Definitely Limericks: A-Ab
The first in the alphabet, a,
Can rhyme with the second one, b,
If pronouncing them, maybe,
As if you’re a baby:
With schwa sounds, the kind heard in huh.
In Britain, “the top of the pops”
Means a song that you’ll see in the shops
From London to Tayside—
The number one A-side
Of singles that haven’t been flops.
Playing records, the part I loved most
Was to flip ’em and sample the host
Of odd B-sides thereon.
Will those days soon be gone,
Now that seven-inch singles are toast?
In the pub quiz, each answer I’d utter,
The quizmaster “uh-uh” would mutter.
“So it’s hot, and it’s slow...
It’s a sauna-bath... No?”
“It’s lava.” “Oh, a‘a,” I splutter.
The Hawaiian name for lava flows with a rough, jagged surface.
The aardvark explores after dark
Every inch of this African park
With his tongue and his claws
For those termites he gnaws
So he won’t end up starving, and cark.
Frau Aardvark once tried, for a lark,
To de-trouser her spouse in the dark.
As she snuffled about
In his pants with her snout,
She cried, “Vot you got ’ere? It’s ’ard... vark!”
The dog and the wolf have both starred
In movies and books of regard,
And even a civet
Or hyena will rivet;
But aardwolves are doing it ’ard.
An abada stabbed at a crab
With its fabulous horn, but a grab
From a claw at its nose
Made the rhino suppose
That the forecast for dining was drab.
An obsolete name for the rhinoceros, stressed on the first syllable.
America’s feeling elation
At Bush hanging onto his station—
Apart from those few
Casting votes for the blue,
Who are fearing abalienation.
A piece to mark post-election day 2004, using an obsolete word for “alienation”.
Tony Abbott, once called the “Mad Monk”
By Aussies who reckoned he stunk,
Has become our prime minister,
An outcome so sinister
We’re sitting around in a funk.
And here’s a piece to mark Australia’s post-election day 2013.
Ooohhhhhh Aberdeen, finest city of granite,
With a number of thoroughfares which span it,
And some bridges, they say,
Quite like the one o’er the Tay
Near by Dundee, fairest toun on the planet.
In memory of William Topaz McGonagall (1825-1902), poet.
I don’t care what you say, Dad, okay?
I am not going outside to play.
Sure, I like playing games
With Jemima and James,
But abide by your ruling? No way!
If you’re tired of dressing up formally,
Consider behaving abnormally:
Cover up in a sheet,
And wear clogs on your feet,
And groan like a ghost, paranormally.
When it came time for Nature to form us,
She gave us no fur that might warm us—
Though some are too hairy
(Like werewolves—quite scary).
Did she err, or prefer the abnormous?
An old word for “abnormal”.
A yeti once wanted a brother,
So asked his abominable mother
To honour her name
And behave with no shame.
The final result? Yeti ’nother.
As Governor Phillip traversed
Sydney Harbour, he doubtless conversed
With his fellows, “So what
Should we label that lot?”
“Aborigines. They were here first.”
Governor Arthur Phillip sailed into Port Jackson (now Sydney Harbour)
to found the colony of New South Wales in January 1788. Not everyone
was thrilled, either onboard or off.
“Your brother’s a hell of a skite!
He can sing his own praises all night.
Says his fame is widespread
For his record in bed.”
“Oh, he does, does he? Sounds about right.”
An abridger takes so much away
That you lose any sense of the play
Of the words and [removed]
And yet nothing’s improved—
You can guess what the author would say.
Said a man to the reverend, “So,
Your mate Jesus... like, how can you know?
Don’t you find it quite odd,
This assumption he’s God?”
All he said, with abruptness, was: “No.”
“Agent 007, I’m fond
Of the way you attempt to abscond.
Tell me, when’s your next try?”
“Mister Blofeld, a spy
Never hides—as my word is my bond.”
If half of the voters, like you,
Vote for red, and a half plus one blue,
You may not think it right
That the blue win the night,
But an absolute majority do.
A virgin could not acquiesce
When his girlfriend began to undress.
“Please stop it!” he cried,
To which she replied,
“I abhor your abstemiousness.”
A gallery patron’s distractedness
Can tell us about her impactedness:
How the art makes her feel,
And whether it’s real,
Or whether there’s too much abstractedness.
Our lecturer blamed the abstruseness
Of the book on its patent diffuseness.
But I’m onto his game—
And the author, the same:
I suspect it was just their obtuseness.
“Abudefduf” is not some mistake
That a kid on a keyboard would make
When he randomly hits
Any key with his mitts;
It’s a damsel fish—no, it’s not fake.
“It’s more than sufficient, my dear,”
Said my aunt, “and it’s ample, I hear.
Is never redundant;
I’ve made that abundantly clear.”
The city of Limerick’s renown
Is its comical poetry crown:
Nowhere else has a verse
As amusing and terse
To its name—there’s no haiku-based town.
Fresh images, still, as they stun
Us with thoughts of the lives left undone;
Hard, still, to remember
That splintered September: