DOUBLE LIMERICKS

This page contains several double limericks, a rare triple limerick, and a new version of the double dactyl that I invented, called the "dabble dactyl." The Platypus: a Double Limerick by Michael R. Burch The platypus, myopic, is ungainly, not erotic. His feet for bed are over-webbed, and what of his proboscis? The platypus, though, is eager although his means are meager. His sight is poor; perhaps he’ll score with a passing duck or beaver. The Better Man: a Double Limerick by Michael R. Burch Dear Ed: I don’t understand why you will publish this other guy— when I’m brilliant, devoted, one hell of a poet! Yet you publish Anonymous. Fie! Fie! A pox on your head if you favor this poet who’s dubious, unsavor y, inconsistent in texts, no address (I checked!): since he’s plagiarized Unknown, I’ll wager! Hell to Pay: a Double Limerick by Michael R. Burch A messiah named Jesus, returning from heaven, found his home planet burning & with children unfed, so he ventured: “Instead of war, why not consider cheek-turning?” Indignant right-wingers retorted: “Sir, your pacifist views are distorted! Just pull the plug quickly on someone who’s sickly! Our pursuit of war can’t be aborted!” These poems form a double limerick: No Bull by Michael R. Burch There once was a multi-pierced Bull, who found playing hoops far too dull, so he dated Madonna but observed, “I don’t wanna get married . . . the things she might pull!” So this fast-thinking forward named Rodman then said to his best man—“No problem! When I marry Electra, if the ring costs extra, just yank a gold hoop off my knob, man!” I once provided the second stanza to a famous limerick, turning it into a double limerick … A wonderful bird is the pelican; His beak can hold more than his belican. He can hold in his beak Enough food for a week, Though I’m damned if I know how the helican! Enough with this pitiful pelican! He’s awkward and stinks! Sense his smellican! His beak's far too big, so he eats like a pig, and his breath reeks of fish, I can tellican! —second stanza by Michael R. Burch The next two poems form a double limerick with separate titles: Time Out! by Michael R. Burch Hawking’s "Brief History of Time" is such a relief! How sublime that time, in reverse, may un-write this verse and un-spend my last thin dime! Time Back In! by Michael R. Burch Hawking, who makes my head spin, says time may flow backward. I grin, imagining the surprise in my mother's eyes when I head for the womb once again! This is another double limerick with separate titles: Toupée or Not Toupée, That is the Question by Michael R. Burch There once was a brash billionaire who couldn't afford decent hair. Vexed voters agreed: "We're a nation in need!" But toupée the price, do we dare? Toupée or Not Toupée, This is the Answer by Michael R. Burch Oh crap, we elected Trump prez! Now he's Simon: we must do what he sez! For if anyone thinks And says his "plan" stinks, He'll wig out 'neath that weird orange fez! Not all double limericks are light affairs: Self Reflection: a Double Limerick by Michael R. Burch for anyone struggling with self-image She has a comely form and a smile that brightens her dorm . . . but she’s grossly unthin when seen from within; soon a griefstricken campus will mourn. Yet she’d never once criticize a friend for the size of her thighs. Do unto others— sisters and brothers? Yes, but also ourselves, likewise. Triple Limerick: Attention Span Gap by Michael R. Burch What if a poet, Shakespeare, were still living to tweet to us here? He couldn't write sonnets, just couplets, doggonit, and we wouldn't have Hamlet or Lear! Yes, a sonnet may end in a couplet, which we moderns can write in a doublet, in a flash, like a tweet. Does that make it complete? Should a poem be reduced to a stublet? Bring back that Grand Era when men had attention spans long as their pens, or rather the quills of the monsieurs and fils who gave us the Dress, not its hem! Officious Notice: I have invented a nonce nonsense form: the "dabble dactyl." A dabble dactyl starts out like a double dactyl, but forgets the rules and changes horses midstream. Anyone who prefers order to chaos should give the dabble dactyl a wide berth and also not sow any wild oats. Otherwise, “A little dabble’ll do ya.” — Michael R. Burch Double