Limerick-Off Monday – Rhyme Word: TAX or TACKS or ATTACKS at the end of any one line (Submission Deadline: April 17, 2021)
UPDATE: Unfortunately, my site is still undergoing repairs, due to encoding errors caused by my site host’s server upgrade. Consequently, I’m forced to extend this Limerick-Off by one week. Your new submission deadline is Saturday April 17 at 4 p.m. Eastern.
It’s Limerick-Off time, once again. And that means I write a limerick, and you write your own, using the same rhyme word. Then you post your limerick(s) as a comment to this post and, if you’re a Facebook user, on Facebook too.
I hope you’ll join me in writing limericks using TAX or TACKS or ATTACKS at the end of any one line. (Homonyms or homophones are fine.)
The best submission will be crowned Limerick-Off Award Winner. (Here’s last week’s Limerick-Off Award Winner.)
Additionally, you may write themed limericks related to SHEEP, using any rhyme word. And of course I’ll present an extra award — one for the best SHEEP-related limerick.
How will your poems be judged? By meter, rhyme, cleverness, and humor. (If you’re feeling a bit fuzzy about limerick writing rules, here’s my How To Write A Limerick article.)
I’ll announce the winners on April 18, 2021, right before I post the next Limerick-Off. So that gives you three full weeks to submit your clever, polished verse. Your submission deadline is Saturday, April 17, 2021 at 4:00 p.m. (Eastern Time.)
Here’s my TAX or TACKS or ATTACKS-rhyme limerick:
Enough with your nasty attacks
About taxes and vaxes! The cracks
In your reasoning, shallow,
Are proof you’re a callow
Young fellow, who’s lax to the max.
And here’s my SHEEP-themed limerick:
A gal who was caught counting sheep
At her desk by her company’s veep,
Saw no reason to fret,
Cuz her job’s a safe bet:
The firm’s hers! So she went back to sleep.
Please feel free to enter my Limerick-Off by posting your limerick(s) in my comments. And if you’re on Facebook, I hope you’ll join my friends in that same activity on my Facebook Limerick-Off post.
To receive an email alert whenever I post a new Limerick-Off, please email Madkane@MadKane.com Subject: MadKane’s Newsletter. Thanks!
Tags: Business Humor, Business Limerick, Competition Limerick, Counting Sheep, Limerick Challenge, Limerick Contest, Poetry & Prompts, Sheep, Sleep & Insomnia Humor, Sleep Limerick, Writing Prompts
Go For Broke!
Wanna’ run off and just not pay tax?
Be as sharp as those real crafty hacks?
Mr. Scarface sure tried.
But they put him inside.
Times have changed. Take a stab, Go! make tracks.
“Eastern State Cafeteria”
Now why take the time to to pay tax?
Don’t worry. Sit back and relax.
Take a road trip to “Philly”
In the Spring, it’s not chilly.
They’ve the best penitentiary snacks.
It’s time once again to pay tax
For once I will not wind up lax
I’ll send in some totes
That are chock full of notes
With a big IOU on the backs
A bee keeper whose name was Max
Wore a mask against bee sting attacks
But he lacked protection
From another direction
And wound up with ants in his slacks
Mad: Could you please delete limerick #1 from today?
this one is better and explains it more clearly. Thank you, Lisi
New Jersey has the highest property tax of all the states in the U.S.
Illinois has the second highest property tax in the U.S. (check it out)
I have recently moved from New Jersey to Illinois. ALL TRUE !
Wanna’ pay a high property tax?
Move to Jersey and shell out the max.
Now in sweet Illinois
I can fine’ly enjoy
The NEXT highest, I’m makin’ tracks.
***
Done.
(For Senator J- – – M- – – – – -)
This “Democrat” constantly tries
To prevent filibuster’s demise.
Though dressed as a sheep,
I’m convinced that this creep
Is a GOP wolf in disguise.
Jeff Bezos sobs “Make me pay tax?
That’s for socialists, workers, and blacks.
Sure, I’ll pay you my share
If I think that it’s fair,
But zero’s my absolute max.”
(Double)
They were tired of the frequent attacks
By the wolves who descended in packs,
So the sheep asked the farmer
For weapons and armour
To stop the wolves dead in their tracks.
From a farmer I heard something new;
What it meant, though, I hadn’t a clue.
He employed the verb “tup”
Which I promptly looked up.
The meaning is simple: screw ewe.
Concerned by her wandering sheep
Coyotes continued to reap,
Stern warnings were shared.
Some listened and stared;
While others did not hear a Peep.
A plan for political hacks
Who let their restrictions relax:
Those places, let’s say,
Be required to pay
A local Covidiot tax.
“Quelle surprise! These armed robbers attacks
Aren’t the work of our boys, Phil and Max,
But one vicious old broad
Called Ophelia Maraud,
And her golden girls, Crawford and Sachs.”
Hi Mad,
In my tax posting above, I’d like to slightly alter lines 3 and 4 to read:
“Those places, let’s say,
Be required to pay”
Thanks, Dave
********
Done.
I am going to take a quick peep
At my bro who is now counting sheep.
I will figure out soon
When to raid his play room,
And to grab his great toys in one sweep!
I’m painting a scene quite bucolic,
The sheep like to graze and to frolic;
Along comes a party
of folks drinking hearty;
My art quickly turns alcoholic!
He’s gloomily doing his taxes;
He scribbles and clicks, and he faxes,
But try as he might
To lessen the bite,
‘Amount owed’ doesn’t wane – it just waxes.
Heck, Mad, I’m sorry, and I can’t blame my eyes – just too much chicken soup. It’s wane (not wain) – Line 5.
Thanks!
****
Done. And happy Passover!
PS With matzo balls, I hope. :)
Oh Lord, one of your sheep’s gone missing
Amid wolves and pit vipers hissing
I confess ‘mittedly
The lost sinner is me…
If forgiven, your feet I’ll be kissing!
My teacher, Ms K, most kids hated
Once had her large EGO deflated
From those two simple tacks
Came guffaws, yuks, and yacks
Lesson learned, plus some new words, X-rated!
And to you too! Yes of course with matzo balls! Thank you.
Sunny
Trump’s lackeys, like so many sheep,
Keep spewing his lies by the heap.
They tell everyone
That no damage was done;
Oh really? Try asking his Veep!
It’s Income Tax Time!
He’s paying off his income tax
So into the system he hacks
While promising me
That this is the key
(Of something illegal this smacks)
He goes to the bank and attacks
Then trucks off his booty in sacks
To keep wolves at bay
He does it this way
To give him the funding he lacks
Ever Given a thought this could happen?
In the Suez Canal it is stuck;
Now mired in acres of muck.
Their game plan attacks
Those containers in stacks;
Though high tide might bring them more luck.
Last week, all she did was relax.
Just lazed around, eatin’ her snacks.
I wanted to boogie,
But she wouldn’t woogie
And we never got down to brass tacks.
The devil confided in me
He really would like to be free
To go to a show
On Broadway, you know.
A sheep in wolf’s clothing is he.
The Corriedale: The Oldest Crossbred Breed
My Sally just started to weep.
Our bills have become very steep.
We had nothin’ to eat.
Our clothes: Obsolete!
So we bought us a dual-purpose sheep.
(produces meat and wool)
That teacher has one phony pose.
I’ve noticed the places she goes.
She Just can’t fool me.
Cause it’s easy to see
She’s a wolf in designer sheep’s clothes.
Mr. Trump is now getting real old.
Has insomnia, (can’t be consoled).
Counting sheep wouldn’t do.
(Still was up all night through)
So he counts all the lies he has told.
Pandemic
The COVID virus attacks
So many sign up for their vacs
While others won’t go
But that’s good, you know
There is now none left on the racks
An eagle comes for the sheep
And hauls off a lamb with a bleap
You know what they say
It’s just nature’s way
Instinctive behavior runs deep
On the plane, I just couldn’t relax.
Sat next to a nun, we had snacks.
I begged her, “Pray quick
I’m supposed to be sick.
My guide book says, “panic attacks”
A tyrant can never relax.
There’s danger of sudden attacks.
Both Julius in Rome
And Don here at home
Complained of a stab in their backs.
(Hitler did too. But I don’t want him in my limerick.)
My writing, I fear, as I weep
Is putting my readers to sleep.
It’s really a shame.
So, whom should I blame?
I’m casting some pearls before sheep.
A lamb chop, as cute as a button,
Was eaten by one greedy glutton.
Its mommy, the sheep,
No longer could sleep.
Her baby would never be mutton.
Reggie Jones blows a mean tenor sax’.
Just the thing when you need to chillax.
Come apart at the seams,
She’s less soothing it seems,
And quite hopeless with panic attacks.
Team MAGA gets down to brass tacks
wearing shirts for their brand new attacks.
They say TRUMP 2024
(printed one year before)
To own libtards, they must never be lax!
“On the lam from some mobsters is he,”
Said the girl, “So he can’t marry me.”
