These are limericks by Michael R. Burch, along with limerick-like poems and poems written in limerick meter. This limerick collection contains double limericks, a rare triple limerick, and a new version of the double dactyl that I invented, called the "dabble dactyl."
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$$ 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-y
by Michael R. Burch
There once was a dromedary
who befriended a crafty canary.
Budgie said, "You can't sing,
but now, here's the thing—
just think of the tunes you can carry! "
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.
The Mallard
by Michael R. Burch
The mallard is a fellow
whose lips are long and yellow
with which he, honking, kisses
his bawdy, boisterous mistress:
my pond’s their loud bordello!
The Platypus, a Double Limerick
by Michael R. Burch
The platypus, myopic,
is ungainly, not erotic.
His feet for bed
are over-webbed,
and what of his proboscis?
The platypus, though, is eager
although his means are meager.
His sight is poor;
perhaps he’ll score
with a passing duck or beaver.
The Better Man, a Double Limerick
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!
I once provided the second stanza to a famous limerick, turning it into a double limerick …
The Pelicant
A wonderful bird is the pelican;
His beak can hold more than his belican.
He can hold in his beak
Enough food for a week,
Though I’m damned if I know how the helican!
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!
—second stanza by Michael R. Burch
The Beat Goes On (and On and On and On ...)
by Michael R. Burch
Bored stiff by his board-stiff attempts
at “meter,” I crossly concluded
I’d use each iamb
in lieu of a lamb,
bedtimes when I’m under-quaaluded.
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?
The Hippopotami
by Michael R. Burch
There’s no seeing eye to eye
with the awesomely huge Hippopotami:
on the bank, you’re much taller;
going under, you’re smaller
and assuredly destined to die!
The Sinister Snail
by Michael R. Burch
A sinister sinistral snail
went dextral, to no avail,
spent a week (here's a zinger)
as a right-winger,
but the leftist's now back in jail.
A much-needed screed against licentious insects
by Michael R. Burch
Army ants? ARMY ants?
Yet so undisciplined to not wear pants?
How incredibly rude
to wage war in the nude!
We moralists call them SMARMY ants!
Caveat Spender
by Michael R. Burch
It's better not to speculate
"continually" on who is great.
Though relentless awe's
a Célèbre Cause,
please reserve some time for the contemplation
of the perils of EXAGGERATION.
Low-T Hell
by Michael R. Burch
I'm living in low-T hell...
My get-up has gone: Oh swell!
I need to write checks
if I want to have sex,
and my love life depends on a gel!
Asstronomical Redux
by Michael R. Burch
Relativity, the theorists’ creed,
says mass increases with speed.
My (m)a$$ grows when I sit it.
Mr. Einstein, get with it;
equate its deflation, I plead!
Relative to Whom?
by Michael R. Burch
Einstein’s theory, incredibly silly,
says a relative grows willy-nilly
at speeds close to light.
Well, his relatives might,
but mine grow their (m)asses more stilly!
The next two poems form a double limerick with separate titles …
Time Out!
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!
Time Back In!
by Michael R. Burch
Hawking, who makes my head spin,
says time may flow backward. I grin,
imagining the surprise
in my mother's eyes
when I head for the womb once again!
Parting is such sweet sorrow
by Michael R. Burch
The universe is flying apart.
Hush, Neil deGrasse Tyson’s vexed heart!
Repeat, repeat.
Don’t skip a beat.
Perhaps some new Big Bang will spark?
Neil deGrasse Tyson told Stephen Colbert that what keeps him awake at night is the fear that expansion will cause most of the universe to become invisible to us.
This is another double limerick with separate titles …
Toupée or Not Toupée, That is the Question
by Michael R. Burch
There once was a brash billionaire
who couldn't afford decent hair.
Vexed voters agreed:
"We're a nation in need!"
But toupée the price, do we dare?
Toupée or Not Toupée, This is the Answer
by Michael R. Burch
Oh crap, we elected Trump prez!
Now he's Simon: we must do what he sez!
For if anyone thinks
And says his "plan" stinks,
He'll wig out 'neath that weird orange fez!
The Hair Scare
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!
Hell to Pay, a Double Limerick
by Michael R. Burch
A messiah named Jesus, returning
from heaven, found the whole planet burning
with children unfed,
so he suggested: “Instead
of war, why not consider cheek-turning?”
Indignant right-wingers retorted:
“Sir, your pacifist views are distorted!
Just pull the plug quickly
on someone who’s sickly!
Our pursuit of war can’t be aborted!”
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!”
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!"
There was an old man from Peru
who dreamed he was eating his shoe.
He awoke one dark night
from a terrible fright
to discover his dream had come true!
—Variation on a classic limerick by Michael R. Burch
That Not-So-Mellow Fellow, Othello
by Michael R. Burch
Not sure ’bout that fellow, Othello,
was he a “hero” or merely piss yellow?
He killed his poor wife
over a handkerchief!
Thus Iago proved his heart Jello.
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 did well, he would sell ya.
Not all double limericks are light affairs …
Self Reflection: a Double Limerick
by Michael R. Burch
for anyone struggling with self-image
She has a comely form
and a smile that brightens her dorm...
but she’s grossly unthin
when seen from within;
soon a griefstricken campus will mourn.
