Actually, I have been obsessed with the Irish and their lyrical, poetic ways for years. I hope to someday see the Emerald Isle firsthand. Maybe I will even make it to the town of Limerick itself, just to see if that’s how people there talk to one another.
But since I cannot get to Limerick at the moment, I will bring Limerick to me.
Before we begin, let’s get a working definition. Here is the wikipedia truth of it:
A limerick is a five-line poem in anapestic or amphibrachic meter with a strict rhyme scheme (aabba), which intends to be witty or humorous, and is sometimes obscene with humorous intent.
So…Without further adieu I now give to you — I won’t even rehearse; I’ll just throw out a verse — A Texas Limerick or two.
I hope you have half as much fun reading them as I did writing them.
Lone Star Limericks
browse around this site Role ReversalIf I were you and you were me What sort of us would the two of us be? Would you see me the way I do? Who would I see when I looked at you, If I were you and you were me?
The Ranchin’ Man BluesThere was an ol’ boy from Texas Who didn’t know where the Metroplex is. He sat under a branch Near a pond on his ranch While his wife drove away in a Lexus.
What Not To Do While in LaborThere was a feller from Fort Worth Whose momma died in childbirth; Or so he was told, But when he was old He learned that she choked on a Bratwurst.
Abilene, Abiline…There was an ol’ boy from Abilene Who swore it was the prettiest town he’d ever seen. Then one fine Summer day He just moved away And he never went back there again.
Native SonThere was a young fellow from Palestine, Which in Texas rhymes with Abilene. He wasn’t holy, But was rather moley, And had holes in the knees of his blue jeans.
Back WhenThere was a time back when I thought you were my friend. But that was your face, Which now in its place I see your other end.
What’s In a NameThere was a boy named Sue Whose name was a fine how-ya-do. It got him in fights, And kept him up nights: What else would a name like that do?
The Wade Phillips EraThere was a coach named Wade Whose welcome was over-stayed. The Crowd would have sacked him, But the owner still backed him, ‘Til the final egg was laid.
Rhyme and ReasonThere was a point in time When I thought every poem should rhyme. But I’m over that; I see where it’s at. This rhymin’ ain’t worth a dime.
OK, now it is your turn. Feel free to use the comments section to this article to share your Limerick or two.