Limericks, Nonsense Verse and Doggerel
by Michael R. Burch
Asstronomical
by Michael R. Burch
Einstein, the frizzy-haired,
proved E equals MC squared.
And so mass decreases
as activity ceases.
Not my mass, my a*s declared!
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
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 hump.
Please get your lewd minds out of their slump!
He loved to give RIDES on his large, lordly lump!
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!
The Pelican’t
by Michael R. Burch
Enough with this pitiful pelican!
He’s awkward and stinks! Sense his smellican!
His beak’s far too big,
so he eats like a pig,
and his breath reeks of fish, I can tellican!
The Hair Scare
by Michael R. Burch
The hair flap was truly a scare:
Trump's bald as a billiard back there!
The whole nation laughed
At the state of his graft;
Now the man's wigging out, so beware!
Rallying the Dupes
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"
after Anaïs Vionet
Houston, we have a problem:
the virus is multiplying;
meanwhile, our Demander-in-Chief
keeps lying, lying, lying.
Houston, we have a problem:
the Astros are now the Nau(gh)ts,
but Tweety will still pack the ’Dome
untroubled by actual thoughts.
Originally published by LIGHT
"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.
Nevermore!
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.
Time Out!
by Michael R. Burch
Hawking, who makes my head spin,
says time may flow backward. I grin,
imagining the surprise
in my mothers' eyes
when I head for the womb once again!
Time Back In!
by Michael R. Burch
Hawking's "Brief History of Time"
is such a relief! How sublime
that time, in reverse,
may un-write this verse
and un-spend my last thin dime!
Ribbing Adam
by Michael R. Burch
“Dear Lord,” fretted Adam, depressed,
“did that tart really rupture my chest?”
“Yes she did,” piped his Maker,
“but of course you can’t take her,
or I’d fry you in hell, for incest!”
Baked Alaskan
by Michael R. Burch
There is a strange yokel so flirty
she makes w****s seem icons of purity.
With all her winkin' and blinkin'
Palin seems to be "thinkin'" ...
"Ah culd save th' free world 'cause ah'm purty! "
Going Rogue in Rouge
by Michael R. Burch
It'll be hard to polish that apple
enough to make her seem palatable.
Though she's sweeter than Snapple
how can my mind grapple
with stupidity so nearly infallible?
Pls refudiate
by Michael R. Burch
"Refudiate" this,
miffed, misunderstood Ms!
Shakespeare, you're not
(more like Yoda, but hot) .
Your grammar's atrocious;
Great Poets would know this.
You lack any plan
save to flatten Iran
like some cute Mini-Me
cloned from G. W. B.
Admit it, Ms. Palin!
Stop your winkin' and wailin' ...
only "heroes" like Nero
fiddle sparks at Ground Zero.
Low-T Hell
by Michael R. Burch
I’m living in low-T hell ...
My get-up has gone: Farewell!
I need to write checks
if I want to have sex,
and my love life depends on a gel!
A hairy thick troglodyte, Mary,
squinched dingles impressively airy.
To her children’s deep shame,
their condo became
the first cave to employ a canary.
�"Michael R. Burch
There once was a troglodyte, Mary,
whose poots were impressive, but scary.
To her children’s deep shame,
their condo became
the first cave to employ a canary.
�"Michael R. Burch
The Humpback
by Michael R. Burch
The humpback is a gullet
equipped with snarky fins.
It has a winning smile:
and when it SMILES, it wins
as miles and miles of herring
excite its fearsome grins.
So beware, unwary whalers,
lest you drown, sans feet and shins!
Door Mouse
by Michael R. Burch
I’m sure it’s not good for my heart―
the way it will jump-start
when the mouse scoots the floor
(I try to kill it with the door,
never fast enough, or
fling a haphazard shoe ...
always too slow too)
in the strangest zig-zaggedy fashion
absurdly inconvenient for mashin’,
till our hearts, each maniacally revvin’,
make us both early candidates for heaven.
Ding Dong ...
by Michael R. Burch
for Fliss
An impertinent bit of sunlight
defeated a goddess, NIGHT.
Hooray!, cried the clover,
Her reign is over!
But she certainly gave us a fright!
Be very careful what you pray for!
by Michael R. Burch
Now that his T’s been depleted
the Saint is upset, feeling cheated.
His once-fiery lust?
Just a chemical bust:
no “devil” cast out or defeated.
The Flu Fly Flew
by Michael R. Burch
A fly with the flu foully flew
up my nose―thought I’d die―had to sue!