Yet she’d never once criticize
a friend for the size of *her* thighs.
Do unto others—
sisters and brothers?
Yes, but also ourselves, likewise.
Double Limerick: No Bull
by Michael R. Burch
There once was a multi-pierced Bull,
who found playing hoops far too dull,
so he dated Madonna
but observed, “I don’t wanna
get married ... the things she might pull!”
So this fast-thinking forward named Rodman
then said to his best man—“No problem!
When I marry Electra,
if the ring costs extra,
just yank a gold hoop off my knob, man!”
Triple Limerick: Attention Span Gap
by Michael R. Burch
What if a poet, Shakespeare,
were still living to tweet to us here?
He couldn't write sonnets,
just couplets, doggonit,
and we wouldn't have Hamlet or Lear!
Yes, a sonnet may end in a couplet,
which we moderns can write in a doublet,
in a flash, like a tweet.
Does that make it complete?
Should a poem be reduced to a stublet?
Bring back that Grand Era when men
had attention spans long as their pens,
or rather the quills
of the monsieurs and fils
who gave us the Dress, not its hem!
Dee Lite Full
by Michael R. Burch
A cross-dressing dancer, “Dee Lite,”
wore gowns luciferously bright
till he washed them one day
the old-fashioned way ...
in bleach. Now he’s “Sister Off White.”
The Bender Ender Blender
by Michael R. Burch
There once was a bubbly bartender,
a transvestite who went on a bender.
“So I cut myself off,”
she cried with a sob,
“There’s the evidence, there in the blender!”
Officious Notice: I have invented a nonce nonsense form: the "dabble dactyl." A dabble dactyl starts out like a double dactyl, but forgets the rules and changes horses midstream. Anyone who prefers order to chaos should give the dabble dactyl a wide berth and also not sow any wild oats. Otherwise, “A little dabble’ll do ya.” — Michael R. Burch
Double Dactyls
by Michael R. Burch
Sniggledy-Wriggledy
Jesus Christ’s enterprise
leaves me in awe of
the rich men he loathed!
But why should a Sadducee
settle for trifles?
His disciples now rip off
the Lord they betrothed.
Donald Dabble Dactyl #1
by Michael R. Burch
Higgledy-Piggledy
Ronald McDonald
cursed Donald Trump, his
least favorite clown:
"Why should I try to be
funny as Donald? He
gets all the laughs,
claiming upside is down!"
Donald Dabble Dactyl #2
by Michael R. Burch
Wond’ringly, blund’ringly
Ronald McDonald
asked, “Who the hell
is this strange orange clown?”
“Why should I try to be
funny as Donald? He
gets all the laughs,
claiming upside is down!”
Donald Dabble Dactyl #3
by Michael R. Burch
Piggledy-Wiggledy
45th president,
or erstwhile manse resident,
perched on a throne
of gold-plated porcelain
matching his orange “tan,”
bombing Iran
from his twittery phone?
15 Seconds
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"
Our president’s sex life―atrocious!
His "briefings"―bizarre hocus-pocus!
Politics―"a shell game.
My brief moment of fame?
It flashed by before Oprah could notice!
"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.
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 impressively airy.
To her children’s deep shame,
their condo became
the first cave to employ a canary.
—Michael R. Burch
Stumped and Stomped by Trump
by Michael R. Burch
There once was a candidate, Trump,
whose message rang clear at the stump:
"Vote for me, wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee!,
because I am ME,
and everyone else is a chump!"
Ribbing Adam
by Michael R. Burch
“Dear Lord,” fretted Adam, depressed,
“did the slut 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!”
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
White as a Sheet
by Michael R. Burch
Donald Trump had a real Twitter Scare
then rushed off to fret, vent and share:
“How dare Bernie quote
what I just said and wrote?
Like Megyn he’s mean, cruel, unfair!”
Humpty Trumpty
by Michael R. Burch
Humpty Trumpty called for a wall.
Trumpty Dumpty had a great fall.
Now all the Grand Wizards
and Faux PR men
Can never put Trumpty together again.
Trump’s real goals are obvious
and yet millions of Americans remain oblivious.
—Michael R. Burch
Trump Dump
by Michael R. Burch
There once was a con man named Trump
who just loved to take dumps at the stump.
“What use is the truth?”
he cried, with real ruth,
“Just come kiss my fat orange rump!”
Limerick-Ode to a Much-Eaten A$$
by Michael R. Burch
There wonst wus a president, Trump,
whose greatest a$$ (et) wus his rump.
It wus padded ’n’ shiny,
that great orange hiney,
but to drain it we’d need a sump pump!
Interpretation: In this alleged "ode" a southern member of the Trump cult complains that Trump's a$$ produces so much fecal matter that his legions of a$$-kissers can't hope to drain it and need mechanical a$$-istance!
Raw Spewage (I)
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"
Trump
is a chump
who talks through his rump;
he's a political sump pump!
Raw Spewage (II)
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"
Trump
is a chump
who talks through his rump;
he's a garbage dump
in need of a sump pump!