Said her dad, “Those are lies;
Pull the wool from your eyes!”
And she sheepishly had to agree.
I can counter assaults from their backs –
Don’t you love how buns wiggle in slacks –
But I have no defence,
When they field their offence,
And resort to full frontal attacks.
This is NOT a sheep limerick. The one below, however, is:
“’Ave you met our new tup?” “You mean Sid?
Yes, I heard he’s about, so I hid.
What’s ‘e like?” “Sid’s a charmer—”
“So, not like the farmer?”
“Bid me, ‘’Ow d’ewe do?’ ‘fore ‘e did.”
Tup: also a noun meaning ‘a ram’.
As through this mad life we make tracks –
Uncertainty wielding its axe,
There are two things for sure
(It’s so simple, so pure)
That you’ll shortly be dead and pay tax!
I really don’t eat many snacks.
Yet I just cannot zip up my slacks.
What’s happened to me?
Wonder if it could be
Those des-per-ate choc’late attacks.
Knowing how strict you are, Mad I present this alternative – just in case. It still isn’t a sheep limerick. LOL
I can counter assaults from their backs –
Don’t you love how buns wiggle in slacks –
But I don’t have a play,
When they jiggle and sway,
And resort to full frontal attacks.
The Importance Of Coughing
When I smoke, I completely relax.
(Takes the place of those fat-ten-ing snacks).
I work night and day
In order to pay
The appropriate, just, excise tax.
Regarding the subject of tax,
Equality’s something it lacks.
Disparity reigns
Such as capitol gains
For shoppers at Walmart and Saks.
I’m totally irked as can be.
There are times that I just want to flee.
I sure hate this class.
That boy Jim Is so crass.
Always makin’ those sheep’s eyes at me.
I just love eating all of these graham
Yummy crackers with butter and jam.
This diet is hell.
So I just might as well
Be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.
I certainly cannot relax.
I just got a real dreadful fax.
With grammar so bad,
It sure makes me mad.
This “prof” should be charged a sin tax.
In London the Ripper’s attacks
Had bobbies all making fast tracks
To find his I.D.
But did they ask me?
Yes, I was an old chum of Jack’s.
Lambs are called sheep when they are over one year of age: the only fact in this limerick that’s true (:
“The Illegal Housing Of An Underage Sheep”
Cute Mary sure was in a jam.
So she and Meat went on the lamb.
She then fell asleep.
Until Meat was a sheep.
Then Mary yelled, “Hot Damn Sweet Ram”
The boy at the piano attacks
The music of Brit Arnold Bax.*
He pounds and he stumbles,
Then finally grumbles,
“I’d rather be playing the sax!”
* Arnold Bax, moderately well-known British composer of piano and orchestral music. Died 1953.
Mad: Could you please change lines 3 and 4 of the limerick I wrote today at
4:59 PM In line 3: Instead of “She fell asleep” I would like it to read,
She then fell asleep. Also, line 4: Instead of “Till Meat was sheep”
I would like it to read: Until Meat was a sheep.
Thank you, Lisi
******
Done.
One can say, with a sheep in the hand,
“Come and feast! I’ve a hearty meal planned.”
But with two in the bush,
One is dining on mush.
Not so hearty. It’s gruel and it’s bland.
Your respect for the king and his jacks
May, at times, be regarded as lax:
But you wouldn’t dare sneer –
You’ll stand quaking with fear –
At the person collecting the tax.
It’s ironic that ‘The IRS’
Should spell ‘Theirs’. It is anyone’s guess
Who thought, paying your tax,
It would help you relax.
That a laugh might relieve the distress.
“Free verse” was invented by hacks
Whose grasp on poetics is lax.
Without metre or rhyme,
What they write is a crime –
The law should impose a syntax.
Now I know I must work on my tax;
I must gather my figures and facts.
But says my dear chum,
“Don’t work yourself numb,
Please just write down some sums and relax!”
My darling, I’ve got real great news.
We can fine-a-ly lie down and snooze.
We’ve paid “annual tax”
It’s time to relax.
Our accoutant is now on a cruise.
The wolf in sheep’s clothing is there;
I can feel his obsequious stare.
His wide unctuous smile
is fake by a mile;
But I wake – he’s not there, anywhere!
Great News: No secrets: (What a crowd)
“I’m running for President, so
I assure you you’ll never have woe.
When I raise your tax,
Sit back and relax.
Cuz you’ll be the first ones to know”.
Mad, I’m embarrassed – I did it again! Should be unctuous – Line 3, in limerick submitted today at 12:33 pm.
******
Fixed.
Despite all his legal attacks,
His attempted sedition still lacks
About eight million voters.
“Those cowards at SCOTUS!”
Ex-President Duck squawks and quacks.
Oh, Mary, I want you to know
There are ways you can get back at Joe.
These brutal attacks
Always work to the max.
Try the one that’s called “biting low blow”.
Mad: above limerick: line 4 reads “Are surely the max”
Could you please change that to: Always work to the max
Thank you, Lisi
(from 3/30 at 1:50 PM)
****
Done.
Discussing our dinner with lamb,
I said I’d prefer it to ham.
Then I spied my sweet sheep
With her lil’ lamb asleep;
And cried: “Quick piggie, you’d better scram!”
Successfully counting those sheep
Requires one factor to keep:
The numbers that come
Will deduct from the sum
Of minutes that you’re losing sleep.
Said Swiss Sam to his sheep, “Sweater, please!
Amber hue, and just like our land’s cheese.”
So the ewe started knitting
And it turned out befitting
But the ‘style’ failed to stop the cold breeze!
This rich bitch insists that the tax
Code’s unfair to her ilk as she racks
Up her stockpiles of dough.
How her faux tale of woe
Of revolting disgustingness smacks!
It seems I’ve been fleeced by Lee Lamb
And her parents (Ma Ewe and Dad Ram).
‘Cause their pledge of fine wool,
It turns out, was pure bull–
And I gullibly fell for their scam.
The Venus de Milo is charming,
But some think it’s rather alarming.
Beneath shoulders she lacks
Any limbs, so attacks
Are made that the statue’s disarming.
A Talk Between John And His Dad
“No one notices me, (makes me blue)
I’m so lonely, don’t know what to do”
“Try not paying tax
And then you’ll relax
You’ll be noticed like you never knew.
“To be hanged for a sheep or a lamb …
There’s a choice? Then let’s go with the dam.
True, the meat’s kinda tough.
What the heck? Off the cuff,
It should sure stop the bleating re ham.”
Political fortunes will wax
Or they’ll wane or they’ll fall through the cracks.
Politicians chagrined?
They’ll just check the new wind.
And, as always, the ship of state tacks.
Said a mom: “Let’s get down to brass tacks:
There are some who just need to relax.
Why, my stepdaughter Lizzie
Is off in a tizzy,
Screaming something about forty whacks.”
(Gosh, Tim: Though a quite different tack,
Seems we’re on the same track….)
Lizzie Borden, indicted by hacks,
For her heinous (unproven) attacks,
Is notorious still
As the goriest thrill
In one famous Museum of Whacks.
“Who’s more tricky than Dickie?” “El Trump?”
“And less truthful than Bill?” “Info D-ump.”
“Who inspired those attacks?
Who sticks knives into backs—”
“And is still the world’s least favourite chump!”
For the 1040 form I prepare
A lovely and real-useful prayer.
Then I fine’ly relax
When I send in my tax,
Which makes use of the game, “Truth or Dare”.
My fam’ly can fine’ly relax.
For our safety, I go to the max.
We’ve a nice indoor pool,
That surely looks cool.
Yet were injured by bad shark attacks.
Mary’s lamb — once at school — wanted in.
Warned the Master, “Before we begin:
Though you’ll earn a degree,
The diplomas aren’t free,
For I’m told that they’re made of sheep’s skin.”
Grown weary of right-wing attacks?
Here’s something to help you relax:
Experience Fox
And those radio jocks
With volume turned down to the max.
Alternate version of my “Ship of State” limerick.
Political fortunes will wax
Or they’ll wane or they’ll fall through the cracks.
But as everyone knows,
That just as the wind blows,
So, as always, the ship of state tacks.
Little Bo Peep: The REAL story
And speaking of Little Bo Peep,
Did you hear that she lost all her sheep?
She’s a pain in the neck.
Made the sheep just a wreck.
They escaped to a motel to sleep.
For speeders, our neighborhood lacks
Enforcement to counter their acts.
Not having a cop,
Here’s my fantasy stop:
Imposing our own, local tacks.
I admit that I just have to weep.
At dinner, my “hub” falls asleep.
I yell, “Wake up, you bore!
Eat this lamp chop before
It turns into an old barnyard sheep”.
“No, we’re not a party of sheep!”
So blathered the MAGA hat creep.
Describing their herd
Might take more than one word;
Now “chickens and pigs” they can keep.
better choice of words than from blog (3/31 8:28PM)
I admit that I just have to weep.
During dinner, my “hub” falls asleep.
