AND NOW, some really bad and rather pointless limericks, for your edification! Although I must say, because of it’s rigidity in metre and rhyme pattern, the limerick as a poetry form is actually pretty hard to write. So here goes:
Limericks
While painting a dreary landscape,
Van Gogh dreamt of a wild escape.
He said, “I can’t abide
one more pallid hillside,
give me color, perspective and shape.”
The Chapel at Kensington’s vicar
helped himself to the sacristy’s liquor.
He fell down in a swoon
in the ladies rest room
and awoke missing gaiters and knickers.
(This is too obvious. Someone has to have already written it.)
While walking alone by the highway,
a gentleman asked, “Going my way?”
I spitefully said,
“Not unless I was dead.
If you have to be going, then why wait?”
While stalled in the K-Mart express lane
I read candy wrappers to stay sane.
I noticed a trend:
That the more that you spend
the louder your checkbook complains. (Stands to reason)
The songbirds in May start to sing
and, so, herald the coming of spring.
The flowers rejoice
when the frogs find their voice,
and the doves and the eagles take wing.
Once spied by marauding fruit fairies,
my beautiful tree full of cherries
was stripped wholly bare
of all fruit that was there.
Then the sprites went off searching for berries.
— D.J. White
