There will now be a short Intermission.
Our Sales Staff will be in all parts of my Webpage selling: Choc- Ices , Soft drinks and Pop Corn.
There was an Old Lady from Donegal,
Who stood in height at 9ft tall,
That's very strange you would agree,
And her Husband Tom is 3ft 3.
They were a fine old sight strolling about Town,
She being UP, and him being DOWN,
But the strangest thing it must be said,
Are the 13 Children that have been bred.
When one stopped growing,
The next grew more; and the one after it;
Grew more than before.
For Mary the Oldest is 2ft 7,
While Tom the youngest is 8ft 11.
And Modern Science just can't explain,
Why every Child born, has feet to gain,
For in Ascending height their growth would shoot,
Resembling much a Peruvian Pan Flute.
Around the Shops, by the Diamond Square,
Their Chatter fills the Irish air,
From top to bottom such happy Souls,
For Disparity is good when all is told.
So if ever you travel to Donegal Town,
You may see a Family that's well renowned,
A living marvel, a legend grown:
And someday honoured in a simple poem.
-
Author:
Kevin Hulme (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 1st, 2025 18:20
- Comment from author about the poem: Started off as four lines and got out of hand.
- Category: Surrealist
- Views: 14
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Cheeky Missy
Offline)
Comments5
Excellent work.
Thank you.
A fun read and I love limericks a great story
Yes, thank you.
Things should get out of hand a bit more often, then! Genetics is a funny thing. Somewhat like the 2-week fossilisation process. 🕊🙏🏻
Never to sure about my Scribblings: so thank you all.
It’s still worth a chance, the editing tools help and the final decision to share or not is always yours🙏🏻🕊
Everything got out of hand there, didn’t it? I feel you are a politician with a subliminal message on growth who got lost in his own metaphor……
Tickled me fancy a little though…..
Politician! Politician! How dare you Sir . I've been called many things in my time: Estate Agent,
Philanderer, Braggart, Secret Jason Donavon fan, but never Politician. It's Pistols at Dawn Tomorrow on the Common by Gad.
Politician! Politician! How dare you Sir . I've been called many things in my time: Estate Agent,
Philanderer, Braggart, Secret Jason Donavon fan, but never Politician. It's Pistols at Dawn Tomorrow on the Common by Gad.
Life I survive (so far) by compromise; so wot about creme puffs at 500 yards? I'll even give you an extra shot as you are a pollie who likes to repeat himself on account of his poor aim......
Creme Puffs it is . But made with half the fat and less Sugar.
No need to get to Silly over this.
Nah - hows about eliminate the fat but double the sugar; me trajectory is gonna be way off otherwise.....
Wow, this is too fun. Jack Sprat lent a hand and the inhabitants of the emerald Erin's Isle are hereby renowned for sporting such a curious family. Delightfully rendered with excellent imagery and charming good humour, with a waltzing poignancy. Thank you for sharing.
My Pleasure, thanks for reading.
So thats what Poignancy looks like Waltzing. Wonder if it can do the Charleston.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.