Was the small villain fined?
An abrupt judge declined
my case, since I’d “failed to achoo!”
Hell-Bound Hounds
by Michael R. Burch
We have five dogs and every one’s a sinner!
I swear it’s true―they’ll steal each other’s dinner!
They’ll hump before they’re married. That’s unlawful!
They’ll even screw in public. Eek, so awful!
And when it’s time for treats (don’t gasp!), they’ll beg!
They have no pride! They’ll even hump your leg!
Our oldest Yorkie murdered dear, sweet Olive,
our helpless hamster! None will go to college
or work to pay their room and board, or vets!
When the Devil says, “Pee here!” they all yip, “Let’s!”
And yet they’re sweet and loyal, so I doubt
the Lord will dump them in hell’s dark redoubt . . .
which means there’s hope for you, perhaps for me.
But as for cats? I say, “Best wait and see.”
Menu Venue
by Michael R. Burch
At the passing of the shark
the dolphins cried Hark!;
cute cuttlefish sighed, Gee
there will be a serener sea
to its utmost periphery!;
the dogfish barked,
so joyously!;
pink porpoises piped Whee!
excitedly,
delightedly.
But ...
Will there be as much glee
when there’s no you and me?
Anti-Vegan Manifesto
by Michael R. Burch
Let us
avoid lettuce,
sincerely,
and also celery!
Rising Fall
by Michael R. Burch
after Keats
Seasons of mellow fruitfulness
collect at last into mist
some brisk wind will dismiss ...
Where, indeed, are the showers of April?
Where, indeed, the bright flowers of May?
But feel no dismay ...
It’s time to make hay!
How It Goes, Or Doesn’t
by Michael R. Burch
My face is getting craggier.
My pants are getting saggier.
My ear-hair’s getting shaggier.
My wife is getting naggier.
I’m getting old!
My memory’s plumb awful.
My eyesight is unlawful.
I eschew a tofu waffle.
My wife’s an Eiffel eyeful.
I’m getting old!
My temperature is colder.
My molars need more solder.
Soon I’ll need a boulder-holder.
My wife seized up. Unfold her!
I’m getting old!
A More Likely Plot for “Romeo and Juliet”
by Michael R. Burch
Wont to croon
by the light of the moon
on a rickety ladder,
mad as a hatter,
Romeo crashed to the earth in a swoon,
broke his leg,
had to beg,
repented of falling in love too soon.
A nurse, averse
to his seductive verse,
aware of his madness
and familial badness,
searched for the stiletto in her purse.
Meanwhile, Juliet
began to fret
that the roguish poet
(wouldn’t you know it?)
had pledged his “love” because of a bet!
A gang of young thugs
and loutish lugs
had their faces engraved on “wanted” mugs.
They were doomed to fail,
ended up in jail,
became young fascists and cried “Sieg Heil!”
No tickets were sold,
no tickets were bought,
because, in the end, it all came to naught.
Exeunt stage left.
Apologies to España
by Michael R. Burch
the reign
in Trump’s brain
falls mainly as mansplain
No Star
by Michael R. Burch
Trump, you're no "star."
Putin made you an American Czar.
Now, if we continue down this dark path you've chosen,
pretty soon we'll be wearing lederhosen.
tRUMP is the butt of many jokes.―Michael R. Burch
There once was a poet from Nashville
which hockey fans rechristened Smashville,
but his odd limericks
pulled so many weird tricks
it’s lately been called Ogden Gnashville.
-Michael R. Burch
There once was a poet from Tennessee
who was known to indulge in straight Hennessey
for his heart had been broken
and cruelly ripped open
by an icy-hearted Dame of Paree.
-Michael R. Burch
There once was a girl with small b***s
who would only go out with young rubes,
but their c***s were too small
so she sentenced them all
to kissing her fallopian tubes.
-Michael R. Burch
A coquettish young lady of France
longed to have men in her pants,
but in lieu of real joys
she settled for boys,
then berated her lack of romance.
-Michael R. Burch
A virginal young lady of France
longed to have c***s in her pants
but in lieu of real boys
she settled for toys
& painted pinkies to make her bits dance.
-Michael R. Burch
These are love poems written to a fictional ice maiden.
Updated Advice to Amorous Bachelors
by Michael R. Burch
At six-thirty,
feeling flirty,
I put on the hurdy-gurdy ...
But Ms. Purdy,
all alert-y,
kicked me where I’m sore and hurty.
The moral of my story?
To avoid a fate as gory,
flirt with gals a bit more w***e-y!
