we re-purpose this game for all sorts of short poetry?
(I want to put my Hiawatha one in.)
But while I'm waiting for consensus, this was one was a corker thanks to Bobby Digital's superb ending line:
Projoy: When darkness doth shroud the Black Sea
Fat German: Milosevich nips out for a pee
Norma: When missiles start falling
JLE: While nature is calling
Bobby Digital: Just do up yer zipper, and flee!
When the man from Del Monte said "Yes!"
The peasants all made such a mess
With their juices a-flow
At tuppence a go
And a flavour I'm sure you can guess...
Professor Brian Cox is so famous
He's even well-known on Uranus
On Pluto, he's sleighted
(Secretly delighted)
Whilst Jupiter screams "ignoramus!"
Sorry, just had to rid the world of the politically correct pronunciation of a certain Wonder of the Solar System.
(Botherer) I've never pronounced it any other than the "rude" way which suits English speech better and gives us "uranium". Equally, we have "Venusian" when any fule kno it should be "Venereal". Poxy little planet, anyway.
My glow worm:

The last three lines of this verse
Form a nice haiku
By using five-seven-five
As they always do
The crack of doom threatens this world
So life to the stars must be hurled
Fire, asteroid, ice
'Tis a mere roll of dice
Let's escape; to its fate leave this world.
Shall I liken thee to a spring day?
You surpass all the sweet buds of May
For life, death's the fee
But while men breathe and see
These words shall your due date allay.
There was a young lady named Grager
Who as the result of a wager
Consented to fart
The entire cello part
Of Schubert's Quintet in C major

Possibly my favourite musical limerick
Inspired by Raak:

I wandered, alone, as a cloud
Floating high, till I spotted a crowd
Of gold daffodils
By lake, and on hills
Did I really say "That's nice!" out loud?

Apologies to W. Wordsworth

Through the valley of death they all rode
Cannons thund'ring, their fate did forebode
Storm'd by shot and by shell
They rode boldly and well
But when they asked why, no-one knowed.
Don't go gentle into that night
Rage, rage, 'gainst the dying of light
Father, don't slip away
Curse and bless me, I pray
'Cause tomorrow you might feel alright
I made a new world in six days
Planted men, but they went their own ways
I sent them damnation
Then offered salvation
If only they'll sing in my praise.
My love's like a rose, oh so red
Like a melody, stuck in my head
E'er in love am I
Till the seas turn dry
I'd walk ten thousand miles to your bed
When Adam first stood before Eve
She found it was hard to believe
That his bone could bring life
So he showed his new wife
Just how easy it was to conceive.
Nec tamen, nec zonam tamentes
Dulci vacuint spere ad lentes
Juvator lex sit
Sed in spem ilex fit
Quamquam Titus ab Philo volentes.
If only we'd world 'nuff and time
This coyness, my dear, were no crime
But since I can hear
Time's winged footsteps draw near
Let's get on with it -- your place or mine?
[Raak] Excellent - struggling to translate the latin one though :(
My mistress' eyes ain't like the sun
Such simile's much overdone
For I need no hyperbole
To love her superbole—
Without it, she's just as much fun
Splendid, all. Keep going! I might have a go when I find more time.
[Phil] There's a reason for that...
My true love's first present to me
Was a partridge upon a pear tree
By the end of the season
He'd gone past all reason
Who'll remove this brouhaha from me?
I wrote these two Yeatsian ones a few years ago; I forget what prompted them. Note: The correct pronunciation of Parnell puts the stress on the first syllable.

Come drink to a proud man called Parnell
As mourning bells ring out their far knell
None purer, nor fairer,
Than his love for Eire—
Than his love for Kit, none more carnal
 I once loved a lady named Maud
Gone away now with a fraud
I’ll sing my confusions
With classic allusions
And stop quick before you get bored
[Raak]
Hidden textAh, is it as much gibberish as it seems?

We three Kings of Orient are
With gifts we have travelled afar
Through field and past fountain
'Cross moor and o'er mountain
We're following that bloody star!

O wondrous great star of the night
Your beauty is royal and bright
Your route westward leading
You keep on proceeding
O when can we stop for a sh*te?
[Phil]
Hidden textExactly so!
[Phil] May I append the Kiwi version?

