I’ve rounded up a few more limericks written exclusively by the youngest generation. I’m constantly amazed just how well they construct their limericks. When I was their age, I’m sure I wouldn’t have been able to match their skills. Enjoy . . .
Belinda Kellett – Age 8
There was a young lad he named Tony
Who ate plates of fried macaroni.
He got very fat,
But he didn’t mind that,
‘Cos, he bounced when he sat on his pony.
☘☘☘
Audrey Freeland – Age 12
There was a young fellow called Fred
Had an elephant sit on his head.
Where the elephant sat,
Fred’s head grew quite flat,
But Fred didn’t care, he was dead!
☘☘☘
Christine Tailby – Age 7
There was a young lady of Leeds
Who was constantly doing good deeds.
As she bit her young brother,
She said to her mother
“I’ll bind up the wound if it bleeds!”
☘☘☘
Ron Rubin (Unk Age)
As he shrugged and made room on her tuffet,
He whooped: “You’re my lunch, dear Ms. Muffet!”.
Then the monstrous tarantula
Began to dismantle her,
And that’s how Ms. M came to snuff it.
😃😂😁😀😉🙂😛
If any of you happen to have a favorite limerick, email it to me at (everyuselessthing2@yahoo.com) and I’ll post it. Better yet, if you write your own just sent it along and get credit for your work. Don’t be shy, everything here is done just for the fun of it.
I was awakened at 2:30 this morning by one of those annoying Mother Nature calls. I visited her briefly and upon returning to my bed, tried to fall back asleep. During those few minutes of half-sleep some of the words of the following limerick popped into my head. I made a quick note in my cell phone and went to sleep. This morning a did a little editing and the finished limerick was born. I have absolutely no idea where or why it came to me but here it is. This is for all of you limerick and nursery rhyme aficionados.
❤JACK & JILL❤
Jack and Jill climbed up a hill on Nantucket.
He brought a few condoms and she an old bucket.
The bucket was tossed, and Jill’s virginity was lost,
“The Rosewood massacre was a racially motivated massacre of black people and total destruction of a black town that took place during the first week of January 1923 in rural Levy County, Florida.“
Yesterday I was looking back through directories full of information that I’ve collected for the last 30 or more years. Something I found during the search has prompted this posting and still affects me today like it did when I first found out about Rosewood. At that time, I thought I was quite the student of history but when I stumbled upon an article about Rosewood, I was speechless. One of the most horrific acts of racial murder and virtually no one that I knew at that time ever heard of it. I know I didn’t. I was shocked and outraged by the act and by the lack of historical impact it apparently had. Maybe in other parts of the United States millions of people were aware of this outrage but not where I was raised, and that pissed me off too. I then made it a point to read as much as I could find about the Rosewood massacre, and I sat down at a table and wrote the following poem. It comes straight from the heart, filled with the outrage and shock that I experienced as I wrote it then and still. Here it is . . .
ROSEWOOD
I learned today about Rosewood and I really couldn’t explain, why it took me nearly 46 years to learn of those deaths, “White Shame”.
The attempt was made seventy years ago to hide this sin from sight. Buildings burned, people killed, and buried in the night.
Two hundred deaths are a shocking reminder that no matter who you may be, when your group is outnumbered by anyone else’s it could turn into another Rosewood, 1923.
Now that Mother’s Day has come and gone, let’s look into something a bit more musical. Everyone seems to love music of one sort or another, so why don’t we all try to enjoy some music related limericks.
The title of the post tells you everything you need to know. I love wordplay, making puns, finding palindromes, and using words that are rarely heard anymore. Word play can be fun and here are a few fun facts for your files.
Do you know how to tell the difference between morons, imbeciles, and Idiots? Morons – IQ 51 to 70, Imbeciles – IQ 26 to 50, and Idiots – IQ 0-25.
The words tremendous, horrendous, stupendous, and hazardous are the only four words in the modern English language that end in “dous”.
There are no words that rhyme with orange.
If “off” means to deactivate, what happens when the alarm goes off?
Dr. Seuss is credited with the first use of the word “nerd” in print, from his 1950 book If I Ran the Zoo.
The word “Mountweazels” concerns spurious entries or fake words used to catch copyright cheaters.
The term “Tattarrattat” was coined by James Joyce in his novel Ulysses for a knock on the door. It also happens to be the longest palindrome in the Oxford English Dictionary.
“The sixth sick sheik’s sixth sheep is sick” is said to be the toughest tongue twister in the English language.
These six words have no accepted singular forms. Pajamas, Shorts, Jeans, Tights, Trousers, and Glasses.
“Floccinaucinihilipilification” is the longest real word (29 letters) in the Oxford English Dictionary.
I’ll keep searching for more of these and as I find them, I’ll post them. Language can be fun in so many ways. How cool is it to use the language properly to insult some clueless person who insists on irritating you and them not realizing what you meant.
Poetry is an enigma to me. I wouldn’t know good poetry if my life depended on it and even the bad poetry that I sometimes see doesn’t sound so bad. Anything that confuses me like that makes it impossible for me to take it too seriously. After a recent Bad Poetry Post, I received a few e-mails with samples from some of my readers. I assume they sent them because they thought they were bad, I don’t really know, so you figure it out. I think the first one was sent to me because I’m from Maine and someone thought I might be interested in Moose poetry. Good luck with that one. Here it is . . .
A moose is like a bull on stilts With a silly kind of head. And if one of them sat on you You’d probably be dead.
Do you really think that’s bad poetry? It seems okay to me but nothing special. It’s a little bit of truth with a little bit of silliness. Here’s the next one which I really don’t understand about a Toad. It’s a little weird but kind of funny. It seems more like a limerick than poetry but when you get right down to it there isn’t much of a difference.
The story that is told By a severely flattened toad, Is of evidential failure In attempts to cross the road.
This next poem hits home for me primarily due to my advanced age and secondly because it brings back memories of my favorite grandmother who passed away a very long time ago. See what you think.
💖
Of love and marriage who can say, which way these things can go. A loving wife, a shrieking hag, no one will ever know.
The years of youth have come and gone, with memories good and bad. The happiness of family, the love of mom and dad.
The years should teach you something, or so we’re always told. Remain yourself no matter what, and mellow when your old.
Your life is filled with happiness, and sorrows big and small, But not until your old and gray, will you understand it all.
It is a shame that through the years, this knowledge lies unused. Erring and blundering again and again, with help and advice refused.
So, think about the elder ones, grandmothers, grandfathers and such, Who’ve experienced life’s many problems, and could help you oh so much.
Their days are few in number, and once their gone it’s sad. Accept their help and listen close, to the experiences that they’ve had.
And when they’ve gone, you’ll think of them the way they used to be. The memories are all you have, but that’s enough you see.
No matter what day of the week or month of the year, there’s always time for some of Mr. Asimov’s finely crafted limericks. These will tend to be a bit more off-color than the ones I usually post so keep your kids and prudish spouses clear. This is a really good way to kick off your week. Here we go . . .
Today we’ll be introduced to what might be called something less than a romantic love poem. For those of you out there who worship at the steps of classical poetry, I apologize. I like my poetry a little more down to earth and accented with a bit of humor, be it erotic or rude, you decide. This was written some years ago, but it took a long time for me to actually decide to blog it. Anyone who knows me from that time will understand the fun of it, I hope.
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