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Limerick Manifesto*
A limerick challenge was waiting
for rhyme (without rhythm abating).
Words plopped into place
to marry the pace
while humor got stuck in the grating.
I needed a way to unstick it
(that laugh that was lodged in the thicket
of whirl-minded word,
soon written absurd)
before all the Prosers would picket!
Just then, in a moment inspiring
my fingers fair flew with desiring
the ditty below
for gauntlet to throw
(and get all our cylinders firing).
The Limerick
There once was a poet so dandy
who lived on a beach long and sandy
the problem so sad
that this poet had
was that he was not very handy.
He often would burn his potatoes
when cooking. To can his tomatoes,
he took on a chef
(with moniker “Jeff”)
who promptly flew off to Barbados.
When it came to cleaning or mopping,
the poet would spend his time chopping
up words to apply
(in hopes they would dry)
as cover for dust-bunny droppings.
He’d stumble in haphazard fashion
while trying to live out his passion
of life by the sea;
Alas! Woe was he!
He never fared well on sea-rations!
The moral; if one finds it needed,
is happiness might be impeded,
without and within,
but chin up your chin,
when life hands you limericks screeded!
A limerick challenge was waiting
for rhyme (without rhythm abating).
Words plopped into place
to marry the pace
while humor got stuck in the grating.
I needed a way to unstick it
(that laugh that was lodged in the thicket
of whirl-minded word,
soon written absurd)
before all the Prosers would picket!
Just then, in a moment inspiring
my fingers fair flew with desiring
the ditty below
for gauntlet to throw
(and get all our cylinders firing).
The Limerick
There once was a poet so dandy
who lived on a beach long and sandy
the problem so sad
that this poet had
was that he was not very handy.
He often would burn his potatoes
when cooking. To can his tomatoes,
he took on a chef
(with moniker “Jeff”)
who promptly flew off to Barbados.
When it came to cleaning or mopping,
the poet would spend his time chopping
up words to apply
(in hopes they would dry)
as cover for dust-bunny droppings.
He’d stumble in haphazard fashion
while trying to live out his passion
of life by the sea;
Alas! Woe was he!
He never fared well on sea-rations!
The moral; if one finds it needed,
is happiness might be impeded,
without and within,
but chin up your chin,
when life hands you limericks screeded!
*Created for a limerick challenge at another site.
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