Keywords/Tags: Trump limerick, Trump limericks, limerick, nonsense, light, verse, humor, humorous, donald, trump, president, ignoramus, moron, imbecile, conman, fraud, liar, shill, criminal, huckster, snake oil salesman, Twitter, tweet, tweety
Teddy Roosevelt spoke softly and carried a big stick;
Donald Trump speaks loudly and carries a big shtick.
—Michael R. Burch
Nonsense Verse for a Nonsensical White House Resident
by Michael R. Burch
Roses are red,
Daffodils are yellow,
But not half as daffy
As that taffy-colored fellow!
White as a Sheet
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"
Donald Trump had a real Twitter Scare
then rushed off to fret, vent and share:
"How dare Bernie quote
what I just said and wrote?
Like Megyn he's mean, cruel, unfair!"
Viral Donald
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"
Donald Trump is coronaviral:
his brain's in a downward spiral.
That pale nimbus of hair
proves there's nothing up there
but an empty skull, fluff and denial.
The Red State Reaction
by Michael R. Burch
Where the hell are they hidin’
Sleepy Joe Biden?
And how the hell can the bleep
Do so much, in his sleep?
Red State Reject
by Michael R. Burch
I once was a pessimist
but now I’m more optimistic
ever since I discovered my fears
were unsupported by any statistic.
Baked Alaskan
by Michael R. Burch
There is a strange yokel so flirty
she makes wh-res 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.
“Clintonian” or “Billistic?”
by Michael R. Burch
There is a new term, “Clintonian,”
which means, “Stop your b-tchin’ and moanin’.
He’s only a man
doing all that he can
to put kneepads in the Smithsonian.”
Any Woozy Floozy Will Do
by Michael R. Burch
Once Kennedy, as we all know,
bedded a goddess, Monroe;
but a man of less mettle,
Bill Clinton will settle
for Lewinsky and a quick blow.
A Tale of Two Stiffies
by Michael R. Burch
There was an ex-candidate, Gore,
who amazed with his talent to bore.
“He was incredibly stiff,”
interns said, with a sniff,
“though not like his predecessor!”
Pell-Mell for Hell Mel
by Michael R. Burch
There once was a Baptist named Mel
who condemned all non-Christians to hell.
When he stood before God
he felt like a clod
to discover His Love couldn’t fail!
Why I Left the Religious Right
by Michael R. Burch
He's got Jesus's name on a wallet insert
and "Hell is for Queers" on the back of his shirt
and he upholds the Law,
for grace has a flaw:
the Church must have someone to drag through the dirt.
The Heimlich Limerick
by Michael R. Burch
for T. M.
The sanest of poets once wrote:
"Friend, why be a sheep or a goat?
Why follow the leader
or be a blind breeder?"
But almost no one took note.
Self Reflection
by Michael R. Burch
(for anyone struggling with self-image)
She has a comely form
and a smile that brightens her dorm . . .
but she’s grossly unthin
when seen from within;
soon a griefstricken campus will mourn.
Yet she’d never once criticize
a friend for the size of her thighs.
Do unto others—
sisters and brothers?
Yes, but also ourselves, likewise.
This limerick more or less sums up my approach to writing limericks:
Grave Thoughts
by Michael R. Burch
as a poet i’m rather subVerse-ive;
as a writer i much prefer Curse-ive.
and why not be brave
on my way to the grave
since i doubt that i’ll end up reHearse-ive?
NOTE: “Subversive,” “cursive” and “rehearse-ive” are double entendres: subversive/below verse, cursive/curse, rehearsed/recited and re-hearsed (reincarnated to end up in a hearse again).
Low-T Hell
by Michael R. Burch
I’m living in low-T hell ...
My get-up has gone: Oh swell!
I need to write checks
if I want to have sex,
and my love life depends on a gel!
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 Lady of Paree.
—Michael R. Burch
There once was a girl with small boobs
who would only go out with young rubes,
but their c-cks 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-cks in her pants
but in lieu of real boys
she settled for toys
& painted pinkies to make her bits dance.
—Michael R. Burch
Eerie Dearie
by Michael R. Burch
A trembling young auditor, white
as a sheet, like a ghost in the night,
saw his dreams, his career
in a poof!, disappear,
and then, strangely Enronic, his wife.
Fortune named Enron "America's Most Innovative Company" for six consecutive years, but the company went bankrupt and vanished after its accounting practices were determined to be fraudulent.
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.
Relative Theory I
by Michael R. Burch
Einstein’s "relative" theory
says masses increase, all too clearly,
at speeds close to light.
Well, his relatives’ might,
but mine grow their m(asses) more stilly!
Relative Theory II
by Michael R. Burch
Einstein’s peculiar theory
excludes all my relatives, clearly,
since my relatives’ asses
increase their prone masses
while approaching light speed—not nearly!
Relative Theory III
by Michael R. Burch
Relativity, we’re led to believe,
proves masses increase with great speed.
But it seems my huge family
must be an anomaly;
since their (m)asses increase, gone to seed!
Woeful Waffles
by Michael R. Burch
for and after Richard Thomas Moore
I think it’s woeful
and should be unlawful
to eat those awful
tofu waffles!
Light verse and nonsense verse …
Less Heroic Couplets: Mini-Ode to Stamina
by Michael R. Burch
When you’ve given so much
that I can’t bear your touch,
then from a safe distance
let me admire your persistence.
