No, it’s really not that hard to rhyme,
And it just takes a whole lot of time.
But the meter’s the thing
To make every piece sing,
And limerick-writers like me consider lousy meter a terrible crime.
I was just categorizing a bunch of limericks, and I noticed that unless I filed one under the parent category of “General,” none of the other categories were displayed. I quickly had to write a limerick that I could file under “General,” so this was the result of 2 minutes of work. For more on anapest meter in limericks, see Confessions of a Limerick Junkie.
The ape that is called the baboon
Is hairy, and sings out of tune.
He’s not very tall
His legs are quite small,
But his arms, they could reach to the moon.
This one has been submitted to the Omnificient English Dictionary in Limerick Form, the OEDILF.
There once was a guy, Frankenstein
Who insisted his software was fine.
“I’m not really a freak,
Just the neighborhood geek,
And the girls really fall for my line.”
Barry’s currently building himself a new computer. Because all our computers have had names beginning with “F,” he’s calling this one “Frankenstein.”
There once was a poet named Joyce,
Who had an effeminate voice.
Since he was a man,
The monniker, “Stan,”
Would have been a more suitable choice.
Joyce Kilmer, who died in 1918, was the author of the famous poem, “Trees.” Some consider his verse inspired, others call it sappy (no pun intended), and still others quote it in the context of … golf ???
There once was a girl with a pen
Who wrote a few lines now and then
But at night in her bed
She would cower in dread
From that terrible limerick yen.
Refers to the fact that most of my limerick inspiration comes when I can’t sleep, and instead of counting sheep (bah, bah, bah), I count lines of anapestic meter (bah-BAH-bah-bah-BAH-bah-bah-BAH). See Confessions of Limerick Junkie for more on this.
He’s staring at me down his beak
Looking massive, ferocious and sleek
This huge awesome eagle
Is so goddamned regal
I feel like a featherless freak
We were paddling down the Yukon River when I wrote this. There weren’t too many eagles, about one a day. Lots more arctic terns and gulls, and a few kingfishers.
Barry and I actually call eagles “iggles” and seagulls “siggles.” It runs in the family: We recently heard that Barry’s 2-year-old nephew calls seagulls “e-gulls!”
A fellow named Scuppers, a Bear
Decided to take Barbara’s dare
So with nothing to grab
He leapt onto a crab
And rode off, looking quite debonair
Here’s a photo of Scuppers, before he disappeared over the horizon:
Although my friends think me a flake
On New Year’s, a swim I do take
And now, I have found
That dear Puget Sound
Is colder, by far, than the lake!
A snowfall out here is a treat,
And the neighbors who live on this street
Saw the man with the beard
And his wife, who is weird
Run around in it, in their bare feet.
Folks in Seattle can see snow-capped mountains year ’round. But actual snow on the ground in Seattle is rare and exciting.