It’s time to end this series of posts about limericks. It’s been fun writing and researching all of these older limericks and I’ll continue to do so with periodic posts of this type. I became enamored with limericks as a ten year old boy listening at the door of a card game while my father and his friends were playing poker. One of them recited the following limerick and I’ve never forgotten it. It imbodies everything I like in poetry. It’s both a little funny and a little bawdy. Enjoy. . .
☘️
There was a man from Cass
Whose balls were made of brass.
During inclement weather he’d rub them together
And lightning would shoot out of his ass.
☘️☘️
If you aren’t smiling at that one then limericks aren’t for you. Over the years I’ve written many myself and upset both friends and family because I lean to the bawdy side of things. The following ditty was written by me just a few days ago and it reminded just how much fun it is to create one. Here it is . . .
There once was an old man from Maine.
Whose obsession with limericks became
an excuse for the use of words like f**k it,
And he never ever visited Nantucket.
everyuselessthing.com 