The Trouble with Elephants: a Word to the Wise
by Michael R. Burch
An elephant never forgets
which is why they don’t make the best pets:
Jumbo may well out-live you,
but he’ll never forgive you
so you may as well save your regrets!
Here's a limerick about one of the universe's greatest ironies: the lack of rhyme words for "limerick." I almost solved the latter, but fell a bit short:
Shelved Elves
by Michael R. Burch
I wanted to rhyme with “limerick”
and settled on “good old Saint Slimmer Nick”
'bout a dieting Claus,
but drawing no “ahs!”
I glumly rescinded the trimmer trick.
yet another post-partum christmas blues poem
by michael r. burch
ur GAUD created hell; it’s called the earth;
HE mused u briefly, clods of little worth:
let’s make some little monkeys
to be RELIGION’s flunkeys!
GAUD belched, went back to sleep, such was ur birth.
Variation on a Famous Limerick by Edward Lear
by Michael R. Burch
An old man had been terribly gored.
He’d been stung by a bee and then bored.
Friends asked, "Does it buzz?"
He replied "Yes, it does!
It's a brute of a bee!" he deplored.
Turnabout is Unfair Play
by Michael R. Burch
I sent the feds to deport her:
Ms. Sanchez, from south of the border.
Although I’m her board-
er, her restraining ord-
er froze all assets of that virginity hoarder!
Bored Stiff by an Over-Rigid Formalist
by Michael R. Burch
for J. S. S.
The Chairman of the Bored
writes meter as stiff as a board,
so I’ll use each iamb
in lieu of a lamb
then nod off to each numbing chord!
Trump Limericks aka Slimericks
The Nazis now think things’re grand.
The KKK’s hirin’ a band.
Putin’s computin’
Less Ukrainian shootin’.
They’re hootin’ ’cause Trump’s win is planned.
—Michael R. Burch
Trump comes with a few grotesque catches:
He likes to grope unoffered snatches;
He loves to ICE kids;
His brain’s on the skids;
And then there’s the coups the fiend hatches.
—Michael R. Burch
Trump’s Saddest Tweet to Date
by Michael R. Burch
I’ve gotten all out of kilter.
My erstwhile yuge tool is a wilter!
I now sleep in bed.
Few hairs on my head.
Inhibitions? I now have no filter!
the best of all possible whirls, for MAGA
by Michael R. Burch
ive made a mistake or two.
okay, maybe quite more than a few:
mistakes by the millions,
the billions and zillions,
but remember: ur LORD made u!
where were u when HEE passed out brains?
or did u politely abstain?
u call GAUD “infallible”
when HEE made u so gullible
u cant come inside when Trump reigns.
Scratch-n-Sniff
by Michael R. Burch
The world’s first antinatalist limerick?
Life comes with a terrible catch:
It’s like starting a fire with a match.
Though the flames may delight
In the dark of the night,
In the end what remains from the scratch?
Time Out!
by Michael R. Burch
Time is at war with my body!
am i Time’s most diligent hobby?
for there’s never Time out
from my low-t and gout
and my once-brilliant mind has grown stodgy!
Waiting Game
by Michael R. Burch
Nothing much to live for,
yet no good reason to die:
life became
a waiting game...
Rain from a clear blue sky.
Nipples' Ripples
by Michael R. Burch
Men are scared of nipples:
that’s why they can’t be seen.
For if they were,
we’d go to war
as in the days of Troy, I ween.
Devil’s Wheel
by Michael R. Burch
A billion men saw your pink undies.
What will the pard say to you, Sundays?
Yes, your panties were cute,
but the shocked Devil, mute,
now worries about reckless fundies.
A Prude Goes Nude
by Michael R. Burch
She wore near-invisible panties
and, my, she looked good in her scanties!
But the real nudists claimed
she was “over-framed.”
Now she’s bare-assed and shocking her aunties!
MVP!
by Michael R. Burch
Will Ohtani hit 65 homers,
win the Cy Young by striking out Gomers,
make it cute and okay
to write KKK
while inspiring rhyme-challenged poemers?
Will Ohtani hit 65homers,
win the Cy Young by striking out Gomers,
prove the nemesis
of white supremacists
while inspiring rhyme-challenged poemers?
Will Ohtani hit 65 homers,
win the Cy Young by striking out Gomers,
cause supremacists
to cease and desist
while inspiring rhyme-challenged poemers?
Cover Girl
by Michael R. Burch
Cunning
at sunning
and dunning,
the stunning
young woman’s in the running
to be found nude on the cover
of some patronizing lover.
In this case the cover is a bed cover, where the enterprising young mistress is about to be covered herself.
First Base Freeze
by Michael R. Burch
I find your love unappealing
(no, make that appalling)
because you prefer kissing
then stalling.
Paradoxical Ode to Antinatalism
by Michael R. Burch
A stay on love
would end death’s hateful sway,
someday.
A stay on love
would thus BE love,
I say.
Be true to love
and thus end death’s
fell sway!
Less Heroic Couplets: Funding Fundamentals
by Michael R. Burch
"I found out that I was a Christian for revenue only and I could not bear the thought of that, it was so ignoble." — Mark Twain
Making sense from nonsense is quite sensible! Suppose
you’re running low on moolah, need some cash to paint your toes ...
