Definitely Limericks

I wrote these for the Omnificent English Dictionary in English Form, a magnificent, ambitious, and slightly insane attempt to write a limerick for every word in the English language, one letter group at a time. You can see my additions and revisions there, but I like to keep them here as well; the menu below leads to permanent pages for each letter group. You can also see some co-written pieces, an area especially aimed at OEDILFers, and a page of limerick biographies of famous artists.

Young Millennials crave each new app;
Aging Boomers would rather a nap;
While Gen X, in between—
Seldom heard, seldom seen—
Rules supreme in the generation gap.

Gen Xers are known for our sense of irony.

These rundown apartments need paint,
But their period features are quaint.
If we gentrify one
By repairing it, none
Will object, because classy it ain’t.

I say, fellows—well you may scoff,
But as soon as he called me a toff
I had little doubt of it:
When he shouted, “Get out of it!”
That ill-mannered oik meant “piss off”.

In our story, the gingerbread man,
A person-shaped biscuit, began
As a substitute child
Who broke free and ran wild.
(Just suspend disbelief, if you can.)

With the boast, “Run as fast as you can—
You can’t catch the gingerbread man!”
He’d evade all who did,
Every farmer, cow, kid,
Till he met a sly fox with a plan.

“Ride my tail as we swim,” said the fox,
And he did. “Ride my back to those rocks,”
And he did. “Ride my head,”
And he did... Snap! He’s dead.
(Many fairy tales feature such shocks.)

The moral is, be more discreet
In your dealings with strangers you meet.
Never boast you’ll elude ’em
Or gloat that you’ve screwed ’em,
When, man, you’re enticing to eat.

Blue cheese has a strong, grown-up taste
I took years to acquire. What a waste!
Now I’m going full-tilt on
Gorgonzola and Stilton,
And will rectify Roquefort post-haste.

Jeremiah, the jolly giraffe,
Enjoyed nothing as much as a laugh,
Till his laughter cut short
When his antlers got caught
In a tree, and his neck bent in half.

Strictly speaking, a giraffe’s antlers aren’t antlers (or horns), they’re ossicones.

Street culture pervades the libretto
Of my musical set in the ghetto;
There’s hip urban drumming,
And rapper gangs humming
The chorus of “Mack the Stiletto”.

I call it The Threepenny Hamilton Side Story.

When she tried to be cooler (well, coolish),
Her dress-sense became, frankly, ghoulish:
Blood-red scarves, pitch-black shirts,
Skull-white make-up. It hurts
To see grandparents looking so foolish.

The ghosts on an old TV set
Were just duplicate signals, and yet
I am sure there were those
Who immediately froze,
And cried, “Momma! It’s Auntie Annette!”

When young Jack cross-examined my client,
The big oaf came across as defiant:
He said, “Fee, fi, fo, fum,”
And made threats. Pretty dumb—
I should know not to act for a giant.

A Governor-General (GG)
Is a glorious figure to see
On a gee-gee: of course,
A GG on a horse
Isn’t common. I’ve seen only three.

Avaricious, improvident glee
Fuelled a mortgage-repackaging spree
That the banks thought was great
Till ’07/’08:
Good clean fun till it meant GFC.

The global financial crisis of 2007–2008 triggered a Great Recession whose effects are still felt a decade later.

My husband likes shopping—according
To him, getting more is rewarding.
But enough is enough:
We’ve amassed too much stuff,
And our children accuse us of hoarding.

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