A poet composing a Limerick
Said finding a rhyme gave him quite a kick.
He rhymed Clever with Ever
And Weather with Whether
And found that he'd written a Cork(Er)
quote by by Janice Windle
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Related quotes
Said a poet composing a limerick
'I'll share an ice cream with my love and give him a lick'
She wrote down her rhyme
And he said 'about time,
And I'd appreciate it if we could take in a flick.'
quote by by Janice Windle
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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On Being Told That There Is No Rhyme For The Word “Limerick”
After I heard Harry’s limerick,
I found that my mind set to simmer. “Rick, ”
I said to myself,
“One might write it itself, ”
But I answered, “You’re chances are slimmer, Rick! ”
So I can’t find a good rhyme for Limerick.
Told myself, “ You are just a beginner, Rick
And though there’s no reason
You can’t write something decent,
I fancy your chances get grimmer, Rick! ”
He said that it might rhyme with turmeric
But I thought, “You’re not that fast a learner, Rick:
Ditch your thoughts wasting time
Finding suitable rhyme;
Let your plans, man, stand on the back burner, Rick.”
But the cogwheels had started to turn a bit
As I guessed I had started to learn a bit
And I might find a line
That rhymes Limerick fine
And might win me a prize, so I earn a bit.
But I thought, “Though there was just a glimmer, Rick.
You will think till you’re needing a zimmer, Rick,
Since the muse isn’t kind,
I am sure you’ll will find
Not a word that will rhyme fine with Limerick.”
poem by C. Richard Miles
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The Lazy Poor Poet [Limerick]
There once was a lazy poor poet,
But indignant she didn't quiet know it.
Just one bad review,
And her blood turned all blue,
But she carried on much prouder for it.
One star: it is plenty enough.
For the tripe, for the drivel, and cruft.
When it doesn't keep time,
Paints no image, nor rhyme -
Well no thank you; you've written enough.
You may say that this limerick's a bore -
Because you don't get metaphore,
So you'll no longer see
Any critique from me.
Cry and moan - you'll get five stars for sure!
If you think that this poem's about you:
So sorry - it's probably true.
But just 'cause you write it
Let's not get excited.
The world doesn't centre on you.
poem by David Zvekic
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Limerick was, Dublin is, and Cork shall be the finest city of the three.
No Limerick?
A poem presenting with rhyme
and which follows a rhythm in time
need not be what we call
a true Limerick at all
like a lemon, the cousin of lime.
Yet a limerick a lemon can be,
you could use a small slice for your tea.
Do not use it in fudge
and respect that the judge
is the man with no writing degree.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Kick, Kick, Kick.
When hurt kick,
When lonely kick,
When embaressed kick,
When happy kick,
When sad kick,
When nervous kick,
When laughing kick,
When crying kick,
When sick kick,
When playing kick,
When dead kick...
If you can!
I mean, what are those feet for?
Kick, kick, kick...
If you still can!
poem by Azeem AbdulRahim
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I once met a belle named Nicole Rick,
Her erotic curves gave me a kick,
I stroked on her bum -
She moaned without rum.
To beginners, Rick's a limerick.
quote by by Harindhar Reddy
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There Is A Reason To Be Rhymed
There is a reason to be rhymed behind,
Everything!
'May I hear that again,
From beginning to end.'
There is a reason to be rhymed behind,
Everything!
There's only one,
That can open wider...
A hooked and opened nose.
There is a reason to be rhymed behind,
Everything!
Where are the people who enjoyed doing,
Social things?
There is a reason to be rhymed behind,
Everything!
We are those people?
We are the people
WE THE PEOPLE.
We are those people?
We are the people
WE THE PEOPLE.
There is a reason to be rhymed behind,
Everything!
'May I hear that again,
From beginning to end.'
There is a reason to be rhymed behind,
Everything!
We are those people?
We are the people
WE THE PEOPLE.
There is a reason to be rhymed behind,
Everything!
We are those people?
We are the people
WE THE PEOPLE.
'May I hear that again,
From beginning to end.'
We are those people?
We are the people
WE THE PEOPLE.
There is a reason to be rhymed behind,
Everything!
All day all night here I stand.
There is a reason to be rhymed behind,
Everything!
All day all night here I stand.
There is a reason to be rhymed behind,
Everything!
And all day and all night,
And all day and all night the canvas expands.
There is a reason to be rhymed behind,
Everything!