Dactyls by Michael R. Burch Sniggledy-Wriggledy Jesus Christ’s enterprise leaves me in awe of the rich men he loathed! But why should a Sadducee settle for trifles? His disciples now rip off the Lord they betrothed. Donald Dabble Dactyl #1 by Michael R. Burch Higgledy-Piggledy Ronald McDonald cursed Donald Trump, his least favorite clown: "Why should I try to be funny as Donald? He gets all the laughs, claiming upside is down!" Donald Dabble Dactyl #2 by Michael R. Burch Wond’ringly, blund’ringly Ronald McDonald asked, “Who the hell is this strange orange clown?” “Why should I try to be funny as Donald? He gets all the laughs, claiming upside is down!” Donald Dabble Dactyl #3 by Michael R. Burch Piggledy-Wiggledy 45th president, or erstwhile manse resident, perched on a throne of gold-plated porcelain matching his orange “tan,” bombing Iran from his twittery phone? This famous limerick inspired my Einstein “relative” limericks: There was a young lady named Bright who traveled much faster than light. She set out one day in a relative way, and came back the previous night. I recently learned this poem was originally penned, in a slightly different version, by Arthur Henry Reginald Buller; his limerick appeared in Punch (Dec. 19, 1923). I find it intriguing that one of the best revelations of the weirdness and zaniness of relativity can be found in a limerick. I was inspired to pen multiple rejoinders: The Cosmological Constant by Michael R. Burch Einstein, the frizzy-haired, said E equals MC squared. Thus all mass decreases as activity ceases? Not my mass, my ass declared! Ass-tronomical by Michael R. Burch Relativity, the theorists’ creed, says mass increases with speed. My (m)ass grows when I sit it. Mr. Einstein, get with it; equate its deflation, I plead! Relative Theory I by Michael R. Burch Einstein’s theory, incredibly silly, says a relative grows, willy-nilly, at speeds close to light. Well, his relatives might, but mine grow their (m)asses more stilly! Relative Theory II by Michael R. Burch Einstein’s peculiar theory excludes all my relatives, clearly, since my relatives’ asses increase their prone masses while approaching light speed—not nearly! Relative Theory III by Michael R. Burch Relativity, we’re led to believe, proves masses increase with great speed. But it seems my huge family must be an anomaly; since their (m)asses increase, gone to seed! The Heimlich Limerick by Michael R. Burch for T. M. The sanest of poets once wrote: "Friend, why be a sheep or a goat? Why follow the leader or be a blind breeder?" But almost no one took note. These are limericks of the singular variety … Caveat Spender by Michael R. Burch It's better not to speculate "continually" on who is great. Though relentless awe's a Célèbre Cause, please reserve some time for the contemplation of the perils of EXAGGERATION. This is another of my scientific limericks … Parting is such sweet sorrow by Michael R. Burch The universe is flying apart. Hush, Neil deGrasse Tyson’s heart! Repeat, repeat. Don’t skip a beat. Perhaps some new Big Bang will spark? Low-T Hell by Michael R. Burch I’m living in low-T hell ... My get-up has gone: Oh, swell! I need to write checks if I want to have sex, and my love life depends on a gel! ANIMAL LIMERICKS A much-needed screed against licentious insects by Michael R. Burch after and apologies to Robert Schechter Army ants? ARMY ants? Yet so undisciplined to not wear pants? How incredibly rude to wage war in the nude! We moralists call them SMARMY ants! Dot Spotted by Michael R. Burch There once was a leopardess, Dot, who indignantly answered: "I’ll not! The gents are impressed with the way that I’m dressed. I wouldn’t change even one spot!" Clyde Lied! by Michael R. Burch There once was a mockingbird, Clyde, who bragged of his prowess, but lied. To his new wife he sighed, "When again, gentle bride?" "Nevermore!" bright-eyed Raven replied. The Dromedary and the Very Work-Wary Canary by Michael R. Burch There once was a dromedary who befriended a crafty canary. Budgie said, "You can’t sing, but now, here’s the thing— just think of the tunes you can carry!" The Mallard by Michael R. Burch The mallard is a fellow whose lips are long and yellow with which he, honking, kisses his bawdy, boisterous mistress: my pond’s their loud