I yell, “Wake up , you bore!
Eat this lamb chop before
It becomes a real old barnyard sheep.
The musicians were playing quite lax,
They sure sounded like sleepy old hacks;
Though the maestra was new,
She knew just what to do;
She put down on their chairs some sharp tacks!
“I don’t know. Never thought – wolf or sheep?
I’ll admit I quite like Ms Bopeep.
My desire for this Ma’am
Would suggest I’m a ram:
But I also like lamb … this will keep.”
“I don’t know. Never thought – wolf or sheep?
I’ll admit I quite like Ms Bo Peep.
My desire for this Ma’am
Would suggest I’m a ram:
But I’m partial to lamb … this will keep.”
Sorry!
“Gather round! Here’s our plan of attack.
We will strike while they’re still in the sack.
It is sure to prevail—”
“But it looks like a nail!”
“Private Parts! Please go stand at the back.”
My tribute to Spike Milligan – not unknown in the US – and The Goons. Lines one and four are taken from, ‘Tales of Men’s Shirts: A story of down under’, as might Private Parts, but I can’t be sure.
Mad, may I ask you to alter the last line of the limerick posted 12:51am, please.
I’d like it to read; But I’m partial to lamb … this will keep.”
Thank you!
******
Done.
“We now know that these random attacks
Are the work of some hottie in slacks.
She brings men to their knees
With a daring striptease.
Then she rolls them and covers her tracks.”
“We now know that these wanton attacks
Are the work of some hottie in slacks.
She brings men to their knees
With a daring striptease.
Before stealing the shirts off their backs.”
Sorry about this, but be fair! I posted the first at an ungodly hour, so I wasn’t at my best, was I?
A man with no hands called old Max,
Will often have panic attacks;
He’s a bottle of pills
Which could cure his ills:
But the means to unscrew it he lacks.
Mr T. – was he goody or baddy?
If he’d sold all the gold that he had, he
Could have bought, after tax,
One of those Cadillacs.
And called it his Mr T. Caddy.
A rugby-mad farmer named Tuck
Used two sheep to practise his ruck,
But the grease in the fleece
Made his grip promptly cease
And he fell on his face in the muck.
The young sheep I feed daily are great.
They come into my kitchen to wait.
While eating their slops,
Some nibble worktops;
It affects about one laminate.
“We now know that these wanton attacks
Are the work of some hottie in slacks.
She brings men to their knees
With a daring striptease,
Before stealing the shirts off their backs.”
“More on hottie! Confessed to a priest.
Thinks all men are just sheep to be fleeced.
Says as long as she’s hot
She’ll employ what she’s got.
Thinks that certain guys won’t be policed.”
Little Boy Blue: The TRUE story
“Hey, Little Boy Blue, where’s your horn?”
“Don’t care, cuz I’m just so forlorn.
The goat’s in the tree.
He won’t listen to me.
And the sheep are inside watching porn”.
Yes, these are really made!
My mom’s always been so elite.
So I bought her a real sheep skin sheet.
Then we both heard a sound.
Thought she’d drop to the ground,
When the sheet bellowed ” baa-baa-baa-bleat”
A collection of ignorant hacks
Runs around spewing stuff anti-vax.
Although prospects are dim,
We could pay for the stim
If we passed a stupidity tax.
There recently have been attacks
Not only on Jews, gays and blacks,
But also on Asians.
So, stop all evasions.
This evil must stop in its tracks.
“When you swallow a sword just relax,”
Urges CIRCUS ACTS! FACTS TO THE MAX!
“If it nicks, never carp,
And to keep yourself sharp
On days off, you can always chew tacks.”
The accountant speaks:
“You don’t have to be so darn tense.
Your thought makes a whole lot of sense.
With the new “Witches Tax”
You can fine’ly relax.
Your broom is a travel expense”.
The Attorney Brothers, INC.
Hey, Michael, I’m very concerned.
‘Bout this form that has just been returned.
This couple paid tax,
But there’s something it lacks.
They’ve spent way much more than they’ve earned.
For ‘The Cup’, it’s all upwind and tacks
Not much skill when the wind’s at your backs
Sailors swear at a ‘header’…
And a ‘lift’ is much better…
Flying gybes whip the BOOM for head WHACKS!
So as taxing as limericks can be
For granted, don’t take them – trust me…
Should Big G ‘limerick tax’…
When riled up go our backs…
So what’s great, ‘least for now… is they’re FREE!
So the state made a new ‘Pet Duck Tax’
Big bulls-eye, wife and me, on our backs…
So I bribed tax man Jake
With a C-Note handshake
And it just goes to show “money QUACKS!”
Now the state, filled with greed, made ‘Game Tax’
Hide-and-seek and go-fish, even jacks
I’m not ‘game’, can you tell?
This tax reeks – ‘gamey’ smell…
So for now, all my games stay on racks!
Then the state launched an ‘Ex(er)cise Tax’
Fees for curls or free weights were the facts
So I wait – no fat burns…
While I file my returns…
For REFUND – I binge, chill, and relax!
I FORGOT – there’s a new ‘Memory Tax’
All MY memories are blocked by ear wax…
As my smart wifey urged…
Banged my head – memories purged!
‘Memory taxed’ for things my head lacks!
An accountant, too troubled to sleep,
Courted somnolence totting up sheep.
On the verge of a kip,
One slight clerical slip,
Meant he had to start over. “Oh … BLEEP!”
Just occurred to me that ‘kip’ may not be known in the US – though the context probaly defines it. It’s an informal word for sleep or a nap.
“I’ve included mint sauce with their feed
In the hope that I’ll start a new breed.
Minted lamb on the hoof!
Now I’m waiting for proof
That the idea is set to succeed.”
Said the carpenter, pinning his tacks,
“There’s no need to give these hefty whacks.
A light tap on the head
Usually puts them to bed.
Any harder, the Sellotape cracks.”
Sellotape = Scotch Tape.
“I’m a hoarder. I store things in stacks.
My mementos and keepsakes in sacks.
I have made out my will:
“For my IRS bill –
Take the lot for my unpaid back tax.”
A cultured and civilised leopard
Ate a whole flock of sheep and their shepherd.
It did not eat them raw,
But pot-roasted, with slaw
And some garlic potatoes, well-peppered
Welcome to tax preparation service!
“Mrs. Kitty Cat you always shun
The dictates you just can’t out run.
I see that your fax
Claims deductible tax
In the box where your business is done”.
A sad, sentimental lost sheep,
Whose attachments were known to run deep,
Once ate a big bonnet,
To ruminate on it,
And remind him of Little Bo Peep.
“Baa Baa Baa Black Sheep” The REAL story”
The black sheep said, “Ain’t got more wool”
(Don’t believe him, I heard he has pull)
Claims I’ve used it for rugs
In exchange for some drugs.
And he said that he’s sick of my bull.
While herding shorn sheep near the Bosphorus,
Some shepherds said, “Get glue and moss for us!
The boss can’t know the wool
Has been sold off in full –
We hope moss will cover the loss for us.”
A lost sheep, now returned to the fold,
Who by name, Triple X, would make bold
His escape in the morn’
As tonight he was torn
Between freedom and being consoled.
The REAL story! Sir Robin Hood is alive and hiding from the I.R.S.
Sir Robin Hood always completes
All his duties, (this man never cheats).
Yet he’s quite a bit lax
When it comes to his tax.
Never asks for “Poor People Receipts”
Have you tried walking on upside down tacks?
Each covered sole’s slippery like wax.
Though if your sole is too thin
Then each tack’s like a pin
And that’s not an ideal way to relax.
Is your existence a privilege or right?
Do you give, or take what you might?
Are you somewhat lax
In paying your tax
Or avoid it with some legal sleight?
It seems that politics’ fare
Is not to make you beware,
But to lull you to sleep
So you all act like sheep
And don’t go looking for answers elsewhere.
There was a young man called Button
Who hankered after some mutton.
So a sheep he then stole…
In a week ate the whole!
You’d have to say he’s a glutton.
Another version of the above…
There was a young man name of Button
Who hankered after some mutton
In nary a week
He ate a whole sheep
You’d have to say he’s a glutton
We both sang a sweet roundelay
As we watched o’er the sheep in the ley.
And that red sky night,
(A shepherd’s delight),
Then an amorous roll in the hay.
The rich don’t pay all of their tax
As they legally cover their tracks.
The poor don’t pay any
So it’s down to the many
Middle earners who fill in the cracks.
Trump’s endured many attacks
Over his non-payment of tax,
But he’s just used the tools
That the corporate ghouls
Have connived for their use, to the max.
What do you think I owe to thee?
This world is here solely for me.
Don’t ever call me lax
For not paying my tax,
I use all the right loopholes you see.
“If the sheep would please wait over there …
And you goats, you can bleat but don’t swear.
You will get a fair trial –
It’s too late to resile –
And it won’t help your case if you glare.”
“Was it worth it?” “Oh, defo! First rate.”