There is a reason to be rhymed behind,
Everything!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Preciseness
All this talk about ego.
When no one escapes self expression.
Isn't that what composing is?
For a poet.
And the writing of it is what gets done.
For a poet.
Who unlike critics...
Sit and wait for something tart to remark.
That could be said of most!
Certainly not for everyone.
Is this place offered to those who create.
For those who are innovative in thought.
And not scholared in debated...
Seeking to correct self expressions.
And...
Hoping to find a clue what to do with their own.
If that should happen before the ego does arrive.
All this talk about ego.
When no one escapes self expression.
Isn't that what composing is?
For a poet.
I can pretend I know it all and I know I don't.
So you get no entertaining charades from me.
However,
Expect everything you can imagine,
From those who have none!
Their preciseness is overdone.
With an overbite.
And under-rated is their aggravation.
With an unspoken wish they were out of sight.
And they would get it delivered quickly.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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98
kick kick kick
when bored kick
when hurt kick
when ignored kick
when lost kick
when you're listed out
kick
when you're dead
kick
if you can.
what are those feet for?
kick, kick, kick,
if you still can
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Only a Simple Rhyme
Only a simple rhyme of love and sorrow,
Where 'blisses' rhymed with 'kisses,' 'heart,' with 'dart:'
Yet, reading it, new strength I seemed to borrow,
To live on bravely and to do my part.
A little rhyme about a heart that's bleeding—
Of lonely hours and sorrow's unrelief:
I smiled at first; but there came with the reading
A sense of sweet companionship in grief.
The selfishness of my own woe forsaking,
I thought about the singer of that song.
Some other breast felt this same weary aching;
Another found the summer days too long.
The few sad lines, my sorrow so expressing,
I read, and on the singer, all unknown,
I breathed a fervent though a silent blessing,
And seemed to clasp his hand within my own.
And though fame pass him and he never know it,
And though he never sings another strain,
He has performed the mission of the poet,
In helping some sad heart to bear its pain.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Contempt
Let us enjoy our poetry
a given in a land that's free.
Though politics may bother some
ignoring it will keep us dumb.
A limerick overshadows time
the pleasantries of clever rhyme.
Free verse is mastered by a few
though much of it resembles pooh.
So many live inside a trance
where words perform their lovely dance.
We must, as poets stay alert
lest they may take our favourite shirt.
Our leaders ought to know the rules
that we are not pathetic fools.
Yet they behave as if exempt
and practice, laughingly, contempt.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Most Of The So Called Literary Experts
Most of the so called literary experts are dismissive of rhyme
They say 'tis the poetry of a long gone time
Yet the poets that they laud the poems they do write
Cannot be put to music and are hard to read and recite
The rhymer of today is not looked on as a poet
Or is not seen as one worthy of literary note
By the so called literary experts with literary degrees
Though their judgement on what is or is not poetry not everyone does please
They never will convince the old style rhyme buff
To him or her well written rhyme is not throw away stuff
In well written rhyme are the words to a song
And good rhyming poetry to music belong
Yet the degreed literary experts who on poetry like to have their say
Dismiss rhyming poets and their poetry as of yesterday.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Crush On You
You found out
Kick it
You found out i've got a crush on you
You must have heard it from my best friend
She's always talking when she should be listening
Can't keep a secret to save her life
But still I trusted her with all I had inside
I never knew a rumour could spread so fast
But now the word is out all over town
That i'm longing for you
How did you know cos I never told
You found out i've got a crush on you
No more charades my heart's been displayed
You found out i've got a crush on you
Maybe I was the one who left a trace
Was there a message written on my face
Were my emotions so easily read
That you could know my thoughts before a word was said
Was it my eyes that let you know I had control
Because the way you moved was so self-assured
You knew I would surrender
How did you know cos I never told
You found out i've got a crush on you
No more charades my heart's been displayed
You found out i've got a crush on you
Kick it
One time
Get it up
Get down
How did you know cos I never told
You found out
No more charades my heart's been displayed
You found out
How did you know cos I never told
You found out i've got a crush on you
No more charades my heart's been displayed
You found out i've got a crush on you
You found out i've got a crush on you
You found out i've got a crush on you
song performed by by Aaron Carter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Old Rhyming Poet
In his early eighties his best days long gone
But the gray haired old poet he keeps penning on
Though many see him as of another time
Sixty years as a poet and still writing in rhyme.
