Youmans (pronounced like 'yeoman' with an 's' added) is the best-kept secret
among contemporary American writers. --John Wilson, editor, Books and Culture Marly Youmans is a novelist and poet out of sync with the times
but in tune with the ages. --First Things

Monday, April 18, 2016

In Limerick Town

public domain, Wikipedia
Here are four after-dinner limericks, written while drinking a wee glass of Seven Kingdoms, part of the Game of Thrones series, product of one of our local breweries. Ommegang calls it a “hoppy wheat ale,” and it’s pretty good for an accompaniment to limericks. One would like a bit of hoppiness with a limerick.

I dare you to write a few of your own, with or without a Seven Kingdoms. Go on!

* * *

First up. No cartoonist can resist this subject, and neither can somebody daydreaming a limerick of the political persuasion:

Copious Poof

There once was a brash billionaire
Who was blessed with abundance of hair—
Like a sweet guinea pig.
Or a polyester wig,
Or a billow of very hot air.

My natural bent tends to be apolitical, and I have to force myself to take “an interest” in the current slate of candidates. Luckily for cobbled-up interest, a traditional limerick should be a bit scurrilous….

Game of Thrones

Just imagine the spunk it would take
To be on the political make,
Always ready to hump,
To grind and to bump,
Like a frenzied, concupiscent snake.

Although I am not particularly a fan of politics, I am a fan of Emily Dickinson. Also frogs in bogs. And of fancy words in humble limericks. Dive in!

Dinner with the Stars 
After Dickinson

How delicious to be a Candidate,
And to gasconade, guzzle, and prate
Like an eminent frog
In a notable bog,
For one hundred thousand a plate.

Perhaps 100K is a bit inexpensive these days? And here's a little bit about the jumble of promises abroad in the world in election year....

The Bait of Siren Songs

So you promise us borderland walls
And a passport to ivory halls
And no taxes, and we
Are to have health for free:
Like a Siren's, your come-on appalls.

Now it's your turn. Pay a visit to Limerick Town--it's a quick anapestic jaunt!

With forays into politics, always end on cake, if possible. So here's something sweet to end on: yesterday's pear cheesecake, made for Michael's birthday by our middle child. Was it good? Yes, it was!


22 comments:

  1. Spunk, bump, and grind? Naughty! Who knew? But, of course, you might want to write this up to my creative misreading. Hmmmm.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I'm afraid that a proper limerick is not always 100% clean, even when 100% silly. Or maybe especially then. (Although I chose "spunk" for a different reason, before I saw where the poem was headed!)

      Delete
  2. O, but who could resist a frenzied, concupiscent snake? Political years are indeed orgiastic.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I blame these on hotheaded Facebook friends who hurl flaming spears!

      Delete
  3. I'm not sure exactly what the form of this nonsense poem is, but I woke up with it early one morning about 25 years ago after reading Edward Lear the night before: Rosemary Krantz

    Rosemary Krantz was covered with ants
    because she sat on a hill.
    What did she do?
    She stripped (wouldn't you?),
    and her clothes are lying there still.

    Here's the political version:

    The Cartoonist

    Perhaps the cartoonist
    ascertains soonest
    who next will sit on the throne.
    Wish he would tell us, vulva or phallus--
    Ma Barker, or Al Capone?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Ah, poor Rosemary Krantz! That happened to me once, when I was a toddler and forced to pee in the great outdoors, which was full of fire ant beds. Alas. Embedded in memory.

      As limericks, they're wayward but lively and full of limerick-spirit. Thanks, Ms. Mary Boxley Bullington! <3

      Delete
  4. Ah, I see coarseness is permitted. Here's three for the price of one:


    A writer of modest ambition,
    Undergoing a late circumcision,
    Said to he who was cutting:
    "Please allow me to butt in,
    I'm keen to lose no ammunition."

    "Fear not," said the scalpel technician,
    "You are part of a bookish tradition.
    In trimming your member,
    I'll not harm your gender,
    Just bring out a smaller edition."

    "I like that, it gives me a frisson,"
    Said the scribe, "You have my permission,
    To carve with free rein,
    Taking care to retain,
    A way to ensure micturition."


    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Well, coarseness is really part of limericks, at least until you get to nonsense rhymes.

      Haha--no doubt you spent longer on yours that I on mine. Very clever.

      Delete
    2. I bumped into you on Beth Adams's blog, and I now know you are called ROBBIE.

      Delete
    3. But never Roddie; that always sounds like short pants. By which I mean trousers not breaths.

      Delete
  5. a juvenile effort, but mine own...

    in dutch with the local police,
    we ate three doughnuts apiece.
    while stuffing them in,
    we soaked up some gin,
    which fueled us all the way to Nice...

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Mine are quite juvenile in spirit (and in rapidity of execution!)

      So fun! Doughnuts and police are such a good comedic conjunction. I expect they'll never shake that linkage, or at least not for another century...

      Delete
  6. A tongue primed for folly and malice,
    But a hide that is lacking in callous,
    For it seems the sting lingers
    From jibes at this fingers--
    Their construed as a sneer at his Palace.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. At last a political one! Thank you, George. Enjoyed.

      Delete
  7. There was a fantastic old geezer named Kasich
    Whose policy was not so basic
    Unlike Trump or Cruz
    His speeches made me snooze
    Cruz was spastic and Trump bombastic
    But Kasich was too genteel to be toxic and ended up with a delegate count that was static.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Haha--you crammed a lot in that last line! Thanks, Kirby!

      Delete
  8. Obsessed with a limerick today,
    My poor warped wits gone astray;
    It's all i can do
    to tie my shoe
    And bolt out the door to go play.

    sorry. it's kind of hard to stop...

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yes, it's a dangerous country, the land of Limericks! <3

      Delete

Alas, I must once again remind large numbers of Chinese salesmen and other worldwide peddlers that if they fall into the Gulf of Spam, they will be eaten by roaming Balrogs. The rest of you, lovers of grace, poetry, and horses (nod to Yeats--you do not have to be fond of horses), feel free to leave fascinating missives and curious arguments.