“To be hanged just for something you ate?”
“It seems harsh, I agree,
But between you and me,
At first whiff, I succumbed to my fate.”
The second one, I grant, may seem obscure until you remember the saying, “To be hanged for a sheep …” If my explanation was unneccesary, I apologise. (You see, Clay! Humility.)
Gazing round for to take in the views,
A young ram saw a field full of ewes.
“Let us run down the hill
And seduce a few, Bill!”
“No! Let’s stroll and do more than a few.”
To all the lady contributors, I apologise for this outrageous and chauvanistic limerick, which is so typical of the male mentality. That said, ’twas Mad chose the theme and I can only work with the materials I’m given.
Gee, Billy made good on his tax.
He feels that it’s close to the max.
I told him I miss ’em
Cant wait till I kiss ’em
Then asked (who’s it?) to take me to Saks.
“In the wake of these savage attacks,
Some have said our security’s lax,
Just because wolves have tried –
Facts cannot be denied –
But we’ve each got our hide, so relax.”
An elegant attempt to combine both elements of the challenge, though I can’t remember when a twofer was last singled out for honourable mention. Still, yje muse will not be denied.
Yes her concert debut is near due;
Is she ready? Heck, she has no clue!
Her harsh sound attacks
Our ears to the max;
I’m afraid we’ll all sit there and boo.
*Fortunately, I never experienced that reaction!
**********
So glad to hear it! Me neither, thank goodness!
What’s your instrument? Piano?
Is this you?
“Mommy, what is the government like?”
“Sit down, I’ll explain it dear Mike.
They all work in packs
When considering tax.
And always approving a hike.”
Uncle Charlie is really a creep.
At the parties, he won’t say a peep.
In order to please,
He always agrees.
We call him the fam’ly’s white sheep.
I beg, please stop these attacks
On my computer, who keeps getting hack
Stronger firewalls please
But I keep getting tease
By a hacker who covers his tracks
I was just like little bow peep
Who kept trying to count sheep
I tried to close my eyes
Then got a big surprise
Counting sheep had put me to sleep
“Discount Seamstress” (a place to relax)
She assembles “fixed” clothes on her racks.
Her price is so cheap,
That you’ll jump and you’ll leap!
She repairs all the hemlines with tacks.
So the goats and the sheep feud, unseen…
And the goats, filled with envy, are mean
But the sheep’s skin is thick
They one-upped goat’s best trick
Now the goat cheese keeps coming out green!
“La Masochist Shoppe” is the max.
I go there for “yank it off wax”.
Oh, those rubdowns are BLISS!
I always use Chris.
Just love her massages with tacks.
attacks and sheep (a double)
An accountant I know can’t relax.
He hallucinates papers in stacks.
He’s tried counting sheep,
But he still couldn’t sleep.
Due to fabled 1040 attacks.
What a good detective you are, Mad!
**********
LOL! Hmmm … and for my fourth career … :)
As Washington yakety-yaks
The wealthy, the brass, can relax.
They don’t pay their share
And Congress won’t dare
To try to enact a brass tax.
He groggily counted the sheep
While over the fence they did leap.
Then one, on a dare,
Took a whiz in mid-air;
A baaad way to get back to sleep.
You’re holding a small pair of Jacks.
And betting your chips to the max.
But we know that you’re bluffing.
You’re huffing and puffing.
And look like you’re sitting on tacks.
I must tell you ’bout dear Uncle Max.
A lot of good sense this man lacks.
He’s proposed new pay plans
For all breath mint fans.
And one is a tax on Tic Tacs.
There once was a rich banker named Max,
Who refused to pay his income tax.
When the IRS called,
He attempted to stall,
But lost everything–even his slacks!
Rip Van Winkle did twenty years sleep
Having counted just too many sheep.
On waking, Van Winkle
He first had to tinkle
And off to an outhouse he’d creep.
Hi Mad,
To make my “poker” limerick (April 3. 7:52) read a little smoother, please change lines 2 and 3 to read:
But we know that you’re bluffing
You are huffing and puffing
Thanks.
*******
You meant line 3 and 4 I’m sure.
Anyway, I made your first requested change, but not the second. Why not? Because if you read lines 3 and 4 together, as a single line to check meter, you’ll see that your second requested change would add an extra unstressed syllable, and that’s one too many. Here’s what it would sound like with both of your changes. (I indicate stressed syllables in all CAPS.)
But we KNOW that you’re BLU ffing.
You are HU ffing and PU ffing.
MBK
They had dubbed him the ‘Flattering Ram’.
He had ways of seducing a dam.
But for all of his charm,
And his ploys to disarm,
Never once did he say, “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Yes, we calls ‘im, ‘The Batterin’ Ram’.
‘E’s all business. Goes straight at his dam.
If ‘e don’t get his way,
‘E will butt you all day.
My advice is, take off on the lam.”
She was known as the king’s battle-axe.
His most ruthless collector of tax.
But the jest’ won her heart –
No, all joking apart –
For ‘twas he helped this lady relax.
In the face of these wonton attacks –
All in fam’ly and handy-sized packs.
Noodles, dumplings and soup!
There’s no time to regroup.
We need go to the mattresses snacks.
He had ways of seducing a dam.
So, they dubbed him the ‘Flattering Ram’.
But for all of his charm,
And his ploys to disarm,
Never once did he say, “Thank you, ma’am.”
Sorry for the repetition, but it is better.
Another ram limerick – and, a twofer, I’ve just noticed:
“He employs very sneaky attacks.
If you’re wise, you will all watch your backs.”
“Is he shy?” “We can’t tell.
And regarding the smell,
We’ve been told he was brought up by yaks.”
I’m calling them, “The Ram Quartet”
“It’s about time you took a day off!
Don’t you ever get bored? Boff, boff, boff!
We need more in our lives!”
“I’ve got six hundred wives!
It’s a wonder I find time to cough.”
What do sheep count when chasing their zeds?”
When wild thoughts buzz around in their heads?
Does it seem fair to you
They can’t do as we do?
‘Spose they just have to toss in their beds.
Wendy-Rose, the insomniac sheep,
Can’t remember when last she had sleep.
“Oi woz chewin’ away
On a mouthful of ‘ay
But Oi couldn’ say when – ask Bo Peep!”
“And speaking of yaks—” “Which we weren’t”
“They’re much tastier when they’re not burnt.
Lost our sheep – wolf attacks.
So we thought, ‘Let’s try yaks.’
It’s been error and trial, but we’ve learnt.”
Quintet:
An old ram who was long past his best
Could, with effort, still puff out his chest.
Every Spring, thoughts bombard –
The old urges die hard.
After thinking about it, he’d rest.
And no, should the question spring to mind, that last one is not autobiographical. Not just yet.
My friend, Judy, says, “Let’s go relax
See a show and have dinner at Mac’s”
I’m ready to go,
Then I call and say, “no”
Cuz I’m gettin’ those lim’rik attacks.
These two very aggressive young rams
Were enamoured of Lil’ – she had gams …
So, to see who she’d wed,
They said, “Right! Head-to-head.”
Said their mum, “They’ve been like it since lambs.”
An old ram who’d been put out to grass –
He’d been given a clock made of brass –
Found a dirty old mac
And, when feeling the lack,
Took to flashing whoever should pass.
Don’t even go there!
My friend, Cynthia, said, “Let’s make tracks.
We’ll go the beach and relax.
Then we’ll swim in the sea
With all that debris,
And join feeding frenzy attacks”.
“Ah! The wolf in sheep’s clothing disguise.
You’ve a dastardly plan, I surmise?”
“Not at all. I like drag.
There are times I’m a stag,
But tonight it’s De Sade and Chastise.”
NO!
“To avoid or evade – what’s the dif’?”
“To evade is illegal, you stiff!
To avoid paying tax
Is legit, so relax.
Our accountant is on it.” “What if …?”
As April 15th draws to a near,
Sit back and crack open a cold beer,
If you pay all of your tax,
The House will pass a new act,
And you’ll dish out even more next year!
My woolies all graze on the hills.
Last week, they just gave me the chills.
They stripped off their wool.
They were naked in full.
Cuz the cattle requested sheep thrills.
better grammar: (tense-wise)
My friend, Judy, said, “Let’s go relax.
See a show, then have dinner at Mac’s.”
I was ready to go,
Then I called and said, “no”
(I was gettin’ those lim’rik attacks.)
Mad: oops! L5 was supposed to be: (I was gettin’ those lim’rik attacks)
L5 (4/4 1:23 PM)
Could you please change that for me?
Thank you,
Lisi
*******
Done.
The shepherd said sheepishly, “Damn!
I find that I’m in a big jam.”
And ewe knew he would cry
When he said with a sigh,
“Young sheep have all gone on the lam.”
When his fleece got too curly and twee,
Lambert bawled, “Maa! What’s happ’ning to me?”
Ewenice answered him, “Bah!
Que sera que sera —
Whatever wool be, lamb, wool be.”