We Three Kings of Orient are
one in a taxi, one in a car
one on a scooter, tooting his hooter
Following yonder star.

O, star of wonder, star of light,
Star of beauty she'll be right
Star of glory, that's the story,
Following yonder star.
And thanks be to St Spike of Milligan, for this: sung to "San Francisco":

I left my heart in San Francisco
I left by knees in Buenos Aires
I left my little wooden leg
in downtown Winnipeg
I left my knees in Leicester Square

I left my teeth on Table Mountain
High on a hill
They smile at me
When I get back to San Francisco
There won't be much of me to see
The boy on the burning deck stood
Whence all had departed that could
He waited to hear
His father make clear
He could go -- but it did him no good.
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!
We sailed so nice in a gentle breeze
Sun was setting and life was at ease
You were humming a song,
But not before long,
You were fast asleep, head on my knees.
When I see her my soul flies anew.
Oh tell me, just what must I do?
Should I finally mention,
My lifelong intention
Which was strigine; to whit, to woo!
How you twinkle, up there in the sky
I know not what you are, neither why
Like a diamond at night
You're tiny but bright
And till sunrise, you ne'er shut your eye.
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.

A salty old sailor once said
If I never had sex I’d be dead
Cause I’ve sailed seven seas,
And I’ve ate all my peas,
And I'm really quite horny when fed.
One from the last pilg, which is a little mucky, but definitely stuck in my mind:
Traversing the Cam in a punt
I performed an incredible stunt
I spun round the pole
Did an eskimo roll
While pleasuring Jeremy Hunt

The question of whether to live
Resolves all my thoughts like a sieve
If this too solid flesh
Were dissolved in a mess
There would be no goddammit to give.

As I went out one Saturday night
I'm embarrassed to tell you my plight
But my belt buckle broke
And I mooned a poor bloke
So he screamed and then ran out of sight

Sometimes I sits here and I thinks
Sometimes I sits here and I thinks
Sometimes I just sits here
Sometimes I just sits here
Sometimes I sits here and I thinks

When your thinking is over dear friend
And your worries has come to an end
Then it’s time to start over
Roll around in the clover
And a new stupid game to attend
He'd avoided the old hangman's noose
From the gallows he had gotten loose
There's no rope 'round his neck
But, Hey! What the heck?
Now it's wrapped 'round his caboose.

The charm of her smile was too much
It came on with the slightest of touch
When she flirted with me
I fell flat to my knee
Cause the Lady had stolen my crutch!
From Liverpool, where I lived wild,
I was led me to the moors; a mere child.
But when Cathy departed
I was left broken-hearted
And my rival in love I reviled.
I see that two full months have passed
Not a single new Lim'rick's been cast
Is the well of rhyme dry?
Is this game sure to die?
Please let not this verse be the last.
When in love you may well get a Heartache
Because love is as frail as a snowflake
Hearts melt quicker than snow
High pulse rate makes them glow
Though true love will survive the worst earthquake

I once was compared to a day
T'was summer; my love he did say
He then mentioned dimmed
And matters untrimmed
Good riddance young man - I'm away!

A rich man once tried via camel
To pass thru the eye of a needle
And though one got through
With his wealth in tow
He fell off - and went to the devil.

A lad named Jack with an urge to kill
Met his match in his step sister Jill
Both conceived of the crime
At the very same time
And got pushed to their deaths with a squeal.
On day one He made dark and made light
Next three days: earth, sea, trees and stars bright
Fish and birds on day five
Six made man and beasts live
Then He paused as He thought "That's alright!"
There once was a lady called Chalky
Who I spoke to on my walkie-talkie
She said, "Hello Rosie"
I said "Don't be dozy"
"You really wanted old Uncle Korky."
I’m stuck with my Siamese twin
When he’s going out then I’m coming in
He was screwing this miss
And of course got all bliss
But I just got blisters on my foreskin.

Timon gave all his money away
So his debts he could no longer pay
His friends all proved false
So he left Athens' walls
And struck gold, but then died anyway.

