arrow_circle_left arrow_circle_up arrow_circle_right
Limerick Showcase
help
A chance for players to showcase whole limericks for amusement & edification. Standard winning move for the purposes of euthanasia.
arrow_circle_up
[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