Mating Calls or Purdy Please!
by Michael R. Burch
1.
Nine-thirty? Feeling flirty (and, indeed, a trifle dirty),
I decided to ring prudish Eleanor Purdy ...
When I rang her to bang her,
it seems my words stang her!
She hung up the phone, so I banged off, alone.
2.
Still dreaming to hold something skirty,
I once again rang our reclusive Miss Purdy.
She sounded unhappy,
called me “daffy” and “sappy,”
and that was before the gal heard me!
3.
It was early A.M., ’bout two-thirty,
when again I enquired with the regal Miss Purdy.
With a voice full of hate,
she thundered, “It’s LATE!”
Was I, perhaps, over-wordy?
4.
At 3:42, I was feeling blue,
and so I dialed up Miss You-Know-Who,
thinking to bed her
and quite possibly wed her,
but she summoned the cops; now my bail is due!
5.
It was probably close to four-thirty
the last time I called the miserly Purdy.
Although I’m her boarder,
the restraining order
freezes all assets of that virginity hoarder!
Keywords/Tags: limerick, limericks, nonsense verse, humor, humorous, light verse, mating calls, prude, prudish, lonely, loneliness, longing, America
The Vampire's Spa Day Dream
by Michael R. Burch
O, to swim in vats of blood!
I wish I could, I wish I could!
O, 'twould be
so heavenly
to swim in lovely vats of blood!
The poem above was inspired by a Josh Parkinson depiction of Elizabeth Bathory swimming up to her nostrils in the blood of her victims, with their skulls floating in the background.
Teeter Tots
by Michael R. Burch
For your spuds to become Tater Tots,
First, artfully cut out the knots,
Then dice them into tiny cubes,
Deep fry them, and serve them to rubes
(but not if they’re acting like snots).
Door Mouse
by Michael R. Burch
I’m sure it’s not good for my heart�"
the way it will jump-start
when the mouse scoots the floor
(I try to kill it with the door,
never fast enough, or
fling a haphazard shoe ...
always too slow too)
in the strangest zig-zaggedy fashion
absurdly inconvenient for mashin’,
till our hearts, each maniacally revvin’,
make us both early candidates for heaven.
The Humpback
by Michael R. Burch
The humpback is a gullet
equipped with snarky fins.
It has a winning smile:
and when it SMILES, it wins
as miles and miles of herring
excite its fearsome grins.
So beware, unwary whalers,
lest you drown, sans feet and shins!
Apologies to España
by Michael R. Burch
the reign
in Trump’s brain
falls mainly as mansplain
No Star
by Michael R. Burch
Trump, you're no "star."
Putin made you an American Czar.
Now, if we continue down this dark path you've chosen,
pretty soon we'll be wearing lederhosen.
tRUMP is the butt of many jokes. - Michael R. Burch
Less Heroic Couplets: Word to the Unwise
by Michael R. Burch
I wanted to be good as gold,
but being good, as I’ve been told,
requires something, discipline,
I simply have no interest in!
***
Villanelle of an Opportunist
by Michael R. Burch
I’m not looking for someone to save.
A gal has to do what a gal has to do:
I’m looking for a man with one foot in the grave.
How many highways to hell must I pave
with intentions imagined, not true?
I’m not looking for someone to save.
Fools praise compassion while weaklings rave,
but a gal has to do what a gal has to do.
I’m looking for a man with one foot in the grave.
Some praise the Lord but the Devil’s my fave
because he has led me to you!
I’m not looking for someone to save.
In the land of the free and the home of the brave,
a gal has to do what a gal has to do.
I’m looking for a man with one foot in the grave.
Every day without meds becomes a close shave
and the razor keeps tempting me too.
I’m not looking for someone to save:
I’m looking for a man with one foot in the grave.
***
Less Heroic Couplets: Shell Game
by Michael R. Burch
I saw a turtle squirtle!
Before you ask, “How fertile?”
The squirt came from its mouth.
Why do your thoughts fly south?
***
Helen Keller
saw more than the stellar-
visioned
and the televisioned.
�"Michael R. Burch
***
Antsy kids of the world, unite!
You don't like facts, so fight!
Call them all “haters,”
those cool, calm debaters,
then your mommies can tuck you in tight.
�"Michael R. Burch
***
Ireland’s Ire has Landed
The luck of the Irish has failed:
Trump’s landed and cannot be jailed!
From Killarney to Derry
the natives are very
despondent and bombs have been mailed.
Donald Trump has alarmed Country Clare:
the Irish are crying, “Beware!