bordello! The Trouble with Elephants: a Word to the Wise by Michael R. Burch An elephant never forgets and thus they don’t make the best pets: Jumbo may well out-live you, but he’ll never forgive you, no matter how sincere your regrets! The Limerick as Parody Marvell-Less (I) by Michael R. Burch Mr. Marvell was ill-named? Inform us! Alas, his crude writings deform us: for when trying to bed chaste virgins, he led right off with his iron balls ginormous! Marvell-Less (II) by Michael R. Burch Andrew Marvell was far less than Marvellous; indeed, he was cold, bold, unchivalrous: for when trying to bed chased/chaste virgins, he led right off with his iron balls ginormous! Here's a limerick about one of the universe's greatest ironies: the lack of rhyme words for "poetry" and "limerick." I almost solved the latter, but fell a bit short: Shelved Elves by Michael R. Burch I wanted to rhyme with “limerick” and settled on “good old Saint Slimmer Nick” about a dieting Claus, but drawing no “ahs!” I glumly rescinded the trimmer trick. To show the flexibility of the limerick form, it has often been used for political purposes, and to expose, satirize and savage charlatans. Here are are two such limericks of mine: Baked Alaskan There is a strange yokel so flirty she makes whores seem icons of purity. With all her winkin’ and blinkin’ Palin seems to be "thinkin’"— "Ah culd save th’ free world ’cause ah’m purty!" Copyright 2012 by Michael R. Burch from Signs of the Apocalypse all Rights and Violent Shudderings Reserved Going Rogue in Rouge It'll be hard to polish that apple enough to make her seem palatable. Though she's sweeter than Snapple how can my mind grapple with stupidity so nearly infallible? Copyright 2012 by Michael R. Burch from Signs of the Apocalypse all Rights and Violent Shudderings Reserved I have even written limericks about religion, mostly heretical limericks: Pell-Mell for Hell Mel by Michael R. Burch There once was a Baptist named Mel who condemned all non-Christians to hell. When he stood before God he felt like a clod to discover His Love couldn’t fail! Why I Left the Religious Right by Michael R. Burch He's got Jesus's name on a wallet insert and "Hell is for Queers" on the back of his shirt and he upholds the Law, for grace has a flaw: the Church must have someone to drag through the dirt. Ribbing Adam by Michael R. Burch “Dear Lord,” fretted Adam, depressed, “did that tart really rupture my chest?” “Yes she did,” piped his Maker, “but of course you can’t take her, or I’d fry you in hell, for incest!” There was an old man from Peru who dreamed he was eating his shoe. He awoke one dark night from a terrible fright to discover his dream had come true! —Variation on a classic limerick by Michael R. Burch There once was a poet from Nashville which hockey fans rechristened Smashville, but his odd limericks pulled so many weird tricks his pale peers now prefer Ogden Gnashville. —Michael R. Burch There once was a poet from Tennessee who was known to indulge in straight Hennessey for his heart had been broken and cruelly ripped open by an ice-hoarding Dame of Paree. —Michael R. Burch Here's one for the poets: The Beat Goes On (and On and On and On ...) by Michael R. Burch Bored stiff by his board-stiff attempts at “meter,” I crossly concluded I’d use each iamb in lieu of a lamb, bedtimes when I’m under-quaaluded. Here's one for the Flintstones: Early Warning System by Michael R. Burch A hairy thick troglodyte, Mary, squinched dingles excessively airy. To her family’s deep shame, their condo became the first cave to employ a canary! Donald Trump Limericks aka Slimericks Viral Donald by Michael R. Burch Donald Trump is coronaviral: his brain's in a downward spiral. That pale nimbus of hair proves there's nothing up there but an empty skull, fluff and denial. Stumped and Stomped by Trump by Michael R. Burch There once was a candidate, Trump, whose message rang clear at the stump: "Vote for me, wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee!, because I am ME, and everyone else is a chump!" Humpty Trumpty by Michael R. Burch Humpty Trumpty called for a wall. Trumpty Dumpty had a great fall. Now all the Grand Wizards and Faux PR men Can never put Trumpty together again. White as a Sheet by Michael R. Burch Donald Trump had a real Twitter Scare then rushed off to fret, vent and share: “How dare Bernie quote what I just said and wrote? Like Megyn he’s mean, cruel, unfair!” 