Though not seen as a mentor to the young poets of the town
He once was the Regional Poet Laureate and he knew of renown
When rhyme it was popular a long time ago
And his hair was as dark as the wing of a crow.
Not hard to tell he's known a far better day
The old rhyming poet that the years have left gray
It has been more than five decades since he was in his prime
Eventually we all become victims of time.
In time as in life few things do seem to last
And verses that rhyme are now seen as of the past
But to him to stop writing would be living a lie
And he will be a poet till the day that he die.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Kick Kick Kick
when bored kick
when hurt kick
when ignored kick
when lost kick
when you're listed out
kick
when you're dead
kick
if you can.
what are those feet for?
kick, kick, kick,
if you still can
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poets
Each poet that I know (he said)
Has something funny in his head,
Some wandering growth or queer disease
That gives to him strange unease.
If such a thing he hasn't got,
What makes him write his silly rot?
All poets' brains, so I have found,
Go, like the music, round and round.
Why they are suffered e'er to tread
This sane man's earth seems strange (he said).
I've never met a poet yet,
A rhymster I have never met
Who could talk sense like any man -
Like I, or even you, say, can.
They make me sick! The time seems ripe
To clean them up and all their tripe.
And yet (he stopped and felt his head)
I met a poet once (he said)
Who, when I said he made me sick
Hit me a punch like a mule's kick.
That only goes to prove again
The theory that I maintain:
A man who can't gauge that crazy bunch;
No poet ought to pack a punch.
Of all the poetry I've read
I've never yet seen one (he said)
That couldn't be, far as it goes,
Much better written out in prose.
It's what we eat, I often think;
Or, yet more likely, what they drink.
Aw, poets! All the tribe, by heck,
Give me a swift pain in the neck.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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They Say
to be a better poet
they say, i must take a cat for a pet
as though the cat
has rhyme and rhythm
just like a beautiful poem
i took the advice of course
and i agree
that with a cat for a pet
i have written about ten poems
with the necessary elements
of rhyme and rhythm
it was smooth and good
until you brought your munchkin in the house
& since then
the war poem started to be composed
there was chaos
& nothing pious.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Weather
Weather, O weather, did you arrive or will you ever
whether your spring is here or the winter, as ever
My heart lived it to the utmost, in agony however
thus, come or go, sweet or bitter, or just whatsoever
Useless to pass life with you, moron to be or a clever
O weather of memories, to forget you I shall do, never
And when the melodies play amid the noises of music
shall I count the years when I became healthfully sick
Large is the space under this weather, but of many a brick
and freedom is within your reach but shall I sacrifice my neck?
O weather of wonders, corrupted my life with just a flick
away or near, with peace and fear, my mind you did kick
Bring your roses and blosoms, or the dust of age
fearsome shall not be, and there shall I be on a stage
When the applause raise up, that shall be my own wage
and certainly, away from you I am going to break the cage
So stop the seduction, and the calls of love on a new page
here is my way up to the hill, whether or not I am a sage
Oh my, am I crazy to talk to the weather of springs?
my thoughts are racing through faster than wings
What am I saying? Seems life filled me with stings
and sitting down now, no care for whatever it brings
Anyway, it goes around, and so does the life of kings
high to low, and low to high, all are but some weatherings
-
http: //www.geocities.com/mat_group/
poem by Taher Shemaly
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Alankar(Decor) -103
Grumble(Quatern)
The Quatern is-
stanzaic, written in 4 quatrains.
syllabic, usually written in lines of 8 syllables.
rhymed at the poet's discretion.
Possible rhyme schemes are Axax xAxa axAx xaxA x being unrhymed
and the cap A being the refrain.
Or Aabb aAcc ddAa eeaA or any combination the poet chooses
as long as the refrain is in the proper position.
composed with a refrain that is repeated as
L1 of the first stanza
L2 of the second stanza
L3 of the third stanza
L4 of the fourth stanza
Grumble
Empty mind mine sounds only hush
Lonely bewildered in silence
I am to fill it with words lush
My musings are hunting for thoughts
Albeit heart yearns for poetry
Empty mind mine sounds only hush
I pat my brain quite brisk
So that floods of words lot in gush
Time does not seem to wait then rush
Brain is working fast-yet
Empty mind mine sounds only hush
Thought-hunt is busy running on
I don't like a random scribble
Perfect theme, proper words should push
That my poem is set right-still
Empty mind mine sounds only hush
poem by Indira Renganathan
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