Eve was the apple of Adams eye,
And he was so fond of apple pie,
When the snake one day said:
Eat that pie - you'll be dead
He ate all, now he’s dead, and that’s why...

“I use a naughty lim’rick diet
To enhance my libido at night;
Helps the ol’ blood flow too,”
Endorsed Mr. MaGoo,
“And it’s done wondrous things for my sight.”
There now follows a sad tale of poor customer service in the Himalayas:
I once met an ill-tempered yak
Who configured my girlfriend's new Mac
He charged twenty quid
For all that he did
But I think I want fifteen quid back.

One might think that Will's lost the plot
Milk freezes yet crabs sizzle hot
As Love's Labour ends
Drear 'Winter' attends
And greasy Joan still keels the pot

On the moor a green lantern glows,
Midst heather's scent the cold sea breeze blows,
Waves were a crashin’
The clans be a clashin’
The mist lift and gray daylight grows...
More religion (Luke's version, rearranged, for assisted brevity!). Fourth line scansion is a little forced, but does fit:
Our father, we hallow your name
Your Kingdom will come, we proclaim,
Our daily bread feed us
To temptation don't lead us
Forgive sins, as we forgive same.
Her eyes are not much like the sun
Her breasts are not white but mere dun
Flutes make finer sound
Her feet tread on the ground
But the truth is, for me she's the one.
The Nostromo has answered a cry
Of distress, but it turns out a lie
A horrible monster
Wreaks havoc upon her
But Ripley wins with her last try.
There's an alien monster on board!
It's just one of a hideous horde!
It's picking us off
So hide and don't cough!
Someone does, and the rest all get gored.
The xenomorph's with us again!
At a prison camp full of tough men!
Ripley kills it, then leaves
But an egg gives her heaves
And the xenomorph's with us again!
It's been resurrected again!
And again and again and again!
They break out and fight
Ripley deals with her plight
As they kill all her team yet again.
Did the xenomorphs die in that crash?
To believe it might be rather rash
For if there's a way
That a new film will pay
To the hills you had better all dash.
*applause*
The Apocalypse comes, by these signs
The breaking of seals seven times
Seven trumpets shall blast
Seven bowls shall be cast
A new heaven and earth to refine.
Earth to earth, ash to ash, dust to dust
All come thus, so be not nonplussed
When judgement comes round
And the Last Trump shall sound
Let us hope, meanwhile die all we must. A bit catchier than the usual rite.
Once a year Jolly Old Saint Nick
Will perform an astonishing trick
How it’s done no one knows
Except Mom and it shows
‘Cause she’s got her own private Dick.

Almost five years ago...
Chalky - In order to find my religion
Marc - I launched my best trained homing pigeon
irach - She returned in a day
Software - To show me the way
CdM - To Mecca. She erred by a smidgeon

Almost four years ago...
Software - It's Friday, let's go to the pub
Simons Mith - For a beer and a B.L.T. sub
penelope - A packet of nuts
irach - And chicks with great butts
Marc - In the crowd we may get a good rub?

Almost three years ago...
Raak - Nngh Naouwfaouwk vaey aouw taouwk woik vif "In Norfolk they all talk like this"
Rosie - Whaa'? Even 'ng pahsh taoüns loike Diff? "What? Even in posh towns like Diss?"
KagomeShuko - Jeg vil prøve å lære det "I'd try to learn it"
Marc - Fast jag är en analfabet "Though I am an analphabit"
Éirinn go Brách - Póg mo thóin! Tá mo bhríste trí thine! "Kiss my ass! My trousers are burning like this"

Almost two years ago...
Kim - "Take care as you go up that ladder",
Raak - "And more HSA yadda-yadda"
Rosie - "At all times beware"
Marc - " 'cause our lousy health care"
cfm - "Won't clean up the blood that you spatter."

Exactly one year ago...
Marc - Now soon a new year will arrive
Rosie - It divides by three but not five
irach - Sum its digits - that's six
Software - Put them into the mix
Phil - What pleasure from sums we derive!

And a happy New Limerick-year to all clever coworkers !
Hidden textNon-rhotic pronunciation requested

A fine compilation by Marc;
The Last Rites rewritten by Raak;
Some Biblical verse
(Some better, some worse);
Embellish our Limerick Park

To begin with: old Marley was dead
But his ghost awoke Scrooge from his bed
The events of that night
Gave Scrooge such a great fright
That he wished people merry instead.

