I look like a million bucks
Which really, REALLY sucks:
I’m paper thin
With off-green skin
And my value’s always in flux.
Tag Archives: Limerick
Other People’s Cats
Life is like this little guy,
At first cute and fluffy and shy.
It’ll sit on your lap,
Happy purring, then SNAP!
And that’s why I wear this glass eye…
“Mimi” – AKA “Snake”
Filed under Poems
Maybe Tomorrow I’ll Have A Topic
Some days before going to bed
A little voice speaks in your head:
“Write something funny
“Without sex, dogs, or money,”
And so you write limericks instead.
Filed under Poems
Bacon
Bacon is like Hell,
As I know all too well.
Both hurt in the end,
And the scars never mend,
But before all that, they’re swell!
I Did Too
There was a teenager from Kiev
That people oft told how to liev.
He painted a plate
As blank as a slate
With all the shits he didn’t giev.
Filed under Poems
Almost Educated
I never learned how to sew,
So my homemaking skills are so-so,
But I know “two” from “to,”
And I even learned “too,”
So I guess you reap what you so.
Filed under Poems
In Sickness and in Health
I made a commitment
To this poetical quest
That each day, rain or shine
Something rhyming would be pressed.
And so as I lie
Awash in my phlegm*
I write you this limerick,
Though it is not a gem:
There once was a very sick poet
Whose nose needed someone to blow it.
He searched for a tissue
But found none. What an issue!
Finally he chose to Costco it.
*I apologize for the image. Be thankful it wasn’t a photo.
Filed under Poems, To the Reader
We regret to inform you…
A zombie that lived in a crypt
Read “Men’s Health” and wanted to get ripped,
So he pumped lots of iron
‘Til his cadaver was tirin’.
Too bad Hollywood passed on my script.
Filed under Poems
Almost
There once was a poet named Jim Rick
Who never could finish a limerick.
He put his mind to it
But every time blew it.
Filed under Poems
Limerick Apparel
A cop from Detroit had a tazer
That he hid underneath his blazer.
He was good in a fight
Until one dark night
When he was killed by a guy with a laser.
There once was a man from Currant
Who gave trousers as gifts to his Aunt.
The pants tore in half,
And he ran like a calf,
But in the end he gave only one pant.
There once was a lady from Maying
Who wore yoga pants that were fraying.
To me it did behoove
That I saw the lips move
But I couldn’t hear what they were saying.
Filed under Poems