He won’t pay his tax,
his manners are lax,
and what the hell’s up with his hair?”
The Donald has landed in Doonbeg
(Ireland). Why? For a noon beg:
he’s running real low
on cash, so you know
he’ll fit like a freakin’ square peg.
The luck of the Irish has faltered.
Trump’s there and he cannot be haltered.
From Killarney to Derry
the natives are very
insistent his visa be altered.
***
Poets laud Justice’s
high principles.
Trump just gropes
her raw genitals.
�"Michael R. Burch
***
Zip It
by Michael R. Burch
Trump pulled a stunt,
wore his pants back-to-front,
and now he’s the butt of bald jokes:
“Is he coming, or going?”
“Eeek! His diaper is showing!”
But it’s all much ado, says Snopes.
***
Limerick-Ode to a Much-Eaten A*s
by Michael R. Burch
There wonst wus a president, Trump,
whose greatest a*s (et) wus his rump.
It was padded ’n’ shiny,
that great orange hiney,
but to drain it we’d need a sump pump!
***
On the Horns of a Dilemma (I)
by Michael R. Burch
Love has become preposterous
for the over-endowed rhinoceros:
when he meets the right miss
how the hell can he kiss
when his horn deforms her esophagus?
On the Horns of a Dilemma (II)
by Michael R. Burch
Love has become preposterous
for the over-endowed rhinoceros:
when he meets the right miss
how the hell can he kiss
when his horn is so horny it lofts her thus?
On the Horns of a Dilemma (III)
by Michael R. Burch
A wino rhino said, “I know!
I have a horn I cannot blow!
And so,
ergo,
I’ll watch the lovely spigot flow!
The Horns of a Dilemma Solved, if not Solvent
by Michael R. Burch
A wine-addled rhino debated
the prospect of living unmated
due to the cruel scorn
gals showed for his horn,
but then lost it to poachers, sedated.
***
A Possible Explanation for the Madness of March Hares
by Michael R. Burch
March hares,
beware!
Spring’s a tease, a flirt!
This is yet another late freeze alert.
Better comfort your babies;
the weather has rabies.
***
Voice of (T)reason
by Michael R. Burch
Love is the highest, the greatest, the grandest!
Love has us all and our lovers in thrall!
Love, but don’t fall.
Love is the coolest, the truest, the Yule-est!
Love is sage Andrew’s Marvell-ous ball!
Love, but don’t fall.
Love is the sweetest, the deepest, the fleetest!
Yes, that’s the problem �" a pall over all.
Love, but don’t fall.
***
Final Ballad of the Unhappy Camper
by Michael R. Burch
I’m low on jizz,
lost my fizz,
out of biz.
Flabby and horny,
morose and mourny,
gals’re scorny.
Friggin’ Low T Hell!
Unable to swell!
"More sleep"? Do tell!
***
Less Heroic Couplets: Weird Beard
by Michael R. Burch
for and after Richard Thomas Moore
C’mon, admit�"love’s truly weird:
why does a vagina need a beard?
Should making love produce foul poxes?
What can we make of such paradoxes?
And having made love, what the hell's the point
of ending up with a sore, limp joint?
Who invented love, which we all pursue
like rats in a maze after sniffing glue?
***
This is my randy version of a classic limerick originally published by Arthur Henry Reginald Buller in Punch on Dec. 19, 1923.
An incestuous physicist, Bright,
made love at speeds faster than light.
She had sex one day
in her relative way,
then came on the previous night!
There was a young porn star of Ghent
whose get-up just got up and went.
Too sleepy for sex,
her fans became ex-
subscribers, and no checks were sent.
�"Michael R. Burch
Fair Elle was an eely lover
who squiggled beneath the covers ...
She was hard to pin down!
When I did it, she’d frown,
then wouldn’t do none of my druthers!
There once was a camel who loved to hump.
Please get your crude minds out of their slump!
He loved to give rides on his huge, lordly lump!
�"Michael R. Burch
I wanted to live like a sheik, in a harem.
But I live like a monk without gals ’cause I scare ’em.
�"Michael R. Burch
***
Mouldy Oldie, or, Septuagenarian Ode to Cheese Mould
by Michael R. Burch
I’m getting old
and battling mould �"
it’s growing on my cheese!
My phone’s on hold
to report the mould �"
my life is not a breeze!
I pray and pray,
"Send help my way �"
good Lord, I’m on my knees!"
But truth be told,
it’s oversold �"
that’s it, I’m done with cheese!
