A series of (non-acrostic) limericks produced in response to various prompts.
These will appear on Saturday mornings wherever possible.
Let me know what you think.
Whilst cleaning the muck from the stable,
Old George was explaining to Mabel:
There’s no need to rush,
Just use the groom’s brush;
He hides it up there, in the gable.
A villain from Yorkshire’s north riding
Went southward to go into hiding.
A tramp from his ‘hood
Suggested he could
Join him in an old railway siding.
A rakish young sailor called Pete
Had a wife that he’d frequently cheat.
If I could spare thruppence,
He’d get his comeuppance;
But I’ll bet he’d still land on his feet.
Ulotrichous, the word of the day?
There’s only one thing I think can say
To banish all doubt,
It won’t rhyme wi’ owt,
And so I’ll not bother trying; okay?
The word of the day is obscure,
Its meaning is hidden, for sure.
It’s lost in the fog,
The mist and the smog.
In the backstreets of Kuala Lumpur.
I once knew a Derbyshire lad
Whose life was exceedingly sad;
He brought people down
All over the town,
That sad little Derbyshire lad.