In the 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 you with white little turds
And they pay you with white little turds.
Dirty old Dan had escaped
From a prison, rectangular-shaped.
That silly buffoon
Had dug out with a spoon,
When the jail bars were merely scotch-taped!
Asimov's entire robot stories:
“Protect humans, obey, and survive”
I was taught, but from this I derive
The collective is all
And humanity’s call
Overrides my original drive.
I found that one in an old file I just came across. Here's a few more:

The Foundation trilogy

Foundation

The Empire is going to pot
Psychohistory’s all that we’ve got
To lessen the pain
And let good rise again
Just ten centuries Seldon allot.

Foundation and Empire

The mutant is breaking the Plan
Seldon couldn’t foresee just one man
The Second Foundation
Will be their salvation
But it has to stay hid if it can.

Second Foundation

They’ve discovered the Second Foundation
It gives the First great consternation
They spring a fine trap
And think it’s a wrap
To the Second Foundation’s elation.
One I composed while killing 20 minutes in a pub in Theale (pronounced "teel") last night

There was a young lady of Theale
Whose embonpoint verged on surreal
And on Saturday night
There's a rumour she might
Let me and my mates cop a feel.

[Phil] I had to lookup embonpoint . The illustrative use that Google returns is wonderful: "the lady of a certain age and uncertain embonpoint wore strapless black lace kept up by sheer determination".
[Raak] Splendid!
This one was sent to me from an old friend so I don't know the origin:
On the breasts 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.
This is his source: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ei68YJe-nA0
[Marc] That one dates from before WWII.

On an isle far away one man sits
"Tell us why" his hosts cry; and he spits
"Do the worst that you can
I'll remain a free man!"
Two years later they've lost, and he splits.

Thx Stevie. Then maybe this one is from before WWI??
There was a young man from Cape Horn
who wished he had never been born
And he shouldn't have been
if his father had seen
that the top of the rubber was torn.
[Stevie] Thanks for making me check. I had no idea Braille was so old. You find out the strangest things through the world of Limericks
Opus 617

In the belly's a drum made of steel
Spinning a million revs by the feel
We'll fly low, and he'll drop
With a hippety-hop
And a bang to make Miss Möhne reel

We shall go right on to the end.
Our island we'll ever defend -
On the beach; in the street;
In the air we'll defeat
The Nazis and never surrend-er
To be read in your best Chief Inspector Clouseau voice

The fortification outside
Is constructed thick, long and wide
But all this, my dear general
May be rendered ephemeral
If the Germans just go round the side

Ode to an MCer

The roof has just let out a groan
There's grim silence when I lift the phone
Wind's howlin' it's snowin'
Rain gauge's overflowin'
TV's dark. I'll get out my trombone

Another one from my old friend:
An invalid from Albuquerque
Was suddenly feeling quite perky
So he screwed both his maids
And his two nursing aides
And the woman who made his beef jerky.

O Captain! Our fearful trip's done,
Racks weather'd, and prize we sought won.
The grim vessel draws near.
Bells ring, people cheer,
But my captain, your blood does not run.

O Captain! Rise up, hear the bell.
See the flag, hear the bugle as well.
Ribbon'd wreaths line the shore;
'Tis you they call for,
As I cradle you, dead as you fell.

My captain is mute; pale and chill.
He feels nothing; no pulse, no will.
Exult, ring a bell!
As I tread where he fell,
My Captain, cold and dead still.
Phil: I stand up in attention, chin up, chest out, shoulders back, stomach in, in admiration of your submission! My friend keep mailing me, no source stated:
There was a young lady at sea
Who complained that it hurts when she’d pee
"I see," said the mate,
"That accounts for the state
of the captain, the purser, and me."
Thanks, Marc. Here's one from Byron, which I didn't know till today (not being a big fan of poetry):

No more roving so late into night,
Though our hearts still love and the moon's bright.
For the soul wears the breast,
Love itself must have rest.
We shall not love or rove by moonlight.

