I'm quite the lover of limericks. I churn them out for practice, and I read them for pleasure. Good ones do need to scan, which seems to be a challenge for a lot of poets who attempt them. And they need to flow with some naturalness of rhythm and communicative ease. And they need to have a degree of wit. Mine could sometimes benefit (I confess) from less of the exuberant wordplay I like to stuff them with; I'm not always the best at the naturalness and the ease. I'll post an example later this week, but I can't claim that this batch of limericks is entirely free of the flaw.
About a week ago, I asked my Facebook Friends to help me check if I was installing the input box correctly on my website, bribing them with an offer of a written-to-order limerick. I know of only three FFs who responded—but I know only because they told me so on Facebook and they messaged me about it on the Ping Me page. Their input box comments never reached me. Anyone else out there, if you're reading this and wondering where your limerick is, message me on the Ping Me page! I'll still write you one!
The only one of the three who included her requested word in her Ping Me message was Deming. And her word was "Murgatroyd." Thanks, Deming! NOTHING rhymes with Murgatroyd. But then nothing rhymes well with "Hankla" either, and Susan Hankla was the second to Ping Me me. Challenge limericks are just kind of likely to be harder; but folks, I gave them the old challenge try anyway. And then, in sheer relief (her name rhymes with stuff!) I wrote Susan Fitzpatrick a four limerick sequence—though part four of it may not count, as it's built around half-rhymes.
Folks, this blog scheme is new for me. Feel free to subscribe. To request topics and assign me prompts. And please leave (if you can figure out how) a comment!
I APOLOGIZE, DEMING, BUT COME ON—MURGATROYD?
“An edible lovebot!” cried Murgatroyd,
as he played with his food. “If this burger toyed
with me—ate me back,
with pink lips I could smack—
what a snack! We could call it THE BURGER DROID!”
NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE MAKING OF THIS LIMERICK
Too long time no see, Susan Hankla!
How’s life? Is it time that we cranked the
workshop back up?
How’s Jack? How’s that pup
I left on your doorstep to prank ya?
ABOUT SHTICK
A limerick for Susan Fitzpatrick—
Or two, or a trio, a hat trick?
(The head-jig sometimes
of potential rhymes
makes my poet’s heart flatfoot and flat-pick.)
So: about shtick. There’s good shtick and bad shtick.
There’s cute shtick: a TikTokker’s cat trick,
my limericks, et al;
there’s shtick that’s just dull,
like an all day layover at Gatwick;
then there’s slick shtick; and sick-as-a-rat shtick.
And his shtick? (You know whose!) It’s that shtick:
it TRIES to be mean;
it lies, to demean—
but factcheck that fat apparatchik?—
he shoots you down, cat-quick! Goes batshit—
spit-shining his snark with a ratchet—
as he spins, and he spins.
If his shtick sticks, he wins!
And you know where he’ll bury the hatchet.
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