My adorable sheep uttered, “Moo”
So I asked, “What has happened to you?”
He was so thrilled to pass
The finals in class.
And now he’s bilingual, (who knew?)
Golden rule in the art of relax:
Avoid work that is likely to tax.
Stress will not only kill,
It will undermine chill.
So, find work that diverts and distracts.
Golden rule in the art of relax:
Avoid work that is likely to tax.
Stress will not only kill,
It will undermine chill.
So, find work that diverts and distracts.
“Be a shepherd?” “That’s one road to take.
Just think through all the choices you make.
Live your life to the max
But avoid heart attacks –
That’s the whole ball of wax – for Pete’s sake.”
Dear Sjaan, I have to pay my compliments on your lovely – and brilliant – ‘Que sera …’ limerick, above. Gorgeous!
To be hanged for a sheep as a lamb …
“I’ve got both! Had I known … blast and damn!”
“I don’t mean to deride
But what made you decide
To bring both?” “We were chased by the ram.”
Mad, that should be ‘Hanged for a sheep as a lamb.’ Please change the ‘or’ to ‘as’.
Thank you.
********
Done.
With her clothes held together by tacks,
The stripteaser helped tailers relax.
Admiring the stitching,
While she was unhitching,
Meant getting their thrills to the max.
Seems my boyfriend is one ill-bred creep.
And last night I could not help but weep.
I said, “Dinner’s at eight.”
He was just so damn late.
(All alone, he wolfed down leg of sheep)
It’s shearing time, I’m feelin’ grim.
Told my shearer, “Now listen here, Jim:
I don’t like being bald.
It makes me appalled.
So today, Jim, I’ll just have a trim”.
Tony — Thanks for the compliment! After reading forthcoming limerick, promise you won’t take it back.
Tossing, turning, she makes not a peep,
Thinking, “I wool count puns about sheep!”
If she cud, she’d eschewe
Thoughts of ramming them through,
And risk putting Mad’s whole flock to sleep.
My compliment to you was altogether deserved and you are most welcome. A powerful sense of gallantry forbids me to comment on your most recent offering, as I prefer to continue in contemplation of the marvels of your earlier work and so, as yet, am unable to give my attention to the more recent. LOL XX
For Sjaan, concerning your latest limerick:
What I’m writing might sound a bit odd.
I’ve advice for you, so help me God:
Your lim’rik was fab!
Yet a little bit drab.
Cuz puns about sheep are so baaa-d.
This is better:
Sjaan, this might sound a bit odd.
I’ve advice for you, (so help me God)
That lim’rik was fab,
Yet a little bit drab.
Cuz puns about sheep are so baaa-d.
I get ’80s nostalgia attacks:
I recall logging onto a VAX.
“Floppy” disks of the day
Were slid into drive A;
We sent documents via a “fax.”
My third and last try at a limerick that makes SENSE!
For Sjaan:
What I’m typing might seem a bit odd:
Here’s the truth, Sjann, so help me God.
Though your lim’rik was “fab”,
It was just a bit drab.
Cuz puns about sheep are so baaa-d.
Their damned Parliament’s breaking our backs
’Cause it levies too much with its acts.
If those prigs will not wise up,
Then we Whigs need to rise up!
My suggestion is razing attacks.
A rare beauty is Little Bo Peep,
The delight of a shepherd called Reep.
And whenever Peep go,
For to be with her beau,
They don’t waste any time counting sheep.
For those of a nasty, suspicious turn of mind, Reep is a genuine name and originally meant ‘an area controlled by the church.’
They said “Do you have any wool?”
I replied “I have 3 big bags full”
But the market is slack
For a fleece that is black
This racism’s not very cool.
“Ah, a nice cup of tea! I’ll relax.
Take a break from these lim’rick attacks.
I might even try sleep.
Heaven knows, I’ve got sheep –
But who’s counting – Bo Peep’s got the snacks.”
Recent data has fine-a-ly shown
There is something called “terrified zone”.
These scary attacks
Reach their peak to the max
When you’re sure that you can’t find your phone.
Ev’ry now and then, squirrels hide in huts.
Be mindful, and don’t be a putz.
You mustn’t be lax.
They do brutal attacks.
So remember, you must hide your nuts.
With her clothes held together by tacks,
The stripteaser helped tailers relax.
All admiring the stitching,
While she was unhitching,
So enhancing their thrills to the max.
Sorry for this, but the last line was spoiling it.
Breaking news on the Wonton attacks!
We have countered with nibbles and snacks.
For a while, touch and go,
But statistics now show
That we’ve stopped their advance in its tracks.
I know this is annoying, and i apologise; but I had to get it right.
With her clothes held together by tacks,
The stripteaser helped tailers relax.
While she was unhitching,
Admirers of stitching,
Exploited their thrills to the max
The Life and Times Of Sid, The Charmer: Epilogue:
When the farmer said, “Sid’s had his day.”
Sid went off on his own, for to pray.
“I’ve no cause for complaint,
But quite ready I ain’t.
So, please! Don’t let him send me away.”
Yes, part of the ‘Ram Hexalogy’, properly so called.
Sid and Elsie a-shivering stood,
Sporting crew-cuts from old farmer Good.
Elsie said, “You look blue.’
Sid replied, “So will you.
I’m no longer a ram who packs wood.”
I expect that only the very naughtiest of readers will get this one – so that should be most of you. (Not you, Sjaan, obviously.)
Well, first, I’ll buy real pricey wine.
I’ll be dining at “Cuisine Divine”.
My refundable tax,
I’ve been told is the max.
Just heard ’bout my $1.29
Dear Lisi, I know I’ve descended
Into maaa-dness; it can’t be defended.
I’ve lambasted bovid —
I blame it on Covid.
Signed, Sheepish One. (No pun intended).
MESSAGE TO ALL:
My website host just did a “server upgrade” which has caused technical problems with both my blogs. So don’t be surprised if you see weird errors throughout this and my other posts and in some of the comments as well.
While you can still post your comments here, don’t be surprised if you see weirdness in your comments. Hopefully, this will be fixed soon by the people who created this problem.
“Ah, a nice cup of tea! I’ll relax.
Take a break from these lim’rick attacks.
I might even try sleep.
Heaven knows, I’ve got sheep –
But who’s counting? here’s Bo with the snacks.”
An improvement and a test.
“Being vegan? I can’t really say.
I, of course, was brought up in that way.
Are there foods that surpass
A nice field of fresh grass?
Yes, I think so. I’m partial to hay.”
I realise that the limerick above could apply to any and every ruminant, but in this instance, it’s definitely sheep.
Said the therapist, “Tell me, Miss Peep,
Do you often obsess in your sleep?”
“I should say, my young gun!
Since I turned eighty-one,
Every thought turns to, ‘Where are my sheep?'”
Replacing the corrupted versions above.
When the farmer said, Sid’s had his day.
Sid went off on his own, for to pray.
I’ve no cause for complaint,
But quite ready I ain’t.
So, please! Don’t let him send me away. (Last Of The Ram Hexalogy)
Sid and Elsie a-shivering stood,
Sporting crew-cuts from old farmer Good.
Elsie said, “You look blue.”
Sid replied, “So will you.
I’m no longer a ram who packs wood.”
In the middle of night she attacks
All her musical problems that wax;
Chords loudly do land
On her Steinway grand,
‘Til the neighbors shout: “Pipe down, it wracks!”
It depends very much on your views.
When we hear woolly jumpers we muse.
You will think, Knitted dress?
Silly man! But, oh, bless –
Whereas I picture frisky young ewes.
An old ram who was long past his prime
Took the field for the very last time.
Sympathetic young ewes
All lined up. Don’t confuse
Im. Poor lad! E’s for ultimate. Crime!
If this doesn’t bring a tear to your eye, you’re heartless.
It was now fourteen months since Bo Peep
Had mislaid Farmer Good’s eighteen sheep.
To make up for the loss
She’d moved in with her boss.
Farmer Good wasn’t getting much sleep.
“So, how was it for ewe?” asked the ram.
“Oh, the earth moved.” “It did? Thank you, ma’am.”
“Farmer Good and his team
Dynamited the stream.
I heard tell that he’s building a dam.”
“It depends very much on your views.
When we hear ‘woolly jumpers’ we muse.
You will think, ‘Knitted dress’ –
Brightly hued, to impress –
Whereas I picture frisky young ewes.”
We get in on an Oakley apiece.
Catch the usher eyeballing my ‘niece’.
I’m no uncle, ha, ha.
After this it’s. “Ta, ta!”
This old ram is attached to his fleece.
UPDATE: Unfortunately, my site is still undergoing repairs, due to encoding errors caused by my site host’s server upgrade. Consequently, I’m forced to extend this Limerick-Off by one week. Your new submission deadline is Saturday April 17 at 4 p.m. Eastern.
Mad Kane: Another week? Be still my beating heart
Has Mad Kane’s host server been lax?
And opened itself to attacks?
