"indignantly" poems
ladies and gentlemen this little girl
with the good teeth and small important *******
(is it the Frolic or the Century whirl?
ones memory indignantly protests)
this little dancer with the tightened eyes
crisp ogling shoulders and the ripe quite too
large lips always clenched faintly,wishes you
with all her fragile might to not surmise
she dreamed one afternoon
….or maybe read?
of time a when the beautiful most of her
(this here and This, do you get me?)
will maybe dance and maybe sing and be
absitively posolutely dead,
like Coney Island in winter
15k
The overripe mango that sits promptly on my desk stares at me through its one eye, indignantly asking to be eaten – before it goes bad.
I consider, strongly, the mango’s proposition.
Contemplating the level of hunger, or desire I have for this demanding piece of fruit.
It may be that the latte I just finished burnt off any remaining taste buds I have, or it may be that I find
something amusing about holding a mango hostage of its pride – but I just can’t eat it.
A once firm, confident specimen edging ever closer to becoming a wrinkly, seeping, sack of rotten juice.
Knowingly, I chain it to its fate by refusing to slice the skin back and swallow its sweetness.
It demands to be mutilated rather than aged.
As I sit here writing of my hostage, it continues to stare through its eye – spiting me.
Cursing me with future putrid fruit, with worms in my apples, and with brown bananas.
Oh, how I hate brown bananas.
This mango has learnt well in the time it’s spent in my room, it knows my weaknesses.
I always knew that fruit had character, but this mango – I tell you, it’s something else.
Dec 23, 2010
Dec 23, 2010 at 9:10 PM UTC
(I)
Pale mulberry was the sky,
No bird dared to fly!
Thus all seemed wrong,
But then, you came along
Suddenly like summer rain
And quelled away my pain.
(II)
Velvet blue was the sky,
No bird dared not to fly!
Thus all seemed right,
And as pure as a cloud in white,
When suddenly like the rainbow,
You quelled away thy heavenly glow.
(III)
Dark grey is the sky,
No bird seems to ever fly!
Athwart my wild blue yonder
Where I, indignantly do ponder
Night and day wondering why,
We can't give it just one more try.
(IV)
Pitch black is always the sky,
But, faster than any bird I'll fly!
Swifter than a scudding cloud
Whilst calling upon you so loud,
All the way to a strange plain,
Just to ever feast about you again.
(V)
Magenta magic will always be the sky,
When once again we'll merilly fly!
Then, flowers once again shall bloom,
To see you and me as bride and groom
By a placid Mulberry Moon on the rise,
To kindle our enchanted paradise.
©Kikodinho Alexandros
Jumeira, Dubai
1st December 2016
Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 7:53 AM UTC
"SISTER, sister, go to bed!
Go and rest your weary head."
Thus the prudent brother said.
"Do you want a battered hide,
Or scratches to your face applied?"
Thus his sister calm replied.
"Sister, do not raise my wrath.
I'd make you into mutton broth
As easily as **** a moth"
The sister raised her beaming eye
And looked on him indignantly
And sternly answered, "Only try!"
Off to the cook he quickly ran.
"Dear Cook, please lend a frying-pan
To me as quickly as you can."
And wherefore should I lend it you?"
"The reason, Cook, is plain to view.
I wish to make an Irish stew."
"What meat is in that stew to go?"
"My sister'll be the contents!"
"Oh"
"You'll lend the pan to me, Cook?"
"No!"
Moral: Never stew your sister.
6.8k
Eyes closed, counting the careful sheep
Bounding over broken fences breathlessly,
Tired and unused to tripping over traps
Spared by the seconds sat in contemplation's lap.
Your lids, lying lushly atop layers of
Dark pools of depth, spinning splendid tales of love,
Trust, and heartache, I can truly tell today
Was a day of definition for words I wisely said.
Lips moving in silent rhythm, rhyming, I imagine, with words unsaid.
And as I assume the memories in mind the moment falls silent and dead.