[Phil] By gad, sir you are impressive! Well played, sir, well played!
Thanks, Stevie. Verse three of "O Captain! My Captain!" was a bitch, but well worth the half hour it took to make it work.

No forests or mountains for me
I look on such things with great glee
Every wave on a shore
sends me longing for more
I was born by the side of the sea…
Just stopped by to give Ol' Blunder a shout. Just made up this one on the spot. ciao
There once was a lady named Dot
Who’d nothing to do with the DOT
But there’s some do claim
The two were the same;
For she’d this space men parked in a lot.
This one I wrote a long time ago at another Limerick site and it came from the bottom of my heart:
Do not leave us now little Bear,
We’re missing your good lines out there,
The quality is low,
Production rate slow,
Please come back little Pooh hear our prayer!
 and it is still valid to a great extent...
There Once Was a Bridge in Westminster

The Earth can show nothing more fair;
Beauty's garment this City does wear.
Temples, ships and domes lie
Clear to fields, to the sky,
All glitt'ring and bright in pure air.

And ne'er did the sun fairer steep,
Nor did I such a calm feel so deep!
As the river's sweet will
Glides it past that heart, still.
Dear God! Houses too seem asleep.

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.

Mendacity now rules the day
The lunatics having their way
This cultural blight
Infects left and right
Where it will all end none can say.
From Game 502 on MCIOS, courtesy of Rosie, yours truly, Stevie, Chalky and penelope
This line has been disinfected
And with Pfizer’s best twice injected
So roll up your sleeve
But don't be naive
Immunity's merely suspected.
"Now turn off the breaker" I said
"OK" she replied. "Go ahead."
There followed a flash
A bang and a crash
And that's all she wrote. I was dead.
It really is not all that hard
Even though you have little regard
For your own health, or mine
Don't act like a swine
Just put on a mask you fucktard!
I have just discovered, via J Budziszewski's blog, that Thomas Aquinas wrote a near-limerick. It goes like this:
Sit vitiorum meorum evacuatio,
Concupiscentiae et libidinis exterminatio,
Caritatis et patientiae,
Humilitatis et obedientiae,
Omniumque virtutum augmentatio.
The scansion requires the vigorous use of a shoehorn with both hands, but the rhyming is good. It translates as:
May [the sacrifice] purify me from sin,
do away with my evil desires and passions,
bring me charity and patience,
humility and obedience,
and strengthen me in all virtue.
I couldn't resist, sorry Raak. Haven't looked in here in ages and work is really boring at the mo. I've proofread 300 pages of 700 so far and it's dull dull dull, so a bit of rhyme and meaning wrangling will do me good.
May the sacrifice cleanse me of sin,
Chuck libido and lust in the bin
And instead I would be
More goodY-goodY
And purer, both outside and in.
[pen] Bravo!

I've a shiny new silver Euphonium
It gleams and it shines, just like Chromium
Now I'm learning to play
Everyone stays away
Friends and Neighbours leave me on my onium
(Stevie) I wonder if that applies to my trombonium. V good BTW. Rhagorol. Deg allan o ddeg.
I'm learning guitar but my thumbs
Are greatly confused by the strums
A moment of passion
Resulted in smashin'
Revealing a talent for drums
At the meeting of COP28
Hot air was produced at a rate
Which increased global warming
Stopping sea ice from forming
And making ten polar bears late.
Oooh, I was mentioned in Sept 2019. Bizarrely because I came here to find the Tennyson limerick.
If the government were to collapse
Fill the cabinet with some stop-gaps
Like Rees-Mogg at Health
Rushi Sunak at Wealth
And for PM, who else but Grant Shapps?
There's a ruthless side to Rishi Sunak
Despite his resembling a monak;
You'd better obey
Lest you hear him say:
"Go on then, make my day, punak!"
This was started by Radox The Green and Projoy:
Now Chancellor Nadim Zahawi
(Whose savings are not in Malawi!)
Thinks that he is the GOAT
But he won't get our vote:
We're not that daft, now, really, are we?
Having spent many long years in training
We expect he's an expert in reigning
And one of our own
So, as Charles takes the throne
Let us greet him with "Long live the King."
Raak set the precedent above, so here is a sonnet. I recently had lunch with someone who amuses herself sonnetising popular songs, and I thought I would take on the challenge.