No matter the score
You have one week more
And those are the actual facts
Artist’s model, Loretta Bo Peep,
Took to posing sans clothes with her sheep.
Gravy magnate, Gay Knorr,
Said he liked what he saw,
And enquired if the sheep would work cheap?
“It would seem these sporadic attacks
Are no longer an issue. This smacks—”
“Never mind! If they’re gone
We’ve survived The Wonton.”
“Does that mean we can write-off these snacks?”
Naughty pictures of Missy Bo Peep
Were a source of great shame to her sheep.
“What is sauce for the ram
Isn’t fit for a lamb!”
“’Tis that farmer’s to blame. He’s a creep!”
Said the farmer, addressing his sheep,
“Don’t you fret about Little Miss Peep!
I have posted her bail,
So she’ll be out of jail
In two shakes of a tail. Go to sleep!”
“Breaking news on that flock of lost sheep!
They aren’t lost! They were sold by Ms Peep.
Seems she got into debt
With a horny old vet
And the vig he applied was too steep.”
“So, Bo Peep was a wolf in disguise?
Might’ve guessed. You could see it, the eyes.”
“That, and how she gained weight –
All that mutton she ate.
Yes, the thing that hurts most, is the lies.”
It started with paint specks and spacks
plus a deluge of pink and blue wax.
Then some Hand-crafted spears
Flew close by my ears, –
Can’t take any more art attacks.
Pax Romana
The opera’s been under attacks
In Rome, by vociferous claques.
They shout and they boo
Throw tomatoes, that too.
What became of that old Roman Pax?
As of today
Lisi has just forty-nine
D’you think that she still has the time
To catch “Sheepy” Tony
Who’s managed, alone he,
To put sixty-five all on line?
With all due respect and love to you both.
In our modern world, Little Bo’s sheep
Have embedded smart chips that go, ‘Bleep!’
Should you rustle today,
You’ll be nabbed straight away.
So, don’t sow and you shan’t have to reap.
Looking up from the grass, an old ram
Caught the eye of his favourite dam.
When bidden come hither,
The ram didn’t dither,
And, forever the gent thanked the ma’am.
In the light of Rudy’s limerick – above – I suppose I must confess all. I was a child progeny – or is it prodigious? Whatever – in addition to which, I’m also on the same medication as Lisi – but I cheat! I’m double-dosing. There you have it. The truth at last.
“Miss Bo Peep’s in the family way!”
“Well, you can’t keep her out of the hay.”
“Do you think it’s the ram?”
“No. More likely young Tam.
Always said he would lead her astray.”
An old ram, all alone in the dell,
Was perplexed. ‘Do these circs sound the knell?
Am I down for the drop?
Nowt but scrag-end and chop?
Don’t be daft! You’re still prime personnel!’
It were well I move on from the sheep.
I was hoping we’d have a clean sweep.
Endless visions of rams
Tupping fields full of dams …
It is hardly conducive to sleep.
It were well I move on from the sheep.
I was hoping we’d have a clean sweep.
Endless visions of rams
Tupping fields full of dams …
Well, it’s hardly conducive to sleep.
“And these visions?” “This fortnight just past.
Just how long do you think they will last?”
“Well, at least one more week.
Would it help if I speak …?”
“No, thanks, Doc’. Will the tablets work fast?”
“In the face of these vicious attacks …
Well, of course I’ve plunged knives into backs.
Do I look paranoid?
I’ll rephrase. I’m annoyed
That these rumours I started are facts.”
“It was hardly a vicious attack.
Some poor guy in a shabby old mac.”
“Yes, but when he revealed
What the coat had concealed,
What alarmed was the thing looking back.”
My sheep has gone off, so to speak,
And, in this case, it hap-puns to reek.
The odor is offal,
Which isn’t unlawful,
But could be by this time next week.
Said the lamb, who’d been weaned from the teat,
To the ram, “How did you and mum meet?”
“It were love at first sight,”
Said the ram, “Moonlit night,
And your mum only ewe not to bleat.”
Those with a good ear will detect a slight Yorkshire accent in the ram’s reply.
Sjaan, a punster of no fixed abode,
Saw the future and everything slowed.
She liked sheep well enough,
But a third week? That’s tough!
“Could be worse – just think back to commode.”
From the wolf’s point of view, grazing sheep,
Are temptation enough not to sleep.
But throw in a good fight
And you’ve got a great night.
And to top it all off, Miss Bo Peep.
There are 3 things that can’t be dismissed.
These truths will forever exist:
They are death and the tax.
Hold on, don’t relax.
Cuz out there’s a woman who’s pissed.
Mr. One Inch just wanted attention.
His appeal was by no means convention.
He did not yet file tax,
But he sent in a fax,
Requesting a real long extension.
This is why a boy needs his dad.
“Son, did you take a few of my tacks?”
“To take vengeance for various acts.
Teacher’s chair, punctured butt.
They fell over. Plan – phut!”
“You’ll be needing this small ball of wax.”
“Hearing Voices”
I admit that I’m sure “in the red”.
But this season, I’m not feeling dread.
For reduction in tax,
I can fine’ly relax.
My dependents are all in my head.
a reply to Rudy Landesman concerning his limerick from April 10th.
in which he compared the number of Tony’s limericks to mine.
Mr. Holmes cranks them out, he’s so fine.
Can’t keep up with him, so I must whine.
It’s compassion he lacks,
With his well-formed attacks.
Since his crank is much bigger than mine.
LOL, Tony. JUST A JOKE!! (:
Play Dead
Watch out for those mean bear attacks.
They will kill you with just a few whacks.
The KEY is “play dead”
They’ll be stumped and misled.
(Bring your coffin along to relax)
Mrs. Thumbtacks has 500 stacks
Of pushpins she keeps in her shacks.
She’s unhinged and she’s mad.
Stay away from her pad.
(You’ll be under attack with her tacks.)
I know it, Lisi! LOL XX
“A Christmas Carol” The REAL story
Ebenezer Sheep never got fah.
Wasn’t nice to his ma and his pa.
Lived alone in a tree.
A curmudgeon was he.
And repeatedly howled, “Humbug Baah”.
Today at 12:48 :my limerick did not make sense. Try again
There are three things that can’t be dismissed.
These truths will forever exist:
They are death and the tax.
One more fact, don’t relax.
There will always be someone who’s pissed.
My young son wants to nourish his brain
Asks me questions and some I explain.
“Is the moon made of cheese?”
And “Who built the trees?”
And “Why don’t the sheep shrink in rain?”
Way to go, Lisi! LOL
“These old ladies are vicious!” “Relax!
When the time comes, we all’ve got your backs.
We’ve got SWAT standing by,
State militia on high,
And a psych’ team for panic attacks.”
Vive la difference! So, when you say ’pissed’
You mean vexed – am I getting the gist?
Whereas here, booze attacks
And they’re flat on their backs,
And if cross, then it’s drunk with a twist.
“I have dine-ed on mutton and lamb,
Whilst pursuing bold thoughts on the ram.
I have scuppered Bo Peep,
As a keeper of sheep,
And, quite frankly, I don’t give a damn!”
Corporations avoid paying tax
While they pile up the money in stacks.
“But it’s legal!” they say
As it’s all waved away
By a phalanx of flunkies and flacks.
The QOP amped up attacks
crying “Pedo!” But with Gaetz, they are lax.
Maybe now, they’ll say,
“We just wanted to say ‘gay,’
but were forced to try something with tact!”
“’Twas the night before Christmas—” “Oh, yes?”
“I was peckish indeed, I confess.
I had lally of lamb,
And a gammon of ham …
Silly man! I called Pizza Express.”
‘Lally’ is Polari for leg.
Mad, – would you please delete previous version of this one (April 9) thanks.
Midlife Crisis he now must appease
With a Sailboat in storms on high seas.
His Boat slowly cracks
as he Jibes and he tacks
and finds Sailing so scary, he pees.
**********
Done.
Lim’rick Relay is picking up speed,
With L.Nortman, T. Holmes in the lead.
Sjaan grabs the baton, it
Has sheep dip smeared on it.
“I’m okay!” she yells, “Just what I need!”
A dog that was working with sheep
Grew angry when some kind of creep
Launched a low-flying drone.
He would have to atone
For guessing how high she could leap.
A Formal Request : Next Day Delivery:
Dear I.R.S., I’m really pissed.
There is something that I must insist.
When it comes to my tax,
As you know, I’ve been lax.
So please take me off of your list.
Dipping sheep is a messy affair
And you don’t want that stuff in your hair.
You’ll get blisters and boils,
And dried up natural oils.
On the plus side, your ticks will despair.
It’s not true about the blisters, boils and oils – so far as I know – but I had to say something. (Poet’s licence?)
At her server, Mad spit out a “Bah!”
Seems her RAM had a jam…blah blah blah.
Beastly botch-up, no joke,
(Made her choke on her toke).
The response she got back? “Mwah-ha-ha!”
Take sheep dip with sugar — one lump.
