There once was a boxer called TysonWho, in love or war, wasn't a nice 'un
At the Fight of the Year
He bit Holyfield's ear
So hard, it needs surgical splicin'!
There once was a boxer called Tyson
Who, in love or war, wasn't a nice 'un
At the Fight of the Year
He bit Holyfield's ear
So hard, it needs surgical splicin'!
May good verse abound on this URL!
The people will make hyperlinks
To sites with sweet verses, methinks
May each poem-lover
A treasure discover
And pardon this ode, if it stinks.
The poet comments, "Where are all the Limericks by cross dressers?"
Probably in the naughty section. Everyone who enters that contest is a crossdresser.
The poet comments, "TTT's comment is very good.....(Limerick too..)"
TP comments that he fixed the reference. Thanks for letting us know.
The poet comments, "I wish I could find a way to say "broccoli.""
A crashed Russian spaceship called MirWell, it looks like his crash-teaching was successful, actually...
CB found herself quite irateThe poet comments, "I read your travelogue..."
There should be pictures, soon, too! Not of the brown grass, though (and it was actually sort of an ecru, for you crossword puzzle fans).
In Jerusalem there lived a guy called Eric
Who just never cared for any ancient relic
And never praised Gods
Though, at times struggled with odds
Just to prove that he is a maverick.
A gentleman from Duluth
Always spoke truth
So he never got into the claw
Of the American law
Cool, His life went smooth!
At times, to rhyme
Is not a crime
As you are not playing with swords
But for arranging some words
Like LIME, MIME and DIME...
You think yours is stale, visit Miss Havisham sometime...
My hopeful and humble behest
Please post me right here with the rest
I've polished my rhyming
And metered my timing
I think I can run with the best!
Welcome aboard, Bob!
That James is one hell of a guy
He can look you right square in the eye
And feed you his bull
'Till you're really full
'Cause he's mastered the art of the lie.
There once was a fly on a wallThe poet comments, "It ain't half bad; but it ain't half good."
A millitant daughter of Muffet
No zebras did board Noah's arkEver-so-slightly naughty, but we'll let it by...
"I hate those snail darters," I cry.
Ten eels drinking cocktails, conveysThe poet comments, "Pentatette published. I got the idea from a cartoon."
Reminds Toast Point of the Christine Lavin song, "Amoeba Hop"
The poet comments, "If you can't call, virus!!"
The poet comments, "Some eco limerics for you..."
Congress did pass a decree
But now, here's the sinister trick
Who's to decide which tree's sick?
The Forest Service can mark
Whole areas of any park
Without threat from conservationist hicks!
The rights sold on the forest auction block
of value which we can never fully take stock
The highest bidder was free
To log every tree.
Only sick ones? That was all just a crock.
Why would the NFS do this evil deed?
The answer: corruption and greed
since all dollars made
from this unequal trade
the departmental budget would feed.
But why Clinton would sign such a pact
when Gore is known for environmental tact?
makes no sense to me
but now all can see
he is by no means a Green Democrat
We all mourn our heritage lost
And what gain was made for such cost?
Campaign purses were fed
by Special Interests in bed
and the public's best interest got tossed.
The poet comments, "In last Thursday's issue of the science journal Nature, David H Skuse claimed, in effect, that girls have greater social cognition than boys because a single X-chromosome gene is switched on when the gene is passed from father to daughter, but switched off when passed from mother to son. The report made front-page headlines in the British press, although many experts remain convinced that nurture, not nature, is responsible for any difference in social skills between boys and girls."
Cyberlim'ricker.calm wroteThe poet comments, "Don't forget to read the . in the first line as "dot.""
Toast Point adores self-referential entries.
The poet comments, "Is this a star-worthy limerick ?"
Toast Point likes it, but the Sage fears that too many words don't match the metrical accents.
While in China, my folks were agog,The poet comments, "Was there a winner in the May contest?"
Everyone who gets a gold star is a winner. But really, all poets who submit are winners in their own special way.
The poet comments, "Just making a little social commentary and incorporating the title of a Beatles hit in the verse... As long as I'm at it, I'll provide a few other examples:"
As the story goes, she was a fighter.
But the D.A. was slow to indict her.
He was torn by his love
And that one bloody glove...
"This is GREAT," said the Paperback Writer!
A successful, young entrepreneur
Saw his chance and was quick to procure
The promotional rights
For hotels and all flights
On the Magical Mystery Tour.
As I hurriedly ate my fajita
And I gulped down an iced margarita,
Against time I was racing
Or a fine I'd be facing
From that meter maid called Lovely Rita.
Even though it's been years you've been gone,
I'm still happy each morning at dawn.
I could hope that you'd call,
But I don't. After all,
Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da, life goes on...
If you don't have the cash for a car,
But you can buy a Cuban cigar,
If all planes have a star,
And great-grandad's a czar,
You must be Back In The U.S.S.R!
Overseas, transportation's supplied
Oft' by train, and for years they've relied
On the railroads to carry
Those who don't need a ferry.
But you must have a Ticket To Ride.
The crocuses happily blooming
Were all planted in dirt, I'm assuming.
Else they'd never have grown
Where their seeds were all sown
And their ultimate fate would be dooming.
A pastor in need of a lawyer
Was attempting to sue his employer.
But the judge duly warned
That if God became scorned,
He'd be stopped at the Pearly Gate's foyer.
The poet comments, "just wrote one in a hurry"
The poet comments, "my motto:Do it while you still can!"
A snowman named Frosty Van PeltThe poet comments, "This one was born out of my eternal disdain for Frosty the Snowman"
I'm classed as an expert logician.The poet comments, "Just kidding. What is logic?"
The poet comments,
"Perhaps a wee bit crude?
Would love to start a feud!"