A quip, perhaps, spawned by sentries of silence growing lax,
Falling in frequent motion to the floor - hypothetically, for I cannot ask.
Your sleeping state causes silence to spread and create
An empty essence in the heavy air around us
Birthed from broken intentions and misapprehensions
I had upon our meeting of matters as such.
Please, presume to sleep through my present departure
Deprived of arrows from Venus's archer
Allow my invading presence to avidly intrude
Once more, though his objection's mouthpiece does not move.
Lightly, so as to lay loosely upon the morrow,
I brush bold lips upon the brow pulled in sorrow
But whose silent reverie starts in sleepy surprise -
But, to my relief, falls back to oblivion with a sleepy sigh.
Brushing trembling tips of fingers foolishly
Across the air that passes on the lips
That burn with oxygen's contact with it -
I start when I see his tired eyes
Regarding me with scant surprise.
Those dark pools of infinite sorrow lay sight
On me, caught sneaking silent vows of affection,
And a blush engulfs everything from my eyes to my knees
On which his wary hand waits in his wakeful state.
Several silent moments descend indignantly,
And I dare to risk retribution for crimes committed
But to my sudden surprise I see a challenge in his eyes
And abruptly I am bound to the ground beneath him
And though I know once I stole a simple innocent kiss
He steals now from me my heart through my lips.
Feb 28, 2011
Feb 28, 2011 at 8:13 PM UTC
The Baker's Tale
They roused him with muffins--they roused him with ice--
They roused him with mustard and cress--
They roused him with jam and judicious advice--
They set him conundrums to guess.
When at length he sat up and was able to speak,
His sad story he offered to tell;
And the Bellman cried "Silence! Not even a shriek!"
And excitedly tingled his bell.
There was silence supreme! Not a shriek, not a scream,
Scarcely even a howl or a groan,
As the man they called ** told his story of woe
In an antediluvian tone.
"My father and mother were honest, though poor--"
"Skip all that!" cried the Bellman in haste.
"If it once becomes dark, there's no chance of a Snark--
We have hardly a minute to waste!"
"I skip forty years," said the Baker in tears,
"And proceed without further remark
To the day when you took me aboard of your ship
To help you in hunting the Snark.
"A dear uncle of mine (after whom I was named)
Remarked, when I bade him farewell--"
"Oh, skip your dear uncle!" the Bellman exclaimed,
As he angrily tingled his bell.
"He remarked to me then," said that mildest of men,
"'If your Snark be a Snark, that is right:
Fetch it home by all means--you may serve it with greens
And it's handy for striking a light.
"'You may seek it with thimbles--and seek it with care--
You may hunt it with forks and hope;
You may threaten its life with a railway-share;
You may charm it with smiles and soap--'"
("That's exactly the method," the Bellman bold
In a hasty parenthesis cried,
"That's exactly the way I have always been told
That the capture of Snarks should be tried!")
"'But oh, beamish nephew, beware of the day,
If your Snark be a Boojum! For then
You will softly and suddenly vanish away,
And never be met with again!"
"It is this, it is this that oppresses my soul,
When I think of my uncle's last words:
And my heart is like nothing so much as a bowl
Brimming over with quivering curds!
"It is this, it is this--" "We have had that before!"
The Bellman indignantly said.
And the Baker replied "Let me say it once more.
It is this, it is this that I dread!
"I engage with the Snark--every night after dark--
In a dreamy delirious fight:
I serve it with greens in those shadowy scenes,
And I use it for striking a light:
"But if ever I meet with a Boojum, that day,
In a moment (of this I am sure),
I shall softly and suddenly vanish away--
And the notion I cannot endure!"