15 Seconds by Michael R. Burch Our president’s sex life—atrocious! His "briefings"—bizarre hocus-pocus! Politics—a shell game! My brief moment of fame flashed by before Oprah could notice! Trump’s Golden Rule by Michael R. Burch Donald Trump is the victim of leaks! Golden showers are NOT things he seeks! Though he dearly loves soaking the women he’s groping, get real, 'cause he pees ON the meek! Cancun Cruz by Michael R. Burch There once was a senator, Cruz, whose whole life was one pus-oozing schmooze. When Trump called his wife ugly, Cruz brown-nosed him smugly, then went on a sweet Cancún cruise! Anchors Aweigh! by Michael R. Burch There once was an anchor babe, Cruz, whose deployment was Castro’s bold ruse. Now the revenge of Fidel has worked out quite well as Cruz missiles launch from his caboose! Canadian Cruz by Michael R. Burch There was a Canadian, Cruz, an anchor babe with a bold ruse: he’d take Texas first and then do his worst to infect the whole world with his views. Eerie Dearie by Michael R. Burch A trembling young auditor, white as a sheet, like a ghost in the night, saw his dreams, his career in a poof!, disappear, and then, strangely Enronic, his wife. Fortune named Enron "America's Most Innovative Company" for six consecutive years, but the company went bankrupt and vanished after its accounting practices were determined to be fraudulent. The Vampire's Spa Day Dream by Michael R. Burch O, to swim in vats of blood! I wish I could, I wish I could! O, 'twould be so heavenly to swim in lovely vats of blood! The poem above was inspired by a Josh Parkinson depiction of Elizabeth Bathory swimming up to her nostrils in the blood of her victims, with their skulls floating in the background. BAWDY LIMERICKS A randy young dandy named Sadie loves sex, but in forms reckoned shady. (I cannot, of course, involve her poor horse, but it’s safe to infer she's no lady!) —Michael R. Burch There was a lewd whore from Nantucket who intended to pee in a bucket; but being a man she missed the damn can and her rattled johns fled, crying: "Fuck it!" —Variation on a classic limerick by Michael R. Burch Here are three "linked" Nantucket limericks of mine, forming a triple limerick: There was a coarse whore of Nantucket whose bush needed someone to pluck it ’cause it looked like a chimp’s and her johns were limp gimps who were too scared to suck it or fuck it. So that coarse, canny whore of Nantucket, once muff-shaved, decided to shuck it —that thick, wiry pelt that smelled like wet felt— and made it a toupee for Luckett. Now Luckett, once bald as an eagle, like Samson, stands handsome and regal with hair to his ass that smells like his lass, but still comes when she calls, like a beagle. —a triple limerick by Michael R. Burch Shotgun Bedding A pedestrian pediatrician set out on a dangerous mission; though his child bride, Lolita, was a sweet senorita, her pa's shotgun cut off his emissions. —Michael R. Burch Untitled Limericks There was a young lady from France Who’d let cute boys poke in her pants: They'd give her the finger Where she'd let them linger because that's the point of romance! —Michael R. Burch There once was a girl with small boobs who would only go out with young rubes, but their dicks were too small so she sentenced them all to kissing her fallopian tubes. —Michael R. Burch A coquettish young lady of France longed to have lusty men in her pants, but in lieu of real joys she settled for boys, then berated her lack of romance. —Michael R. Burch A virginal lady of France longed to have a ménage in her pants but in lieu of real boys she settled for toys & painted pinkies to make her bits dance. —Michael R. Burch A germane young German, a dame with a quite unpronounceable name, Frenched me a kiss; I admonished her, "Miss, you’ve left me twice tongue-tied, for shame!" —Michael R. Burch A germane young German, a dame with a quite unpronounceable name, gave me a kiss; I lectured her, "Miss, we haven't been intro'd, for shame!" —Michael R. Burch A germane young German, a dame with a quite unpronounceable name, French-kissed me and left my lips lame. I lectured her, "Miss, That's a premature kiss! We haven't been intro'd, for shame!" Michael R. Burch Four Limericks plus one Lead-In Poem Updated Advice to Amorous Bachelors by Michael R. Burch At six-thirty, feeling flirty, I put on the hurdy-gurdy ... But Ms. Purdy, all alert-y, kicked me where I’m sore and hurty. The moral of my story? To avoid a fate as gory, flirt with gals a bit more whore-y! Mating Calls by Michael R. Burch 1. Nine-thirty? Feeling flirty (and, indeed, a trifle dirty), I decided to ring prudish Eleanor Purdy ... When I rang her to bang her, it seems my words stang her! She hung up the phone, so I banged off, alone. 