Just invent a new religion; claim it saves lost souls from hell;
have the converts write you checks; take major debit cards as well;
take MasterCard and Visa and good-as-gold Amex;
hell, lend and charge them interest, whether payday loan or flex.
Thus out of perfect nonsense, glittery ores of this great mine,
you’ll earn an easy living and your toes will truly shine!
Less Heroic Couplets: Crop Duster
by Michael R. Burch
We are dust and to dust we must return ...
but why, then, life’s pointless sojourn?
Less Heroic Couplets: Shady Sadie
by Michael R. Burch
A randy young dandy named Sadie
loves sex, but her horse neighs “She’s shady!”
The couplet above is based on the limerick below:
Shady Sadie
by Michael R. Burch
A randy young dandy named Sadie
loves sex, but in forms fancied shady.
(I cannot, of course,
involve her poor horse,
but it’s safe to infer she’s no lady!)
The Blobfish
by Michael R. Burch
You can call me a "blob"
with your oversized gob,
but what's your excuse,
great gargantuan Zeus,
whose once-chiseled abs
are now marbleized flab?
But what really alarms me
(how I wish you'd abstain)
is when you start using
that oversized "brain."
Consider the results! Refrain!
Less Heroic Couplets: Just Desserts
by Michael R. Burch
“The West Antarctic ice sheet
might not need a huge nudge
to budge.”
And if it does budge,
denialist fudge
may force us to trudge
neck-deep in sludge!
The first stanza is a quote by paleoclimatologist Jeremy Shakun in Science magazine.
The Limerick as Parody
Marvell-Less (I)
by Michael R. Burch
Mr. Marvell was ill-named? Inform us!
Alas, his crude writings deform us:
for when trying to bed
chaste virgins, he led
straight off with his iron balls ginormous!
Marvell-Less (II)
by Michael R. Burch
Andrew Marvell was far less than Marvellous;
indeed, he was cold, bold, unchivalrous:
for when trying to bed
chased/chaste virgins, he led
straight off with his iron balls ginormous!
When reading the second version of the poem, the reader can select “chased” or “chaste” or read them together, quickly.
I Learned Too Late
by Michael R. Burch
“Show, don’t tell!”
I learned too late that poetry has rules,
although they may be rules for greater fools.
In any case, by dodging rules and schools,
I avoided useless duels.
I learned too late that sentiment is bad—
that Blake and Keats and Plath had all been had.
In any case, by following my heart,
I learned to walk apart.
I learned too late that “telling” is a crime.
Did Shakespeare know? Is Milton doing time?
In any case, by telling, I admit:
I think such rules are shit.
There was a young lady of France
Who’d let cute boys root in her pants:
Where they'd give her the finger
She'd permit them to linger
because that's the point of romance!
—Michael R. Burch
A germane young German, a dame
with a quite unpronounceable name,
gave me a kiss;
I lectured her, "Miss,
we haven't been intro'd, for shame!"
—Michael R. Burch
A germane young German, a dame
with a quite unpronounceable name,
Frenched me a kiss;
I admonished her, "Miss,
you’ve left me twice tongue-tied, for shame!"
—Michael R. Burch
A germane young German, a dame
with a quite unpronounceable name,
French-kissed me and left my lips lame.
I lectured her, "Miss,
That's a premature kiss!
We haven't been intro'd, for shame!"
—Michael R. Burch
Shotgun Bedding
by Michael R. Burch
A pedestrian pediatrician
set out on a dangerous mission;
though his child bride, Lolita,
was a sweet senorita,
her pa's shotgun cut off his emissions.
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 is so horny it lofts her thus?
I need an artist or cartoonist to create an image of a male rhino lifting his prospective mate into the air during an abortive kiss. Any takers?
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 huge horn deforms her esophagus?
The next version is a free verse limerick:
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 scorn
gals showed for his horn,
then lost it to poachers, sedated.
Although I prefer
onions
to bunions,
I still primarily defer
to legal reefer.
—Michael R. Burch
Cancun Cruz
by Michael R. Burch
There once was a senator, Cruz,
whose whole life was one pus-oozing schmooze.
When Trump called his wife ugly,
Cruz brown-nosed him smugly,
then went on a sweet Cancún cruise!
Anchors Aweigh!
by Michael R. Burch
There once was an anchor babe, Cruz,
whose deployment was Castro’s bold ruse.
Now the revenge of Fidel
has worked out quite well
as Cruz missiles launch from his caboose!
Canadian Cruz
by Michael R. Burch
There was a Canadian, Cruz,
an anchor babe with a bold ruse:
he’d take Texas first
and then do his worst
to infect the whole world with his views.
Teeter Tots
by Michael R. Burch
For your spuds to become Tater Tots,
First, artfully cut out the knots,
Then dice them to cubes,
Deep-fried, served to rubes
(but not if they’re acting like snots).
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 whore-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!
The Bachelor Spectacular
by Michael R. Burch
One heart? Tossed aside.
The other? A bride’s.
In all his great wisdom, the bachelor decides.
Eeenie, mean-ie, mine-y, mo’,
one gal must stay and one must go.
If she hollers? That’s the show!
No heart can handle such despair!