1.5k
there’s something so deeply and inherently terrifying about romantic love and attachment; it’s like giving someone a neatly written postcard detailing all of the various ways in which they could take your heart and pick it apart into a heap of broken fragments.
it’s the fact that you were so agonisingly in love with your sadness that i became (always was?) an afterthought. it’s like mum always said, “you are powerless in the face of someone who doesn’t want to be helped”.
i wanted to soak my skin in your madness and chaos.
to take all of the mismatched jigsaw pieces of your mind and will them to fit together enough to love me back even a little bit.
one day that you will realise that they are just boys. they are boys with closed-off hearts and cynical minds. with their inherent need to drain and empty you of everything you have to offer; with the burning desire to be both fixed and left alone all at the same time.
i actively avoid thinking about the estimated number of minutes i spent trying to burn the imprint of your fingers out of my lungs.
oh honey, one day all these valiant notions of self-sacrifice are going to get you hurt; you won’t know how to tell him that you are in pain.
that every time your knuckles brush against my lips my heart feels like it’s going to give up on itself.
i don’t know what to do with the knowledge that i am heartbroken over someone who is indifferent to my plight, someone who watched the cracks deepen and spread yet still chose to walk away. that’s the problem with feelings; you can’t simply pick them up and store them in a jar for later.
you left and i’m stuck with limbs which ache from the sheer weight of the feelings that i can’t shake.
with gentle fingers full of promise and parted lips you drew confessions from me that i swore would never come; you were messy and indignantly proud of it. your mess leaked into mine and for a few precious minutes we coexisted in our state of disarray.
your hands knew me far better than your heart ever did;
it must have been so dark up there, on the pedestal that i nailed you to. a martyr for your cause, i tried to tie your wrists to mine in a desperate fear of being alone again.
all i wanted from you was to coexist but you were never shy about telling me that, for you, that wasn't enough.
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 3:15 PM UTC
I think if Madness were a person he'd be a handsome, sharp dressed, man. He would wear a well tailored suit with a deep purple, velvet, waistcoat. I imagine he'd wear a black fedora for the mystery and a pocket watch to keep time. A little old fashioned but ageless.
A few days before he arrives I always get antsy. My anxiety acts up and I do things like leave the grocery store in a panic and empty handed. I take my kids to the park and then I find I suddenly can't breathe and the world feels like it's ending. And then....there is the inevitable knock on my minds door.
"Oh it's you" I'd say.
"Dont pretend like you didn't know I was in town..." He pushed past me , drops his stuff , and easily finds the whiskey cabinet and pours himself a full glass. He has been here before. "I was at the grocery store yesterday and the park a few days before that. " he turns, glass in hand. He smiles and it sends chills down my spine. "Well..." He continues, "you should have known I was coming . The signs were all there." I turn away, nervously and indignantly.
He sips his whiskey, studying me.
"Right. You thought some vitamins and sunshine could keep me away."
The thought obviously amuses him. He laughs and downs his entire drink in one gulp. He loves this game. He pours another whiskey and walks over to me. He puts the drink in my left hand and stands right up against my back, his hands on my shoulders, his lips near my ears. I can feel his warm breathe and I am nauseated and comforted at the same time. He slowly moves his hands down my arms to my hands. He locks his right hand with mine and wraps it around my stomach so his arm is around me too. His left hand brings the drink up to my lips. I close my eyes for a moment wishing him away. It doesn't work.
"Now" he whispers "where were we?"
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 10:34 PM UTC
The Platypus
(a limerick for adults, teens and older children)
by Michael R. Burch
The platypus, myopic,
is ungainly, not ******
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 ******
Keywords/Tags: limerick, double limerick, humor, light verse, nonsense verse, platypus, ****** duck, proboscis, nose, beak, feet, webbed, flippers, eyes, eyesight, sight, vision, myopia, myopic, animal, nature, ****** erotica
The Mallard
by Michael R. Burch
The mallard is a fellow
whose lips are long and yellow
with which he, honking, kisses
his ***** boisterous mistress:
my pond’s their loud bordello!
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."
Stage Craft-y
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!"
Ballade of the Bicameral Camel
by Michael R. Burch
There once was a camel who loved to ****
Please get your lewd minds out of their slump!