Or inject it right into your rump.
It works against Covid,
Just ask any bovid.
I read this in “Cure-alls” by Trump.
For a sheep-shearing contest last May,
I had brought my fine tools to display;
I cut, trimmed and shaved;
The sheep, well-behaved
‘Til one butted-and I scampered away!
“What I’m slaying is, deep ship’s all right.
All these blowhards – I’d smooch ‘em on sight.
Don’t you heave what they say!
They’ll get married away
And you’ll see they just shed it for slight.”
Sjaan has entered the lim’rick relay –
Though she’s coming in late – no, fair play.
She has Lisi in sight
But with sheep dip, she might
Drop the baton and call it a day.
She’s been walking around in a trance.
She once took a brief, sheepish glance
At a man, a real jock,
And got a big shock,
When she noticed the bulge in his pants.
‘Twas a ‘woolve’, prone to cupidity
Who raised the sheep’s rate of morbidity
Shep Hurd chose to ignore…
“Guess I’ll simply make more…!”
Unsurpassed scale of stupidity!
“In Ewe We Trust” – new Amendment revealed
Sheepish ploy, power-play did sheep wield
EVERY flock resident
Would NOW be ‘PRESIDENT’
Since ‘OUT-STANDING’ are all in their field!
There’s Lisi, there’s Tony and Sjaan
Writing lim’ricks as much as they can
And sheepishly, Rudy
Is doing his duty
To be a sublime also-ran.
Sjaan, I hope I am pronouncing your name correctly. If not, you’ll just have to change it.
I’m starting to get a bit sick
Of limeriques all so sheepiques.
So pardon my French
Let’s clear up the stench
Or else I might call in the fliques.
Yes, that’s it. Let’s go à La Française!
We’ll say sheep as Les Frenchmen would says.
We’ll have mouton for sheep –
Hey! No falling asleep!
Oh, don’t worry. It’s only a phase.
“Daddy! Daddy! I have to do tax
For my homework.” “Okay, but relax.
You’ll find forms on the shelf –
I don’t pay it myself –
But I think I can help with the facts.”
Think Jeff Bezos – as the dad, obviously.
Our Donald is still seeking tax
From a system that’s really too lax.
We don’t want to pay
So we must find a way
To stop any further attacks.
To guess at the end of pandemic
Requires the world’s best academic.
We must follow like sheep
Up a hill that is steep
To stop it now it is endemic.
Que je suis bete! Mad, April 13, 1:23am above, line 4 should end in an exclamation point. Would you do the honours, please. Thank you!
*****
Done.
We call April, “The Month Of The Tax”.
Not a problem, we always relax.
Seems this is the season
(For some curious reason)
We cherish our kids to the max.
Now the flock is beginning to mill,
And the race is apace — what a thrill!
Rudy pulls up the end,
Holmes is way ’round the bend,
Sjaan and Lisi? They’re over the hill!
With my knuckles now trailing the floor,
I am done! I can’t do anymore.
Go away, sheep and tax!
Let a body relax.
I have mined every ounce of the ore.
“Oh, what joy! An evader of tax.
As regards his returns he is lax.
Be he never so poor
I’ll appear at his door
And my screws will be turned to the max.”
I lied. Sue me!
I was failing, and sure on the skids.
And my code of behavior forbids
Not paying your tax,
But for that, wasn’t lax
I just borrowed the neighborhood kids.
TRUE ! I was about age 4.
Well, after my story was read,
I always was filled with much dread.
Mommy said, “Time for sleep.
If you can’t just count sheep”.
And I thought they were under my bed.
better !
Right after my stories were read,
I always had feelings of dread.
Mom would say, “Time for sleep,
If you can’t, just count sheep”.
And I thought they were under my bed.
Dear Rudy, I feel where you’re at,
Shear exhaustion can make one feel flat.
Still, if you start bleating
In French, you’ll be cheating.
And what sort of sheep trick is that?
More effective than counting of sheep
INSOMNIA Lim’ricks that, coming, keep…
Week extension from Mad
Was real ‘straight-jacket’ baaad….
We’ve ALL gone OFF the END, that’s soooo DEEP!
Liebe Sjaan, sei doch bitte mir brav,
Und sei ruhig genau wie ein Schaf.
Und beruhige dich
Nicht Franzoesisch bin ich
Und stoere mir nicht meinen Schlaf.
“Where we off to?” asked Elsie the ewe.
“Don’t ask me, Els’. I haven’t a clue.”
Someone said, “Abattoir.”
“That sounds French.” “Ooh, la, la!”
And with that, they continued to chew.
I’ve entered the dark zone now.
“So, this tax thing – how much do they take?”
“All depends. Do they know what you make?”
“I sincerely hope not!
I quite like what I’ve got.”
“Well, who knows? They might give you a break.”
I know this doesn’t qualify, but I’d done it before I realised, and at this stage, I’m grateful for anything my muse puts puts up for grabs.
“Where we off to?” asked Elsie the ewe.
“Don’t ask me, Els’. I haven’t a clue.”
Someone said, “Abattoir.”
“That sounds French.” “Ooh, la, la!”
“Hope the ram’s there – I fancy a screw.”
The romantic ending – no pun intended. (Sorry, Sjaan! Didn’t mean to trespass.LOL)
We like sheep, all exist to pay tax.
All our lives, we can’t ever relax.
As our fortunes increase,
State and Fed’ take the fleece,
And their final demand brings no pax.
Mary’s lamb learned to love the word “schaf.”
When she herd it, it gave her a laff.
It appeared in a sermon,
All written in German,
Und intended to put her to schlaf.
Rudy–You’re brilliant! I can tell (even though I only speak pigeon-esperanto and pig latin). When I think of all the animals to be raised after the sheep are
grown! Did you correct that to “groan”?
CHARGE OF THE LIGHT (VERSE) BRIGADE
The Light Brigade volleyed and thundered.
Will they never be vanquished? Some wondered.
But against all attacks,
Lim’ricks piled up in stacks,
While they wrote (not in rote) the three hundred!
O.K. Sjaan, ya wanna get literary?
About some ancient mariners.
The boards all did shrink and had cracks.
The sailors, in thirst, on their backs.
They could not rescind
The curse of “no wind”.
Their ship did no jibes and no tacks.
Who’d have thought it? A popular theme.
We are ovine obsessed it would seem.
Then there’s Sjaan, who must pun,
Which all adds to the fun,
Verbal high jinks and venting of steam.
Rudy! You’re a show off!
“No, it never has happened before.”
“Most distressing. Now please tell me more.”
“I went in for to tup,
But it wouldn’t stay up –
And ewes thwarted can get very sore.”
“No, it never has happened before.”
“Most distressing. Now please tell me more.”
“I went in for the tup,
But it wouldn’t stay up –
And ewes thwarted can get very sore.”
“Tell me, what do you dream when you sleep?”
“I see field upon field full of sheep.”
“And this brings you erect?”
“Not at all! The effect
Is to make me start counting and weep.”
Sid and Elsie on honeymoon were.
Just the thought of his ewe made him stir.
She was keen, that’s for sure,
And what ram could ask more.
When he gave her the, “Come on!” “Yes, Sir!”
I felt the need to explore both ends of the spectrum.
“No, it never has happened before.”
“Most distressing. Now please tell me more.”
“I went in for the tup,
But it wouldn’t stay up –
And ewes thwarted can get very sore.”
“Tell me, what do you dream when you sleep?”
“I see field upon field full of sheep.”
“And this brings you erect?”
“Not at all! The effect
Is to make me start counting and weep.”
“Have you ever considered you’re gay?”
“I’m a ram!” “Every ram has his day.
Take a look at these chaps.
Are you stirring, perhaps?”
“Well, I never!” “A handsome display.”
That’s the entire spectrum covered, now.
The killer goes mad with an ax,
And his victims are bundled in sacks.
But none of them bleeds;
All the corpses are weeds,
The results of his garden attacks.
(Double)
Oh, damn it! I’ve just popped a button!
It’s my own fault for being a glutton.
I get hunger attacks
And I need little snacks,
So I’ve gobbled a whole leg of mutton.
Sorry about this, but I’ve improved the second line in the last limerick, and who knows? I might just get lucky this week. Hint, hint.
“No, it never has happened before.”
“Most distressing. Now please tell me more.”
“Well, I went for the tup,
But it wouldn’t stay up –
And ewes thwarted can get very sore.”
“Tell me, what do you dream when you sleep?”
“I see field upon field full of sheep.”
“And this brings you erect?”
“Not at all! The effect
Is to make me start counting and weep.”
“Have you ever considered you’re gay?”
“I’m a ram!” “That’s a given, I’d say.
Take a look at these chaps.
Are you stirring, perhaps?”
“Well, I never!” “A handsome display.”
“What’s the point? They’ll just take it in tax.
“They will try but we’re watching our backs.
We can pile up the gold
Out of sight, somewhere cold.”
