There was a young lady from Kew
Who didn’t know what to do
Her conundrum was such
She didn’t think much
So she soon met her own Waterloo.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #Collaboration, #DavidPutley, #Kew, #Lady, #limerick, #poetry. #poem
There was a young lady from Kew
who had never been to Limerick
because she knew
she wouldn’t then fit
in the formatted shape of a Haiku.
There once was a team, Limerick FC,
that played in two thousand and three,
they’d been good before,
but had since become poor,
and who knew what their future would be?
There once was a Limerick so funny,
that it sold for a whole lot of money,
to a private collection,
for personal delection,
because that one was particularly punny.
There once was a lady named Sally,
who lived the other side of the valley;
her hair it was soft,
but up in her loft,
there was nothing but total doolally.
There once was a lace made in Limerick,
they either made it real slow, or they made it quick,
it was frilly and cute,
when made into a suit,
but it should never be worn at a pic-a-nic.
There once was a cat name of Sophie,
who entered a race, won a trophy;
she was fast on her feet,
all the others did beat—
I never yet ate with a fork,
which makes me some kind of a dork,
a spoon does suffice
for the drinking of ice,
and a knife for the slicing of cork.
If life is a bit dull
in Yeovil or Hull
then write a Limerick
about Jethro Tull
and his agrarian invention of the seed drill.
Sorry, to disappoint you,
that was not that Limerick,
as you might well tell,
because I am like Billy, idle,
without a rebel yell,
crying for ‘More, more, more!’
There once was a boat made in Éire,
In the boatyard of a fine city, there;
a craft of two knots,
that was covered in spots,
like a slow boat with Chinese Malaria.
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Graeme Sandford 