LIMERICKS 106, 107 and 108

Michael Edwards

 

 

When he passed away dear Bill Rownd

departed for hell deep underground

and although it’s hot

 it troubled him not

for he wanted to be where the fun’s to be found.

 

 

A health food fanatic called Ivy Malone

Had long pubic hair which you cannot condone

for it grew and grew

and poked out on view

but it worried her not for ‘twas fresh and home grown.

 

 

A renowned wind player called Matt

when playing for fun found that

to some folks dismay

he could add to his play

by including the sound of his farts in b flat.

 

 

  • Author: Michael Edwards (Offline Offline)
  • Published: April 14th, 2022 00:03
  • Comment from author about the poem: Another large painting: acrylic on canvas 3ft by 2ft.
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 33
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Comments +

Comments5

  • orchidee

    Oh lol. good writes and pic M. Does Miss Berles play in Matt's orchestra?! lol.

    • Michael Edwards

      She's a great percussionist Orchi - a resounding percussionist - especially after bean salad.

    • L. B. Mek

      a read
      of b flat
      fresh and home grown farts
      where the fun's to be found...
      lol
      thanks Michael, needed that chuckle
      its been a long week..
      (I imagine standing in front of that painting
      must feel like
      being submerged, within a daydream
      that we can get lost within
      to feel
      and reach for those textured, imbued
      brush strokes of escape
      as a promise
      to this wondrousness, we call life
      paused, hovering
      in the face of callous, fate...)

      • Michael Edwards

        It sure is a biggy to stand in front of - callous fate - love that - an inspiration for another poem?

      • dusk arising

        He'd dream them up whilst aslumber
        and each limerick he dreamed had a number
        todays one oh six to one oh eight
        I view over my breakfast plate
        of two rashers and some fine sliced cucumber


        B flat was Matt's flatulent key
        he could play it all day with such glee
        but at the fete on the green
        he ruptured his spleen
        and stank out the entire marquee


        there ensued what was surely a risk
        some toff could ignite the foul mist
        it'd just take some wag
        to light up a fag
        and the place would no longer exist


        so they called upon fireman Sam
        who arrived in his shiney red van
        he was quite familiar
        he'd done several things similar
        and he told everybody to scram


        but the sound of Sams tinkling bell
        had done little to cure that foul smell
        and true to Sam's premonition
        a sudden ignition
        consigned the whole party to hell

      • Rozina

        Hehe, 3 great limericks. Had a good laugh with these!

      • Neville



        you just made me make an involuntary funny noise but I think I got away with it by blaming the dog .. 🙂



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