2. Still dreaming to hold something skirty, I once again rang our reclusive Miss Purdy. She sounded unhappy, called me “daffy” and “sappy,” and that was before the gal heard me! 3. It was early A.M., ’bout two-thirty, when I enquired again with the regal Miss Purdy. With a voice full of hate, she thundered, “It’s LATE!” Was I, perhaps, over-wordy? 4. It was probably close to four-thirty the last time I called the miserly Purdy. Although I’m her boarder, the restraining order freezes all assets of that virginity hoarder! Teeter Tots by Michael R. Burch For your spuds to become Tater Tots, First, artfully cut out the knots, Then dice them into tiny cubes, Deep fry them, and serve them to rubes (but not if they’re acting like snots). Golden Years? by Michael R. Burch I’m getting old. My legs are cold. My book’s unsold and my wife’s a scold. Now the only gold’s in my teeth. I fold. Trump Limericks aka Slimericks The Nazis now think things’re grand. The KKK’s hirin’ a band. Putin’s computin’ Less Ukrainian shootin’. They’re hootin’ ’cause Trump’s win is planned. —Michael R. Burch Trump comes with a few grotesque catches: He likes to grope unoffered snatches; He loves to ICE kids; His brain’s on the skids; And then there’s the coups the fiend hatches. —Michael R. Burch Trump’s Saddest Tweet to Date by Michael R. Burch I’ve gotten all out of kilter. My erstwhile yuge tool is a wilter! I now sleep in bed. Few hairs on my head. Inhibitions? I now have no filter! the best of all possible whirls, for MAGA by Michael R. Burch ive made a mistake or two. okay, maybe quite more than a few: mistakes by the millions, the billions and zillions, but remember: ur LORD made u! where were u when HEE passed out brains? or did u politely abstain? u call GAUD “infallible” when HEE made u so gullible u cant come inside when Trump reigns. Scratch-n-Sniff by Michael R. Burch The world’s first antinatalist limerick? Life comes with a terrible catch: It’s like starting a fire with a match. Though the flames may delight In the dark of the night, In the end what remains from the scratch? Time Out! by Michael R. Burch Time is at war with my body! am i Time’s most diligent hobby? for there’s never Time out from my low-t and gout and my once-brilliant mind has grown stodgy! Waiting Game by Michael R. Burch Nothing much to live for, yet no good reason to die: life became a waiting game... Rain from a clear blue sky. Nipples' Ripples by Michael R. Burch Men are scared of nipples: that’s why they can’t be seen. For if they were, we’d go to war as in the days of Troy, I ween. Devil’s Wheel by Michael R. Burch A billion men saw your pink undies. What will the pard say to you, Sundays? Yes, your panties were cute, but the shocked Devil, mute, now worries about reckless fundies. A Prude Goes Nude by Michael R. Burch She wore near-invisible panties and, my, she looked good in her scanties! But the real nudists claimed she was “over-framed.” Now she’s bare-assed and shocking her aunties! MVP! by Michael R. Burch Will Ohtani hit 65 homers, win the Cy Young by striking out Gomers, make it cute and okay to write KKK while inspiring rhyme-challenged poemers? Will Ohtani hit 65homers, win the Cy Young by striking out Gomers, prove the nemesis of white supremacists while inspiring rhyme-challenged poemers? Will Ohtani hit 65 homers, win the Cy Young by striking out Gomers, cause supremacists to cease and desist while inspiring rhyme-challenged poemers? Keywords/Tags: limerick, limericks, double limerick, triple limerick, humor, light verse, nonsense verse, doggerel, humor, humorous verse, light poetry, bawdy, ribald, irreverent, funny, satire, satirical

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