“What – like Switzerland?” “No, Uncle Mack’s.”
“It was latish on Ticklemas Eve.
I was smooching a ram name of Steve.
Who’d be first to seduce –
He was bold, I was loose –
Would be anyewe’s guess, Geneviève.”
No Exit Exeter?
His detractors are lined up on racks,
All trussed up as they lie on their backs.
The guards have been vetted,
His appetite whetted —
And now with his puns he attacks!
Happy Two-Days-Before Birthday, Sjaan
It’s tacky, I know, to be lax.
(I confess to my own share of “tacks”)
But Sjaan, for your Birthday
I baked in a new way
A virtual cake and some snacks.
Sjaan, who is this Exeter of whom you speak, please?
When obtaining sex favors from Mabel,
It’s okay to pay under the table.
She will not think you lax
For avoiding the tax —
She deserves a big tip, if you’re able.
“What’s the point? They’ll just take it in tax.
“They will try but we’re watching our backs.
We can pile up the gold
Out of sight, somewhere cold.”
“What – like Switzerland?” “No, Uncle Max’.”
“So we’re paying this …?” “Tribute. Relax.”
“To these robbers?” “It wards off attacks.”
“IRS would take less.”
“Yes, you’re right, I confess.”
“And we’ve still yet to pay Uncle Max.”
Sid liked wining and dining his ewes,
So was known as the, ‘tupper who woos’.
He’d romance them for hours,
And would even buy flowers,
All of which earned ecstatic reviews.
My sheep’s so excessively woolly,
Her fleece grows so thickly and fully,
That each time she lies
She’s unable to rise
Without being raised by a pulley.
A respite from the wooing of dams,
Was the training of eager young rams.
“Be polite: don’t be rough.
Tender’s better than tough,
If you’d pass all your tupping exams.”
Shep the dog took a shine to a sheep.
(It’s a tale that would make a stone weep.)
He was doomed from the start.
Elsie’s “NO!” broke his heart,
So Shep threw himself under a Jeep.
Elsie knew if she played hard to get
That the ram would forget her, and yet,
As a healthy young ewe,
She quite fancied a screw,
Just so long as the boundaries were set.
And that’s my century! (I’m going for a lie down in a darkened room.)
There is a poor fellow named Max
Who strips for his date and she cracks:
“If all of you males
Were spikes, bolts and nails,
You, Max, are one of the tacks.”
There once was a wizard named Zeener
Whose magic wand was his own wiener
He dreamt while asleep,
Turned his wife to a sheep
With a generally nicer demeanor.
There once was a fellow named Rand,
The horniest guy in the land;
He wore out six brides,
Twelve hookers besides,
Nine sheep, and the lines on his hand.
You want sexy? I’ll give you sexy.
They flocked just like sheep to the piers
Naively without any fears.
They ignored threats of AIDS
Or police on their raids.
They went to get shtupped up their rears.
It’s no good going off at the deep end
If you spend all your life being sheep penned.
You can’t throw forty fits
If ewes get on your tits.
Ewe just have to smile sweetly and pre-tend.
On the side of a hill in South Wales
Milled a flock of new sheep from the Dales.
Local rams all, “Helloed!”,
And in welcoming mode,
Got to the creation of Swaledales.
Just in case I miscounted. Swaledale is actually a Yorkshire breed, but why spoil a good limerick with the facts. And way to go, David. Seems I’m not the only one with a one-tracked mind.
Thanks to Rudy, I now see that ‘Tup’
Is derived from the Yiddish. “To schtup!”
P’raps great minds thought alike?
Or a chap took a hike
And returning …? Okay, made it up.
Two things: First, if you’re thinking that ‘Tup’ and ‘Up’ don’t rhyme with ‘Schtup’, it’s because you aren’t reading them with a Yorkshire accent. Second: It’s a lame ending! I know, but I don’t have much to work with, so cut me a break, here! Honestly! You’re a tough audience. (LOL)
Hi, Rudy — Thanks for the B-Day greeting :)
A birthday cake made from fresh flax,
And frosted with layers of wax,
Lacks nothing for flavor,
But do me a favor,
And next time, please leave out the tacks.
In answer to Tony (or should I exit ‘ere?)
Duke of Exeter (Second) — a wretch.
Go ahead, if you want to, kavetch.
For I don’t mean to tax
Tired brains with these facts.
Besides, jokes about racks are a stretch.
Little Bo, as she tended her sheep,
Smoked a bowl and then fell fast asleep.
Her whole flock, at high cost,
Wandered off and got lost —
While from Bo there’s been nary a Peep.
Bang on time, Tim, working th old primacy and recency effect as per. Good luck!
Dearest Sjaan, I am no doubt considerably better informed, but sadly, no wiser. (Adapted F. E. Smith remark. Credit where credit is due. He was an earl. Not quite as good a a duke, but a start.) Kavetch, I get – at least I think I do. (I thought it was kvetch, but then, I’m a pedant. You’ve noticed, no doubt.) Rack? are we talking embonpoint here? I had no problem at all with ‘Tax’. Got that straight away, and line four is in floodlit. So, with a few pictures and a sentence or two, you should be able to fill in the gaps in what, I am now thinking, was my very inadequate education.
I trust you will rise to the challenge. LOL X
Attention all Limerick-Off Stragglers: The current Limerick-Off ends tomorrow, Saturday, at 4 pm (Eastern time.)
With greetings to Tony, Lisi and Sjaan
There once was an old dame named Sunny,
Who peddled her lim’ricks quite funny;
At Cornwall and Northbrook,
And Stockton she would look,
But no one would fork out the money!
With greetings to Tony, Lisi and Rudy
There once was an old dame named Sunny,
Who peddled her lim’ricks quite funny;
At Cornwall and Northbrook,
And yes Chelsea she’d look,
But no one would fork out the money!
It would sem, Sjaan, that I am not the pedant I thought I was. That should be ‘shtup’ and not as I wrote it, ‘schtup’. My bad! And tank you Rudy, for the heads-up.
Greetins, Sunny!
You would, I am sure, fall in love with Cornwall. Most visitors do. As to your impoverished sitch – would you consider crown funding? I’ll start you off with £1:50 and a free pasty – to sustain you on the journey. LOL
And Happy Birthday, Sjaan!
Forgive me, Mad – I just wasn’t thinking about sheep or attacks of any kind!
Hey Sjaan,
You’re dissing my mother’s best cake,
That with flax and with wax she did bake?
With those tongue tingling tacks
That add zing to all snacks?
Well, enjoy or go jump in a lake!
I’ve learned so many facts about sheep,
That into my dreams they do creep.
One more day, and they’ll leave.
And I don’t want to grieve.
So I’ve snatched one forever to keep.
Forgive me Mad, this limerick does not qualify, but you’ll understand that I had to do it.
Hi Sjaan,
You might just consider this queer,
But I found you on Google, my dear.
I was rather zealous
And Tony is jealous,
But he’ll stay in Cornwall, no fear.
Got a letter today in the mail.
Cried my eyes out, (oh, wow, did I wail)
Seems I never paid tax.
It’s real dull in the “Max”
Cuz they don’t allow lim’riks in jail.
Sayonara, tax, tacks, and attacks.
For 21 days, we’ve made tracks.
We will miss you so much,
So please stay in touch.
With a phone call, an E-mail, or fax.
Oh, “Sheepsies” we surely had fun.
But I’m sorry to tell you we’re done.
You will hear no more puns,
But you sure were the ones
Who gave us our “place in the sun”.
MAXimum Security prison, AKA “The Max”
Got a letter today in the mail.
Cried my eyes out, (oh wow! did I wail)
Seems I never paid tax.
It’s so dull in “The Max”
Cuz they don’t allow limericks in jail.
Rudy! You just wait until play time!
“Els’, I’m sure I felt a connection.”
“What ewe felt was his thrusting erection.”
“He was kind – and polite—”
“Did ewe put up a fight?”
“Els’, ewe know I’m not good with rejection.”
“Fare thee well, little sheep,” said the farmer.
“Life is dull now you’re gone, but much calmer.
No more tupping for ewe –
And that goes for me, too –
That’s it, Sid, wave goodbye, you old charmer.”
Said the judge, looking down at the dock,
“You are guilty of losing your flock.
Au revoir, Miss Bo peep,
We’ll look after sheep.
That is, once we’ve had time to restock.”
Rudy. I think your email is on the fritz.
The Lord is my Shepherd, you say?
Then why did I go so astray?
He must have been napping
To let me go rapping
On pastures, not green, far away.
I woke up, in dismay, and oh my!
I was fleeced of my flock, made me cry…
But there’s laundry to be done
Since I am in Washing-TON…
How ‘sheepless in Seattle’ am I?!?
Thanks so much everyone for another fun two weeks of limericks. This Limerick-Off is officially over. And the winner is…
Limerick-Off Award 467. Congratulations to the winners!
But you can still have lots of limerick fun because a new Limerick-Off has just begun: Limerick-Off Plot.