He loved to give RIDES on his large, lordly lump!
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.
Other Limericks
The Better Man
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!
"Of Tetley's and V-2's" or "Why Not to Bomb the Brits"
by Michael R. Burch
The English are very hospitable,
but tea-less, alas, they grow pitiable...
or pitiless, rather,
and quite in a lather!
O bother, they're more than formidable.
Mar 8, 2020
Mar 8, 2020 at 11:22 PM UTC
One day I'll wake up and see,
See men dropping no more bombs,
To drag myriads of innocents
Indignantly yowl beneath tombs.
One day I'll wake up and see,
See a bunch of desperate culprits
Before their trembling knees,
Seeking redemption by pulpits.
One day I'll wake up and see,
Just as a rose wafts her scents on air,
Soothingly so shall harmony and peace
Ameliorate our world once so fair.
One day I'll wake up and see,
See all men working hand in hand
With a sole aim of invading not,
But to enrich each others land.
One day I'll wake up and see,
See the mighty air of verisimilitude
Dawn upon all men and women,
There's need to care for the destitute.
One day I'll wake up and see,
See it vividly that all women and men,
Whether yellow skinned, red or white,
Accuse not the Raven for a dark omen.
One day I'll wake up and see,
See people of all sorts of creed,
To oblivion obliterate their theories,
Admit to one great soul we're all linked.
One day I'll wake up and see,
See it dawn unto men without doubt,
Walking down the isle to the same ***
In sullen graves they'll never get out.
One day I'll wake up and see,
See men quell their pride and vanity
Right into the most peculiar abyss,
Regain sanity to draw back to humanity
One day you'll wake up and see,
See with me all these wonders evolve,
And we'll stand in a stupendous awed silence,
Seeing such crimes against humanity dissolve.
©Kikodinho Alexandros
Jumeira, Dubai
20th January 2017
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 1:55 PM UTC
Just who the hell
Do you think you are?
In your house that is so
Twee
Just who the hell
Do you think you are?
YOU
are
NO
more different than
ME
Just because
You have a car
Just because
Your old man works
YOU
think that these entitle
YOU
To all those extra perks!
WELL
**** YOU ALL
**** YOUR WAYS
THE TIME HAS COME TO RE-APPRAISE
~
I am angry you were nasty
I am angry you were cruel
Surprised
YOU
didn’t march us
to the
***** Ducking Stool
And what exactly was the crime?
In the safety of your home?
Were there far too many children?
With a natural freedom born to roam?
Did not one of you ever stop to think?
What went on behind
Closed doors?
Or were
YOU
Indignantly repulsed?
Fervently abhorred?
Well … Let me tell you for nothing
My father was a ****
Yet
YOU
hid
behind your curtains
Surely
WE
were
WORTH A PUNT?
I even fulfilled your small town prophecy
When I learnt to rob and steal
It was never about the money
It was only ever about the thrill
Seven little vagabonds
Seven little ***** of sin
“Be careful where you step my sweet”
“For, they do not hold our Lord within”
Mr Roberts …
“How dare you walk these streets?
Glowing with civic pride
Did you not know your
wife’s back home with her pumpkin leg’s spread open wide!
Oh…. Yes … your brother was often a frequent guest
While you brown nosed
on your
Monetary quest”
Mrs Philips …
“Hubby … taking the boys to camp again?
He sure likes to drill them hard
Does he make you take it up the ****
Does he leave
YOU
His
CALLING CARD?
I could go on … with tales of pain
I could go on … with tales of woe
But
That is
NOT
MY PURPOSE
For it was so very long ago
I just want to make you realise the pain left in those children’s hearts
They really were so much more
Than
the
Sum of all their parts
So next time you cast aspersions
With
your
Judgemental eyes
Remember
Each time the knife’s stuck in
**A
Little piece of that child dies …**
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 9:11 AM UTC
As the vultures cautiously defend their broken gift , a panic stricken , innocent creature lays mortally wounded , another tribute to suburban encroachment , killers quite fittingly cloaked in orange attire , warning the civilized world of their presence , roam unchecked throughout Georgia's woodlands .