But hearts get broken, hearts repair.
Next season? The treasoned will rule the air.
Originally published by Light
Have I been too long at the fair?
by Michael R. Burch
Have I been too long at the fair?
The summer has faded,
the leaves have turned brown,
the Ferris wheel teeters,
not up, yet not down . . .
Have I been too long at the fair?
The Locker
by Michael R. Burch
All the dull hollow clamor has died
and what was contained,
removed,
reproved
adulation or sentiment,
left with the pungent darkness
as remembered as the sudden light.
Ironic Vacation
by Michael R. Burch
Salzburg.
Seeing Mozart’s baby grand piano.
Standing in the presence of sheer incalculable genius.
Grabbing my childish pen to write a poem
& challenge the Immortals.
Next stop, the catacombs!
Less Heroic Couplets: Unsmiley Simile, or, Down Time
by Michael R. Burch
Quora is down!
I frown:
how long can the universe suffice
without its ad-vice?
Fierce ancient skalds summoned verse from their guts;
today’s genteel poets prefer modern ruts.
—Michael R. Burch
Vice Grip
by Michael R. Burch
There’s no need to rant about Al-Qaeda and ISIS.
The cruelty of “civilization” suffices:
our ordinary vices.
Less Heroic Couplets: Fine Feathered Fiends I
by Michael R. Burch
Conformists of a feather
flock together.
Winner of the National Poetry Month Couplet Competition
Less Heroic Couplets: Fine Feathered Fiends II
by Michael R. Burch
Fascists of a feather
flock together.
pretty pickle
by michael r. burch
u’d blaspheme if u could
because ur Gaud’s no good,
but of course u cant:
ur a lowly ant
(or so u were told by a Hierophant).
The wordplay of “ur Gaud” and “u cant” is intentional, as always.
Cover Girl
by Michael R. Burch
Cunning
at sunning
and dunning,
the stunning
young woman’s in the running
to be found nude on the cover
of some patronizing lover.
First Base Freeze
by Michael R. Burch
I find your love unappealing
(no, make that appalling)
because you prefer kissing
then stalling.
Less Heroic Couplets: Negotiables
by Michael R. Burch
Love should be more than the sum of its parts—
of its potions and pills and subterranean arts.
Less Heroic Couplets: Mini-Ode to Stamina
by Michael R. Burch
When you’ve given so much
that I can’t bear your touch,
then from a safe distance
let me admire your persistence.
Published by Asses of Parnassus
Unapproved Absence, or, Slip Up
by Michael R. Burch
Christ, how I miss you!,
though your parting kiss is still warm on my lips.
Now the floor is not strewn with your stockings and slips
and the dishes are all stacked away.
You left me today ...
and each word left unspoken now whispers regrets.
The Red State Reaction
by Michael R. Burch
Where the hell are they hidin’
Sleepy Joe Biden?
And how the hell can the bleep
Do so much, in his sleep?
Red State Reject
by Michael R. Burch
I once was a pessimist
but now I’m more optimistic
ever since I discovered my fears
were unsupported by any statistic.
Disconcerted
by Michael R. Burch
Meg, my sweet,
fresh as a daisy,
when I’m with you
my heart beats like crazy
& my future gets hazy ...
briefling
by michael r. burch
manishatched,hopsintotheMix,
cavorts,hassex(quick!,spawnanewBroo d!);
then,likeamayfly,he’ssuddenlygone:
plantfood
Here “briefling” is a diminutive of “brief” and also a pun on “brief fling.”
u-turn: another way to look at religion
by michael r. burch
... u were born(e) orphaned from Ecstasy
into this lower realm: just one of the inching worms
dreaming of Beatification;
u’d love to make a u-turn back to Divinity,
but having misplaced ur chrysalis,
can only chant magical phrases,
like Circe luring ulysses back into the pigsty ...
no foothold
by michael r. burch
there is no hope;
therefore i became invulnerable to love.
now even god cannot move me:
nothing to push or shove,
no foothold.
so let me live out my remaining days in clarity,
mine being the only nativity,
my death the final crucifixion
and apocalypse,
as far as the i can see ...
Nonbeliever
by Michael R. Burch
She smiled a thin-lipped smile
(What do men know of love?)
then rolled her eyes toward heaven
(Or that Chauvinist above?).
Lean Harvests (II)
by Michael R. Burch
for Tom Merrill
the trees are shedding their leaves again:
another summer is over.
the Christians are praising their Maker again,
but not the disconsolate plover:
i hear him berate
the fate
of his mate;
he claims God is no body’s lover.
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!
Salvation of a Formalist, an Ode to Entropy
by Michael R. Burch
Entropy?
God's universal decree
That I get to be
Disorderly?
Suddenly
My erstwhile boxed-in verse is free?
Wheeeeee!
A formidable pugilist, Mike,
in a fit of pique called his mom “Dyke.”
She frowned ear to ear,
then said, “You listen here,
I can still whip your butt, you dumb tyke!”
This anorexic light
by Michael R. Burch
This anorexic light’s a little zany—
Put a CD in, it plays Bonnie and Delaney.
Shine it on a tooth to bleach it pearly white,
or dazzle any enemy; fry one to a mite!
