LIMERICKS

by Tobias Ware © 1999

Fruit Slices

 Take mixed-fruit and some spices,
 Mix with brandy, because it entices,
        With a pastry sheath
        Placed above and beneath
 Then bake well and you've made Fruit Slices.

Trish

 There once was a woman named Trish
 Who made an incredible wish.
        She wanted to be
        A tureen you see
 Coz it is known to be quite a dish!

Websites

 My website for lim'ricks is here,
 Come visit and view it with cheer,
        I'll accept criticisms,
        Or smart witticisms,
 Or donations - I do need more beer!

Weekends

 You think that Friday is slow?
 And think that the weekend won't go
        By with a whizzz
        Telling you, I is,
 That a new week awaits you, you know.

Ironmen?

 I wonder if ironmen must,
 With muscles straining to bust,
        Put up with the hell
        Of thinking the swell,
 Will make all of the "Iron" in them rust?

Cat-woman

 When a woman to cats is devoted,
 She's maybe more lonely than's noted,
        It's not that she's smitten
        By a cute little kitten,
 It's her surrogate child that's fur-coated.

Easter Bliss

 Oh! Easter! The bliss and the singing,
 The church-bells a-donging and dinging,
        But the hymns not the thing
        That makes my mind sing.
 No! it's the CHOCOLATE the Rabbit is bringing!

Roses

 We sit in a garden of roses,
 Surveying a gamut of poses,
        The scent seems divine,
        Like a robust, red wine,
 Which pleasures the end of our noses.

Perspective.

 I'm amazed that the stars that shine bright,
 Which compete with the moon and its light,
        Comets too - all out done,
        By the glare of the Sun
 Choose the time that is right for them - Night.

Saint Patrick (according to me)

 I have to put on the brake
 For this thing about Patrick and snake
        Is a lot of old mist
        Snakes did never exist
 In Ireland - It's a religious "mistake".

 The "snake" is a symbol for Devil
 Which the Church saw as being quite level
        With the Pagan and Druid
        Religions, quite fluid
 In those parts of Ireland's dishevel.

 So the "pagan" or "country dweller"
 Worshiped some gods that seemed sweller
        To them than the "White One"
        But the Church taught the "Right" one
 Was better than the other feller.

 Patrick (and that's not what he was named)
 Was enslaved by some Irish disdained,
        For slavery and plunder
        And so it's no wonder
 That he sought the revenge he has claimed.

 The "Horned God" was a Nature sprite,
 But was transformed, by the pen, overnight,
        Into a most foul fate
        The "Devil Incarnate"
 And by Patrick was then put to flight.

 And so this great myth comes to close,
 I dry my wet eyes, blow my nose,
        For the injustice is clear
        What ever you hold dear
 Can be twisted into - "Heaven Knows".

Beowulf - a new version

 A legend was Beowulf the brave,
 Who fought monsters and such to the grave,
        Like killing Grendel and other-
        things like Grendels Mother,
 Causing poets to write sagas and rave.

 Grendel was a monster whose aim,
 Was to kill all the fighters, his claim,
        Was well founded - no one,
        Could best Grendel - who won,
 Every battle. He would kill, he would maim.

 But Beowulf came up from the West,
 Killing Grendel in a gruesome contest,
        A feast was begun,
        At the set of the sun,
 Treating Beowulf as best of the Best.

 A short time from the start of the feast,
 There came from a fen in the East,
        An huge Monster - no other,
        Than Grendel's own Mother,
 A terrible, horrible beast.

 Beowulf wades in to attack,
 With his sword, he proceeded to hack,
        And slew the foul beast,
        Then continued his feast,
 With the heads of the slain in his sack.

Juggling

 To juggle I want to be able,
 Like a clown in a circus of fable,
        The balls fly up fairly,
        Land near my hands barely,
 But mostly fall under the table.

The Queensland Sun

 In Queensland we suffer from heat,
 With ice-cream and ices a treat.
        To encourage lucidity,
        It's the bloody humidity,
 Makes surviving a difficult feat.

 When you can't find the cool in the shade,
 And it's 40 degrees Centigrade,
        From your feet to your head
        You can sweat till you're dead
 Your lifestyle must simply degrade.

 Oh the heat and the humidity are high,
 And the Sun burns your skin from the sky,
        Some folk like to burn,
        And bake till they turn,
 To a doctor, for a cancer to fry.

 Of skin cancers and things that relate,
 We have the most horrible rate,
        To abuse in the sun,
        To "tan till your done",
 Then complain 'cos protection's too late.

 You can sing of the glories of Sun,
 You might feel you could do with some fun,
        Well, I'll tell you this,
        I envy you, miss,
 To your cold winters I rather would run.

How I write my Poems
(in reply to a query from a budding-but-not-quite-there-yet limericker)

 I sit in continuous thought,
 Combining the lines that are wrought,
        From hours of thinking,
        (and copious drinking),
 So I don't do the work that I ought!

 My lines are all simply mine,
 I figure one theme at a time,
        But sometimes a theme
        Pops out with a scream,
 And I just have to write that new rhyme.

 Your poems can be topical and good,
 Your scansion in verse, though, you should,
        Use the Limerick meter,
         It'll make 'em much sweeter,
 And hit harder than your present ones would.

Knights

 The Knights of old days are still 'round,
 The Gallant and Civil still found,
        But his opposite too,
        Around us is, true,
 The villain and cad still abound.

 We fight the good fight for our kind,
 We promise, in future, to find
        How to eradicate bad,
        Or smoothen the sad,
 And leave all the madness behind.

Deja Vu?

 There's a popular feeling they say,
 It's peculiar in its own little way,
        Is it known to you?
        It's like "Deja Vu",
 But down under we shout "Vu Ja Day".

 "Deja Vu" is a feeling or scene,
 Of some place, where you've never been,
        But you seem very sure
        You HAVE been there before,
 I'm sure that you know what I mean.

 "Vu Ja Day", I think you'll deplore,
 In fact, you may "show me the door",
        It's when you visit a town,
        And you feel let down,
 Coz you'll never go there any more.

How to treat a lady

 Your wife needs a good long vacation,
 It seems, to a different Nation,
        A long way from the work
        Which you seem to shirk,
 Which perhaps then will revise your summation.

 My dear man, we can't all be toilers,
 Clipping the lawn, heating boilers,
        She'll develop a hunch,
        Whilst getting your lunch,
 Such effort, I reckon, would spoil 'ers.

Resolutions?

 Merry Christmas and Happy Yule,
 The time of the year for renewal,
        Of each resolution,
        Ignored in execution,
 The ones who persist thought the fool.

 We make resolutions to seem
 To be, to others, the cream
        Of the "do gooder" set,
        Well, I've not met one yet,
 Who keeps a resolution. They dream.

 To the ones who persist in their quest
 I take my hat off, you're the best
        Of a rare, dying breed,
        May your fortunes exceed,
 The goals you're pursuing with zest.