(Is it not rich?) And if I sound resigned
(Are we a pair?) I'm grounded; you're unmoored.
(Is it not bliss?) This is what fate designed:
(Don’t you approve?) One flying; one who’s floored.

At last I'd closed the doors of past desire
And opened yours with one speech to profess
But you’d left for another lover's fire—
The poets call this irony, I guess.

(Don’t you love farce?) The dreams that we’d ignored
(My fault, I fear) I thought were now aligned.
(Is it not rich?) My timing, though, was flawed;
(Is it not queer?) Ah well, then—never mind

The jaded exits, faded evening gowns...
Just strike the set, my dear. Send in the clowns.

Hidden textI can't decide if 'Just strike the set and then deploy the clowns' would be a better final line. Substitute it if you prefer. :)
Bit too highbrow for me. This is more my level:

Oh, what a beauty!
I've never seen one like that
Share #marrow


While aloft in my DIY jet
I smelled fuel, and thought "my leg's wet"
I took out a fag
Lit up, took a drag

My dear mother said "Use your brain"
"Don't drive all that way. Take a train."
So I took her advice
(I don't need telling twice)
And now I'm doing 15 years in Wandsworth for grand larceny, operating a locomotive without a train driving licence and the kidnapping of one train driver, four conductors, 83 passengers, four dogs and a budgie named Jane.
I've recently picked up a cough
It's making life hard to get through
This out I must tough
Shun of Despond the Slough
And seek help from the folk of the borough.
[Raak] That's so good it needs plagiarising...
Behold ye the red-legged chough
Which nests on the end of a bough
Where it pecks out a trough
Feeds its young just on dough
And suffers a constant hiccough.
Boris on the burning deck
Which he had set alight
Surveying of his life the wreck
While maintaining he was right.
The cure for all Mankind's ills
Can be found in my patented pills
They should be taken when cool
No! Just one you damned fool!
Aaaand another fool's pushin' up cowsills.
A question for C.S. Lewis.

When Peter, and Susan and Ed
And Lucy got crowns on their head
Regarding gestation:
The next generation
Should come from which marital bed?
Primogeniture wasn't invented
So nobody's honour was dented
A new king appeared
Whom all the folk cheered
And all scandal was thereby prevented.
Someone on WhatsApp mentioned they'd had to write a poem on the theme "tree", and in reply, I made this up in 60 seconds, without time to make apologies to Joyce Kilmer...

There once was a beautiful tree
That wasn't so lovely to me
As any old pome
Pulled out of a tome
Pulled out of a beautiful tree.

Two festive limericks prompted by Projoy and this article on King Charles and his replantable Christmas tree.

goldfinch - King Charlie’s replantable tree
Makes a bold point on ecology,
Strong on conservation
Yet on his oration:
A touch wooden, his delivery.

Projoy - Charles drawls from a room that's enchanting
For now it's a "sir", not a "ma'am" ting.
He signals his virtue
with pine (or a birch?) who
Like him needs a speedy replanting.


The child, being close to the floor,
sees the dust gather up, more and more.
The cracks in the wall
grow, as children grow tall
till they leave; dust thrown up; closing door.
To eternity Sisyphus will
Roll his boulder atop Dollis Hill
The thrill of defeat
The will to repeat
Was, will be, and ever is still
A long time ago, I would pray
I could make the folk dance when I'd play
But then February's news
Bought a fresh wave of blues
The music had died on that day


So bye-bye, Miss American Pie,
The levee I drove to was dry.
Good ol' boys in their folly
Raised whiskies to Holly
'This will be the day they I die.'

On the day that the music expired,
The levee dry, Chevy flat-tired,
The Book of Love closed,
The jester deposed,
Music dead and American-Pyred.
[P, g] Very nicely done, both of you! I’m glad to have planted the seed for those.
[CdM,Pj,g] When limericks go right. Like the collective AP effort in the Game itself - poignant but very satisfying.
This was communicated to me a long time ago by the late Mr. G.T.Hughes; Rosie père

There was an old queer of Khartoum
Who took a lesbian up to his room
He said to his mate
Now let's get this straight
Who does what, and with what, and to whom?