Paper doll wannabe commandos , indignantly evoke prayer and 'god given rights' , esteem their kind as protectors of the environment . An obvious cover for blood thirst and killing instinct , blanketing raw , scheming , murderous culpabilities ..
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 6:15 PM UTC
A curling green tendril climbs from its’ birthing nest of rotting bird ****
The creeper wends its’ way up round and around the stalk of its’ slender tree host. Leading vigorously ever upward, it climbs toward the light of day. Upon bursting through to the sunshine, it explodes into a huge and suffocating dominance. Wrapping its’ leaders tightly together, writhing skyward, smothering all else. Blotting out the sun. Inhibiting its’ host tree, ultimately killing it ...and every other living plant located below it.
In late summer the creeper produces bunched, masses of frothy, green, seeded florets. Clouds of green plumed waxeyes flock en mass, to flutter, competing ravenously to feast on the banks of seed heads.
Once replete, with full crops, the tiny birds fly off to distant shaded woods there to indiscriminately drop their **** unknowingly further spreading the insidious creeper pestilence.
I trudge through my wooded glades,
Indignantly I sever taproot after taproot with my trusty sharp blade
….and watch that creeper limply sag and die
With a glint of satisfaction in my grim and vengeful eye.
M.
6 February 2016
Foxglove farm, Taranaki, NZ
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 4:50 PM UTC
What is easy about living
When your head feels like it is splitting in two?
An angry man tells off
A loud mobile phone woman
She leaves the quiet carriage
Indignantly
‘I am detached’ he says
My heart beats
My mind aches
I realise
I am detached too
I sit here
And busy myself with writing
Carelessness provokes anger
I must be careful
To take care
Of myself
Today I gather
Snippets of conversation
Phrases that stick in my mind
I glue them together
In collage
Again
And once more
Even though the ice clings to the grasses still
I travel in my mind
To other places
To memory
I feel the cool ****** of my ring finger
Where I lost my wedding ring
To the Cornish seas
And I am lost
No longer here
Beneath the turquoise sea
There lives a mermaid.
She waits for me
It is she
Who has captured the gold from my hand
It is she who is calling me
Westwards
‘Come my love
Run from your troubles
And let me love you’
Together we will lay
On the ocean bed
Wafted by the warm currents
Wrapped in strands of seaweed
And love each other
Truly
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 1:33 PM UTC
Limericks II - Nature and Animals
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 ***** boisterous mistress:
my pond’s their loud bordello!
###
The Platypus
by Michael R. Burch
The platypus, myopic,
is ungainly, not ******
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 ******
Keywords/Tags: limerick, nonsense, light verse, humor, humorous, nature, animals, leopard, spots, mockingbird, raven
Apr 7, 2020
Apr 7, 2020 at 1:37 AM UTC
The Bar At The End Of The Earth- in progress...
Still the faceless, formless shape of something behind the bar serves nothing to the man.
“You need not always chase a dream so far, Sometimes you need to let it come to you. It is not death I will pour you today. You still love your dream. Cherish it. Carry it around everywhere- it is proof you are alive.”
The stranger huffs indignantly.
“My dream has gone. I’ve already told you. My heart is broken, it just won’t stop beating. I shouldn’t be alive. Give me a double of death, make sure the job gets done. I implore you.”
The stranger holds up his glass defiantly.
“My dear Sir, hearts won’t stop if they still have more to do. And dreams do not get lost, they are always there just waiting to be found.”
“I am sure mine doesn’t exist anymore, if it ever did at all.”
Second excerpt- The Bar At The End of The Earth
It laughs from the shadows behind the bar at the end of the Earth.
“Your pain is attestation you are still alive. Without pain there is nothing you fear to lose and nothing you will ever really love."