***
Wonderworks
by Michael R. Burch
History’s
mysteries
abound
& astound,
found
(profound)
the whole earth ’round,
even if mostly
underground.
I wrote the poem above after discovering an article about the aptly-named Wonderwerk Cave in an ancient (March 2016) falling-apart issue of *Discover* that I rescued from my car. The cave in question lies in South Africa’s Northern Cape province, around 300 miles southwest of the “Cradle of Civilization.” Artifacts discovered in the Wonderwerk Cave appear to be even more ancient than the Cradle’s. According to the article, “The density of stone artifacts in the region is staggering.” The use of fire may now date back as far as 1.8 million years.
***
The Procrastinator’s Creed
by Michael R. Burch
It’s always, “Tomorrow, I’ll do it.”
Work? I eschew it.
I never collect money I’ve loaned
and the rest of this poem’s been postponed.
***
WHEN MAN IS GONE
by Michael R. Burch
When man is gone
won’t the sun still rise?
Will anyone care
that he isn’t there?
Will the porpoises
lack purpose,
the marigolds
fold?
Will the doves and the deer
weep bitter tears?
Or will life continue,
glad to be off his menu?
***
That Mella Fella
by Michael R. Burch
for John Mella, former editor of LIGHT
There once was a fella
named Mella,
who, if you weren’t funny,
would tell ya.
But he was cool, clever, nice,
gave some splendid advice,
and if you were good,
he would sell ya.
***
One for the Thumb!
by Michael R. Burch
Counting rings, the counters come,
marching to the same sad drum:
“Your GOAT has two, but ours has four!”
“Our GOAT has six, and six is more!”
“One for the thumb! Our GOAT’s the best!”
But Robert Horry’s not impressed.
Jim Loscutoff is trying on
the mantle of the GOAT, anon.
Frank Ramsey laughs himself to tears:
since he won seven in just nine years.
Tom Heinsohn, K.C. Jones, Satch Sanders
and Hondo all have eight, ring ganders.
Sam Jones has rings to fill both hands
(that’s ten for all math-challenged fans),
won in twelve years, as truth demands.
Meanwhile, the only GOAT we know,
Bill Russell, has one ... for the toe!
***
Mating Calls, or, Purdy Please!
by Michael R. Burch
1.
Nine-thirty? Feeling flirty (and, indeed, a trifle dirty),
I decided to ring prudish Eleanor Purdy ...
When I rang her to bang her,
it seems my words stang her!
She hung up the phone, so I banged off, alone.
2
Still dreaming to hold something skirty,
I once again rang our reclusive Miss Purdy.
She sounded unhappy,
called me “daffy” and “sappy,”
and that was before the gal heard me!
3.
It was early A.M., ’bout two-thirty,
when I enquired again with the regal Miss Purdy.
With a voice full of hate,
she thundered, “It’s LATE!”
Was I, perhaps, over-wordy?
4.
At 3:42, I was feeling blue,
and so I dialed up Miss You-Know-Who,
thinking to bed her
and quite possibly wed her,
but she summoned the cops; now my bail is due!
5.
It was probably close to four-thirty
the last time I called the miserly Purdy.
Although I’m her boarder,
the restraining order
freezes all assets of that virginity hoarder!
6.
It was nearly twelve-thirty
when, in need of something skirty,
I rang up (to bang up) the reclusive Miss Purty ...
She hung up the phone
so I banged off, alone.
***
Hot Cross Buns
by Michael R. Burch
Lexi, Lexi, Lexi,
so lovely and perplexy,
please meet me for a meal
spicy and Tex-Mexy.
Done with hot fried fritters,
bend over, show your knickers;
then, as your a*s cheeks redden,
ignore the public snickers.
***
New Year’s Dissolution
by Michael R. Burch
The year draws to a close ...
Who knows
where the hell the time goes?
I’m up to my nose
in ill-fitting clothes!
They canceled my shows!
My corns grow in rows!
And yet I’ll survive ...
Perhaps ... I suppose ...
So let’s ring the New Year in
with tonic and gin
and greet the foolish Babe
with an even-more-foolish grin!
***
Her Whirlwind Life
by Michael R. Burch
for Tallulah Bankhead
“Never slow down
or someone’ll catch up.
Virgins are boring,
give me a s**t.”
“Male or female,
it really don’t matter.
Life is too short
to live it in a halter.”
Keywords/Tags: limerick, limericks, humor, light verse, nonsense verse, bawdy, salacious, ribald, risque, naughty, racy, spicy, adult
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