Just a little flash reshapes imperfect eyes
or drops invading aircraft all around you—just like flies.
We’ve saved the best for last—just take one sandy grain
and lase it and you’ll get a tiny, chipper brain.
a poem in which i a-coos Coo & Co. of being unfairly lovable
by Michael R. Burch
Coo & Co. are unfairly lovable!
their poems are entirely too huggable!
for what hope have we po’-its,
we intellectual know-its,
or no-wits, when ours are so drubabble?
While not written in German, Italian, French, Latin, Greek, Sanskrit and hieroglyphics like T.S. Eliot’s “The Waste Land,” but merely in less-than-the-Queen’s-English, this poem may also require copious footnotes. The “unfairly lovable” poems I had in mind were, particularly, “Learning Barn” and “Grebe barcarolle,” but also other adorable Coo & Co. poems reminiscent of Lear, Carroll, A. A. Milne, “The House on Pooh Corner” and “Yellow Submarine.” The contraction “po’-its” stands for “poor its,” as in destitute non-entities, which we other poets are in danger of becoming when compared to the adorability of Coo & Co. How can we possibly hope to compete? The coinage “drubabble” means “someone in need of a drubbing for babbling on when they should be reading Coo & Co.” With which I must lapse into silence ...
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.
The Ex-Prez Sez
The prez should be above the law, he sez,
even though he’s no longer prez.
—Michael R. Burch
tRUMP is the butt of many jokes.—Michael R. Burch
Mercedes Benz
by Michael R. Burch
I'd like to do a song of great social and political import. It goes like this:
Oh Donnie, won't you lend me your Mercedes Benz?
My friends screw in Porsches, I must make amends!
Like you, I f-cked my partners and now have no friends.
So, Donnie won't you sell me your Mercedes Benz?
Oh Donnie, won't you rent me your sexy import?
You need to pay your lawyers: a tart for a tort!
I’ll await her delivery each day until three.
And Donnie, please throw in Ivanka for free!
Oh, Donnie won't you buy me a night on the town?
I'm counting on you, Don, so don't let me down!
Oh, prove you're a playboy and bring them around.
Oh, Donnie won't you buy me a night on the town?
Oh Donnie, won't you lend me your Mercedes Benz?
My friends screw in Porsches, I must make amends!
Like you, I f-cked my partners and now have no friends.
So, Donnie won't you sell me your Mercedes Benz?
Ode to a Pismire
by Michael R. Burch
Drumpf is a sissy:
his hair’s in a Fritz.
Drumpf is a missy:
he won’t drink Schlitz.
Drumpf’s cobra-hissy
though he lives in the Ritz.
Drumpf is so pissy
his diaper’s the Shitz.
The Ballade of Large Marge Greene
by Michael R. Burch
Marge
is large
and in charge,
like a barge.
Yes, our Marge
is quite large,
like a hefty surcharge.
Like a sarge,
say LaFarge,
apt to over-enlarge
creating dissent before the final discharge.
Trump Limericks aka Slimericks
The Nazis now think things’re grand.
The KKK’s hirin’ a band.
Putin’s computin’
Less Ukrainian shootin’.
They’re hootin’ ’cause Trump’s win is planned.
—Michael R. Burch
Trump comes with a few grotesque catches:
He likes to grope unoffered snatches;
He loves to ICE kids;
His brain’s on the skids;
And then there’s the coups the fiend hatches.
—Michael R. Burch
Trump’s Saddest Tweet to Date
by Michael R. Burch
I’ve gotten all out of kilter.
My erstwhile yuge tool is a wilter!
I now sleep in bed.
Few hairs on my head.
Inhibitions? I now have no filter!
the best of all possible whirls, for MAGA
by Michael R. Burch
ive made a mistake or two.
okay, maybe quite *more* than a few:
mistakes by the millions,
the billions and zillions,
but remember: ur LORD made u!
where were u when HEE passed out brains?
or did u politely abstain?
u call GAUD “infallible”
when HEE made u so gullible
u cant come inside when Trump reigns.
My Sin-cere Endorsement of a Trump Cultist
by Michael R. Burch
If you choose to be an idiot, who can prevent you?
If you love to do evil, why then, by all means,
go serve the con who sent you!
Bird’s Eye View
Michael R. Burch
So many fantasical inventions,
but what are man’s intentions?
I don’t trust their scooty cars.
And what about their plans for Mars?
Their landfills’ high retentions?
The dodos they fail to mention?
I don’t trust Trump’s “clean coal” cars,
and what the hell are his plans for Mars?
Untitled
Don't disturb him in his inner sanctum
Or he’ll have another Trumper Tantrum.
—Michael R. Burch
It turns out the term was prophetic, since "conservatives" now serve a con. — Michael R. Burch
To live among you — ah! — as among vipers, coldblooded creatures not knowing right from wrong, adoring Trump, hissing and spitting venom.
Trump rhymes with chump
grump
frump
lifelong slump
illogical jump
garbage dump
sewage clump
sump pump
dry hump
cancerous lump
malignant bump
unpleasingly plump
slovenly schlump
yuge enormous diaper-clad rump
and someone we voters are going to thump and whump
—Michael R. Burch
Putin's Lootin's
by Michael R. Burch
They’re dropping like flies:
Putin’s “allies.”
