Crazy:
There’s a man who resides in a flat
Who’s convinced he’s becoming a rat.
On his hands and his knees,
He will search for some cheese
‘til he’s met by the gaze of a cat.
…and Disgusting:
There’s a chef from the city of Cork
Who was renowned for his dishes of pork
…‘til the day it was found
He’d been serving up hound
For his diners to eat with a fork.
3 stereotype-perpetuating poems by Paul Burgess [2 limerick and a “Brats” quatrain]
“An Evil Stepmother [or Stepfather’s] Threat”
“The next time you are sent to your room,
I’ll ensure that you meet with your doom.
You’ll be there alone
‘til skin falls from bone
And you’re fit to be placed in a tomb.”
“An Evil Stepmother or Stepfather’s Warning”
“If you forget to wash your own plate,
I’ll smash it on top of your pate.
If your plate’s still not clean,
I will batter your bean
With the plate off of which you just ate.”
“A Sea of Yellow Sorrows”
Incontinent was little Brett.
His mother said, when quite upset,
“To your bed, I’ll tie you down.
Keep on wetting, and you’ll drown.”
“Kids at Play”
Will showed his siblings Father’s gun.
“Oh, Russian Roulette sounds like fun!”
Exclaimed his sister, Mary Lynn.
Will said, “You first. I hope you win.”
“A Gift for Teacher”
An apple Will gave Missus Cox
While smiling like a hungry fox.
As Teacher swallowed her first bite,
Will quipped, “I hope you’ve seen Snow White!”
“A Devil at Confession”
“Confess now Willie how you’ve sinned,”
The priest implored, but Willie grinned
And with these words then refused,
“Tell me, how many boys you’ve abused.”
“Willie’s Web”
Willie once thought it’d be a hoot
To hide a spider in Dad’s boot.
Dad’s body’s been of little use
Since meeting Willie’s brown recluse.
Who?”
For Will it was a hoot and howl
To murder sis then, like an owl,
Respond by saying only, “Who?”
When asked by Mom, “Where’s Mary Lou?”
5 “Little Willie” poems by Paul Burgess. For background info on the Little Willie form–yes, it’s a form–please see the following post: https://paulwhitberg.wordpress.com/2014/05/17/little-willie-and-brats-poems/
Below is a poetic recap of this epic tale of heroism and obscurity:
Ann the Famous, John the boy unknown—
The girl’s a perfect hero on a throne.
While John of ants and gravity has died,
The fame of Ann is trav’ling far and wide.
Paul Burgess
[The child’s handwritten story was first shared by storytimewithjohn.com: http://storytimewithjohn.com/2014/05/31/ann-the-famous-and-john-the-unknown-part-ii/
I never expected to write anything inspired by a preteen in Korea…
A Faerie Tale in Formal Verse [Couplets of Iambic Pentameter] by Paul Burgess
A lady came across a magic fish
that vowed to grant her anything she’d wish.
He asked, “How ’bout a young and charming prince?”
The lady’s answer caused the fish to wince:
“What’s wanted by this starving little lass
could be supplied by any normal bass.
As soon as we arrive at Mother’s hut,
you’ll be prepared to go inside my gut.
I requested that a genie give me fish–
He sent you, and to eat you now’s my wish.
[Written in 2006 for a college assignment. Much of my writing then was for children. The rhyme is regular, but the meter is irregular]
I was a horse for a day
And wish I was one still,
Passing the hours munching on hay.
There was nothing I had to pay—
No tax, attention, or bill—
When I was a horse for a day.
I was free to gallop and play
And had nothing but time to kill
And hours to spend munching on hay.
My voice was a bold, boastful bray,
Confident, yet speaking no ill,
When I was a horse for a day.
I listened to blues song of the jay
That lives in a tree by the hill,
While passing the hours munching on hay.
If ever I find a way,
Have no doubt, I certainly will
Be a horse some other day,
Passing the hours munching on hay.
While visiting the London Zoo,
Elaine harassed a kangaroo.
When ‘Lainey tried its nose to pick,
The ‘roo unleased a lethal kick.
“Ermine Elle” [a “brats” poem by Paul Burgess]
While wearing Mother’s ermine coat,
Elle looked exactly like a stoat.
Believing she was surely one,
A hunter went to get his gun.
I know I’ll only make it bleed and scar,
But still I pick and scrape and scratch it raw.
I’ll keep on clawing ‘til I reach the bone.
So hard it is to leave an itch alone.
My fingers have become ten useless nubs.
Alas, those sorry digits did erode;
But such ill luck my progress scarcely slows
Because upon my feet are healthy toes.
I have decided that today’s limericks will be for people with children. Every once in a while, I will unify the five daily limericks with a theme. Some days the limericks will be best for the bar or bedroom, and other days they will be best for the nursery. Today’s are fine for the nursery;)
“The Cat as a Hat”
There was once a man with a cat
That he’d put on his head like a hat.
The kitten did hate
Being worn on his pate
And thought it was time for a chat.
“Of Birds and Boys”
A boy, who would cease not to squirm,
Resembled so closely a worm
That a robin one day
Mistook for its prey
That boy who would cease not to squirm.
“Of Birds and Men”
There was an old man I once knew
Who flapped both his arms ‘til he flew.
The last that I heard,
He had married a bird
And purchased a nest built for two.
“Swamp King”
A king who was weary of pomp
Decided to move to a swamp.
There lived he as boss
Of mosquitoes and moss
While enjoying the absence of pomp.
“Who’s Yo’ Daddy?”
There was once a boy from Baghdad
Who thought that a hare was his dad.
He’d say, “Hey there, Pop!”
But away it would hop,
And the boy would remain there so sad.
Miscellaneous Inanities 