“Is that so?” The man cries into the empty glass hoping only poison will drip from his putrid corpse, so that he may indeed drink himself - to death at last. He raises his glass again.
It sighs.
“Alas, you have truly lost your way. Death does not await you here.”
Weak from his will to die,
The man raises a hand to cover an eye.
Here sunlight still finds me. Go away!
Am I doomed to live
Another mephitic day?.
Silemce ensued.
Then, from behind the barren, bleak bar came a voice.
"You´ve found her, haven't you?"
Slurring, and dizzy from thinking about not thinking about not sleeping. Hating the thief, who is no longer a robber, but a kidnapper- Damning him,
"Found who?" He feigned an innocence lost some time before.
"Her."
The Bar At The End Of the Earth- Gerry Aldridge (2016)-work in progress,
Nov 27, 2016
Nov 27, 2016 at 12:52 PM UTC
I paused
On the road to pick those wildflowers
Yeah I stopped
ill indignantly pluck
roaming buds for you
without warning
here
hold these
I paused then too
When I tried to kiss you
And that show was playing
Stars and septette timelines
im sorry you were saying some-thin
but look
shhhh
grab my hand
I paused
before grinned
that round-toothed smile
you so love
or at least write about
i paused to look at you
to smell you one more time
before opening the window
and then again
when the window didnt matter
when "full on" was a demand
when you asked me more questions
when we fought about our limits
ill pause
because i have to
bring you back to
we imagine
careen and just not crash
somersaults and strobe lights
were pausing
for a moment
to change each other
who COULD like this
i wont lie about it
im begging
on two knees
it started as a mean joke
i pray that it ends as no suicide letter
i mean
this poem will self destruct
pause at JUST the right second
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
It’s one in the morning.
I zoomed into Lisa’s room
and threw myself on the bed where she lay reading
in a near virtuoso, Fosbury flop.
She bounced, jostled by my mechanical bed wave.
“I hate goodbyes,” I said, indignantly.
“You’re not strong on hellos” she said, not looking up.
“They’re so bone-marrow deep,” I went on, “they steal hope away.”
“Did that sound pretentious?” I asked her silence, a minute later, somewhat self-consciously.
Lisa took the yellow, #2-pencil out of her mouth—just long enough to answer.
When she studies, she chews on them, seemingly eating them like french fries.
“Yeah,” she says, “but I get cha.”
“I know,” I said, smiling at the ceiling, because in a rooted and real way, she always has.
I’d be a different person if we’d never met.
I feel very grateful for that.
“Your boy’s flown?” She asked, using her pencil to hold her page and finally looking up.
It was an ironic, near-rhetorical question, she knows he’s gone and she knows I know she knows he’s gone.
“Yeah,” I admitted.
.
.
Songs for this:
4am by girl in red
Don't Stop The Music by Rihanna
blushing! by BETWEEN FRIENDS
Mar 26, 2025
Mar 26, 2025 at 9:35 AM UTC
It rests indignantly behind eyes,
and in the creases that hold them in place.
It's a permanent gaze,
a glazing of hope and health and most of all,
it's a loss.
Embedded in failed careers and lost dreams is this
listlessness, this blisslessness that some
try so desperately to hide.
I know some don't try to mask their masks
and I'm sure that most don't know
the parasite from their own
black sparkling souls.
The diamonds in their eyes have lost their purpose,
and pupils cannot regain their lustre
easily.
It takes divine intervention or more,
whatever that means,
to shine on darkness.
And sometimes no amount of sunlight
lets broken souls glisten; for that
I have no answer.
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 2:55 PM UTC
Dot Spotted
(a limerick for children of all ages)
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!"
Keywords/Tags: limerick, light verse, nonsense verse, humor, humorous, animals, nature, leopard, leopardess, change spots, spot, dot, spotted, dress, dressed, love, attraction, children's verse, kids
Mar 9, 2020
Mar 9, 2020 at 12:56 AM UTC