Ah, but who gets their funny
money?
Two birds with one stone:
no dissent, buy a drone.
For tyrants the darkest day’s sunny!
Preempted
by Michael R. Burch
Friends, I admit that I’m often tempted
to say what I think about Trump,
but all such thought’s been preempted
by the sight of that Yuge Orange Rump!
Mate Check
by Michael R. Burch
*The editorial board of the Washington Post is “very worried that American women don’t want to marry Trump supporters.”*
Supporting Trump puts a crimp in dating
(not to mention mating).
So, horny dudes, if you’d like to bed
intelligent gals, and possibly wed,
it’s time to jettison that red MAGA cap
and tweet “farewell” to an orange sap.
Squid on the Skids
by Michael R. Burch
Sidney Powell howled in 2020:
“The Kraken will roar through the land of plenty!”
But she recalled the Terror in 2023
with a slippery, slimy, squid-like plea.
The Kraken Cracked
by Michael R. Burch
She’s singing like a canary.
Who says krakens are scary?
Squidney said the election was hacked,
but when all her lies were unpacked,
the crackpot kraken cracked.
Now, with a shrill, high-pitched squeal,
The kraken has cut a deal.
Oh, tell it with jubilation:
the kraken is on probation!
Trump’s Retribution Resolution
by Michael R. Burch
My New Year’s resolution?
I require your money and votes,
for *you* are *my* retribution.
May I offer you dark-skinned scapegoats
and bigger and deeper moats
as part of my sweet resolution?
Please consider a YUGE contribution,
a mountain of lovely C-notes,
for *you* are *my* retribution.
Revenge is our only solution,
since my critics are weasels and stoats.
Come, second my sweet resolution!
The New Year’s no time for dilution
of the anger of victimized GOATs,
when *you* are *my* retribution.
Forget the damned Constitution!
To dictators “ideals” are footnotes.
My New Year’s resolution?
*You* are *my* retribution.
Two Trump Truisms
by Michael R. Burch
When Trump’s the culprit everyone’s a “snitch.”
It ain’t a “witch hunt” when the perp’s a witch.
Horrid Porridge
by Michael R. Burch
*My apologies to porridge for this unfortunate association with an unwholesome human being.*
Why is Trump orange,
like porridge
(though not some we’re likely to forage)?
The gods of yore
knew long before
Trump was born, to a life of deplorage,
that his face must conform
to the uniform
he’d wear for his prison decorage!
Dictionary Definition of Trump
by Michael R. Burch
Trump is a chump;
he’s the freep of a frump;
he’s an orange-skinned Grinch and, much worse, he’s a Grump!;
he’s a creep; he’s a Sheik (sans harem); a skunk!;
“Kill the veep!” he’s a murderous coup d’tot-er in a slump;
“Drain the swamps, then refill them with my crocodilian donors!”;
Trump is a rapist with insufficient boners;
Trump is, as he predicted, a constitutional crisis;
Trump is our non-so-sweet American vanilla ISIS;
Trump is a thief who will bring the world to grief;
Trump is a whiner and our Pleader-in-Chief.
Triple Trump
by Michael R. Burch
No one ever trumped a Trump like Trump.
He turned Mar-a-Lago into a dump
and spewed filth at the stump
like a sump pump
while looking like a moulting Orange Hefalump!
Trump made the Grinch seem like just another Grump
by giving darker Whos a “get lost” lump.
No colored child was spared from his Neanderthalic thump.
Trump gave fascists a fist-bump,
consulted Nazi servers for an info-dump
and invited Russian agents for a late-night hump.
Don the Con con-sidered laws a speed bump,
fired anyone who ever tried to be an ump,
and gave every evil known to man a quantum jump.
You may think he’s just plump
and a chump,
with the style of a frump,
the posture of a shlump,
his brain in a slump,
and perhaps too inclined for a porn-star hump,
while being deprived by his parents of a necessary whump ...
but when it comes to political asses, Trump is the rump!
There was a lewd wh-re from Nantucket
who intended to p-- in a bucket;
but being a man
she missed the damn can
and her rattled johns fled, crying: "F-ck it!"
—Variation on a classic limerick by Michael R. Burch
Here are three "linked" Nantucket limericks of mine:
There was a coarse wh-re of Nantucket
whose bush needed someone to pluck it
’cause it looked like a chimp’s
and her johns were limp gimps
too timid to touch, s-ck or f-ck it.
So that coarse, canny wh-re of Nantucket,
once muff-shaved, decided to shuck it
—that thick, wiry pelt
that smelled like wet felt—
and made it a toupee for Luckett.
Now Luckett, once bald as an eagle,
like Samson, stands handsome and regal
with hair to his -ss
that smells like his lass,
yet still comes when she calls, like a beagle.
—a triple limerick by Michael R. Burch
#TRUMP #DONTHECON #MRBTRUMP #MRBDONTHECON #MRBPOEMS
Keywords/Tags: limericks, limerick, light verse, nonsense verse, doggerel, humor, humorous verse, light poetry, nature, politics, religion, science, theory of relativity, cosmology, relationship, relationships, family, energy, light, speed of light, lights, bawdy, salacious, ribald, risque, naughty, racy, spicy, adult