Category Archives: limerick

Limerick time: “Joy”

There once was a woman named Joy.
All her neighbors she did nothing be annoy.
Such a termagant!
Her hours were always spent
Haranguing all who came into her employ.

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Silly Saturday: Limerick: “Well endowed”

There once was a man well endowed
who was always noticed in crowd.
Say what you think
about his masculine stink,
but he always wore it quite proud.

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Freeform Friday: Limerick: “Lady from Roane”

There once was a lady from Roane
who could have fun even while being alone.
She’d let her fingers do the walking
and cries of joy do the talking
by herself or sometimes on the phone.

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Workshop weekend: limerick: “Strange tale”

There once was a writer from Nairobi
who had a strange tale that she told me.
About the dark of night
when Aliens came for her “delight”…
and then produced copies, which she sold me.

drawing of open book

It was a dark and stormy story….

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Freeform Friday: Limerick: “Mumpsimus”

There once was a man called Mumpsimus
who when he spoke, wasn’t quite one of us.
He’d say Hello for Good bye,
or Good Night at noon high.
But we knew he was kind when he cussed at us.

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Random acts of poetry: Limerick: “Quills”

There once was a man from Ft. Wayne.
Whose bride nearly drove him to abstain.
Little sex, no thrills –
She was all “porcupine quills” –
Until he sang songs with bawdy refrains.

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Random thoughts: Limerick: “Retort”

There once was a hairdresser in port
who, while wearing a pink hard hat, would cavort.
And to this very day,
though the construction’s gone away,
is still known to have a snarky retort.

A hairdresser and her hard hat

A hairdresser and her hard hat. Retort extra.

You can find out more about this pink hard hat and the woman wearing it at: http://ephemeralfilaments.wordpress.com/.

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Sunday silliness: Limerick: “Writer from Kent”

There once was a writer from Kent
who knew not which way he was bent.
Erotic poetry or prose
or short stories to compose
Profligate fellow, he misspent.

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Limerick: “Knottiness”

There once was a woman from Oak Ridge
who used sexual “knottiness” as a bridge.
She’d tie down her sailor;
have him now and have him latter.
And she’d (k)not keep it quiet, (k)not a smidge.

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Workshop weekend two: Saturday limerick: “Canard”

There once was a tree in my yard
that came down in a wind rather hard.
I sawed on it yesterday;
it’s still there today.
It’s tougher than a month old canard.

The split

The hackberry where it split and most of it bowed to the ground to the applause of thunder and wind and rain.

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