so twenty twentys been and gone
if this years better, bring it on!
let's go dine out
lets sing and shout
please set us free twenty twenty one
i'm fed up with watching too much telly
and feeding junk to a growing belly
i want to get out
where i can roam about
staying home's getting awful smelly
facemask donned i stepped outside
the streets so quiet like someone's died
silence is deathly
not just here especially
pretty much everywhere, the whole worldwide
right here we're achieved the lofty tier three
another step closer to vulnerability
will we join the rest
just a few humans left
like the buffalo, elm and good old honey bee
-
Author:
dusk arising (
Offline) - Published: January 1st, 2021 08:31
- Comment from author about the poem: With absentee muse, some sillyness fell from my fingertips today.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 71
- Users favorite of this poem: Amon
Offline)
Comments7
I turned off the news 3 months ago yet it still won't let go of my soul! Yet sadly that junk food still rots away in my belly, until I read your funny fingers and remember it's all jelly!
When the cow jumps over the moon, I'll turn back on the telly!
Happy New year my friend, thanks for triggering then lightning my brain!
Brains is funny things Dan.... i had the choice of being a brain surgeon or a bus driver, I chose plumbing.
......... seriously, serious limericks could be this years in thing methinks .... .....
I can't get my head around anything else at the moment. I've become lockdown lackadaisical.
Great rhymes in this grouse about being locked in and yearning to be allowed out - - loved the atmospheric but solemn ending to a year we all want to put behind my dear friend.
Well lets just hope 2020 will be remembered as the interlude where nations began to understand we are united in our vulnerability and the world moved on just one wee step toward unity.
Truth in humor! Here the hospitals are full and we're back to lock downs! But all aside great lines! Very relatable
Yes we have horrible situations all around and i don't want to write about that reality in any meaningful way any more just now. I did enough of that earlier in 2020. Keeping it light.
Strictly speaking, these aren't limericks. The lines are iambic, more or less - duple meter anyway. A limerick is in triple meter - anapestic or amphibrachic.
taDAda taDAda taDAda,
taDAda taDAda taDAda .
taDAda taDAda,
taDAda taDAda.
taDAda taDAda taDAda.
Well apologies for abusing the word but my honest feelings are that the rules of poetry are a useless pile of crap... expression and communication is all i care to use in my efforts be they silly stuff or heartfelt pourings. You will have noticed that language is a fluid thing and changes quite noiticeably throughout our lives. There is little any of us can do about that even if we wished to, which I don\\\'t, for it is beyond our control and we should only gather such accolades as being heralded as yet another boring old fart stick-in-the-mud type. And so it is with \\\'poetry\\\' and the written word.
Old fashioned traditions which refute change have given us such ridiculous things as radical religious types who still believe in a doctrine introduced by man to control man back in the days when the world was flat. Not for me.
Apologies for the ///s which appear in my response... they are a strange part of the software on this site. If you edit a response on here the each apostrophe or inverted comma gains a /// or \\\ which is annoying.
I've been annoyed by the /// messing with apostrophes, double quotes, and paragraphs. I wish I knew how to contact the administrator. I've asked several times for permission to edit the MyPoeticSide page for poet Aaron Southwick (1830-1909) who just happens to be my great-grandfather.
Limericists are inclined to be sticklers for correct form. I have about half a dozen limericks in OEDILF (where I'm BobRichmond), and I had to give in to their arbiters about my not quite strict meter - I recite limericks (I know more than 100 of them, in addition to a few of my own), and the classic limericks fudge the meter every now and then.
The dirty old bishop of birmingham
buggered his flock whilst confirmin 'em
he sat on his hassock
he lifted his cassock
and slipped his episcopal worm in 'em
there was a young man from bengal
who had a hexagonal ball
its volume times weight
divided by eight
was twice the square root of fuck all
tow of my favourites from memory but if pressed there are many lost in my clutter of grey cells.
I know both of these, with a good many differences from these versions. Two ladies of Birmingham, for example.
I know so many limericks that I know twenty clean ones.
Good limericks d a for this Strange Time.
Andy
'i'm fed up with watching too much telly
and feeding junk to a growing belly
i want to get out
where i can roam about
staying home's getting awful smelly'
appreciate your choice to invest and share in a few rhymes to help bring some much needed respite to our tattooed status of frowning hopelessness...
a grounded, insightful, yet delightfully quirky read my friend,
Happy New Year dear Poet!
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.