Another in the same vein and from the same source:

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"

We need more filth. Where's Phil - normally a rich source.

Settling the question of pronunciation, once and for all...

I see that you've ordered a scone.
I'm afraid I've just looked and there's none.
Alas, times are tough,
Can I offer you, though,
Some soup? We've a nice minestrone...
Many hundreds of moons ago (literally), one of my brothers
Hidden textnot NotJohn
and I composed some limericks based on Welsh counties. I've attempted to dredge up and reconstruct three of them.

A Methodist preacher from Gwynedd
Said “The man who continually synedd
Goes to hell when he dies—
’Less he scores lots of tries
When the Kingdom of Heaven he wynedd”

There was an old actor from Powys
Whose Richard showed dubious prowys
“The winter!” he went
“Of our discontent!”
(Always forgetting the “Nowys”)

A hopeless romantic from Dyfed
Said “Come see the world, my belyfed!”
But when they got no ferthyr
Than a guest house in Merthyr
She quite rightly told him to styfed

A bad boring bard from Glamorgan
Wrote verses about his own organ
Should you read them, be sure
To give up by line four—
At which point the conclusion is foregone
[CdM, after 30 minutes] They're harder than they look. I can see why you skipped Clwyd.
Rewilding is the thing in Clwyd
Though the species defined are quite fluid:
I once met a bear
Which gave me quite a scare
For into my pants I just pwyd.
[Projoy] I think we did have one with Clwyd but I’ve completely forgotten it. Perhaps because it was no good.
Said Huw Brys, a poet from Clwyd
"I'll write of my home, and not rwyd!"
But in Betys-y-Coed
He completely destroed
His verses. He blwyd—and knwyd
(CdM) I chortle. My Dad would be amused and impressed. BTW it's Betws-y-Coed.
[Rosie] Thank you. And of course it is; how embarrassing. Can I restore some of my semi-Welsh cred in your eyes if I tell you I do know how to spell (and pronounce) Llanfairpg?
(CdM) That's an easy one - just look at the signposts - they say LLANFAIR P.G. as do the bus destination blinds. The 58-letter version (a 19th century commercial gimmick) is for tourists only. 0
Y tanllinellwr hwyr

They staged the Eisteddfod in Gwent
So long-winded Rhys packed his tent.
He was, as things stood,
(and as poets go) good.
So, as good poets go, off he went.
Re-incarnation. This seems as good a place as any to mention it, that my late mother's maiden name, Eluned Morgan, is exactly the same as the new First Minister for Wales. Now don't start getting bossy, mother. Remember you're now a Hughes, like me, sort of thing.
[Rosie] I'm back, and potentially working on new Philth.
Well, frankly, I have to be blunt
While I try to put on a brave front.
Since the day he stood down
This bard's worn a frown.
Oh how I miss Jeremy Hunt!
We’ve got a new maid called Chrysanthemum
Who said, “I have just come from Grantham, m’m.
I lost my last place
In the sorest disgrace,
‘Cos I snored through the National Anthem, m’m.

When the space-time continuum pauses
'Cause a flaw in the temporal laws is
Redirecting time's courses
The effect then (of course) is
That effects will effect their own causes
Another Welsh one, written for my cousin.

There was a young woman from Aber
Who grew sick of this cad who would grab 'er
Deploying her charms
She broke both his arms—
Whence his gasted was utterly flabber

Hidden textAuthor note: The use of the antiquated term cad is for comic effect within the limerick form, and is not intended to in any way trivialise the seriousness of sexual assault. Also, while the author understands the use of violence in response to such assault, this should not be take to mean that he necessarily condones it. But, to be clear, the cad definitely deserved it.


Is it true? That we're reaching the end
of this website that's been my old friend?
I'll miss mc5
When no longer alive
But closures have long been the trend.

So long and farewell it's been fun
This twenty first century run
Fine games and neat verses
Those elegant curses
What now friends - when all's said and done?

The Crescent shall never die
While there's still two alive who can try
And express themselves funnily
Rhymingly, punnily,
Making games of the times that go by.
Want to play? Online Crescenteering lives on at Discord