Limericks and such composed on my daily dog walks: verses 751-800

Note: Some of these verses lean left. If you lean right (which is completely cool, of course), you may not be totally happy with this site. Back to home page Links to other doggy-walking verse pages
751. On the 13th day of Christmas,my cruel love gave to me a big, fat ol’ whacking,a thunderous shellacking,and a black eye through which I still cannot fully see.
752. I can now wholly admit that Santa doesn't exist,although when I first heard it, I was totally pissed.All that parental pretending,and lies never ending.Should I also cross God off my list?
753. When I saw the Grim Reaperpull out his peeperand piss on the fallen mistletoe,I yelled, "Hey Jack!Can't you use the facilities out back?That's what normal people do, you know?
754. Sometimes, a thought in your headwould be so much better off dead.But no matter how much you will it,sometimes, you just can't kill it,and so you end up having to take it to bed.
You know how to deal with someone who's horribly cruel?Just call him a shit ass fool.And then when he pounces,cut him up in metric ounces,and cook him up in a pot of thick, gloppy gruel.
755. The day I turned forty,my kid said, "Oh Lordy,now, you're exactly four times my age.I said, "By this rendition,you’ve proven yourself to be a mean mathematician.Now get back in your cage, before I act out my rage.
756. There once was a little girl from Brussels,who was just a sprout with very tiny muscles.But when any bully got in her way,she wasn't afraid to say,"Careful, boy! Don’t be the next victim of one of my tussles.”
757. Every day, whether it's nice or bad weather,my dog and I go on a long walk together,which I know he enjoys much more than I,because he gets to sniff every nice thing that comes by,but ─ not I.
758. For everything that's somewhat slender and perpendicular to the ground,as dogs can attest, a fitting purpose has been found.They see these objects of God's and man’s creationas some of the best places for canine urination.And who's to say their reasoning isn't perfectly sound.
759. As I see kids waiting for the school bus,I flash back sixty years to the two of us.Remember in Mr. Parker’s class ─ the secret notes we used to pass?Two kids so deeply in love ─ at eleven plus.
760. Just let her.Don't do anything to upset her,if, as you say, you love her, and all.Let her make her girly noise,with her retinue of giggly boys,who make her feel like the belle of the ball.
761. I live in a small, mobile home,about 5600 miles from the outskirts of Rome,about 7200 miles from the waters of the Ganges,and about 5100 miles from Machu Picchu in the peaks of the Andes.It's a nice, cozy little home,where every day, I try to come up with at least one new spanking ,spanking new poem.
762. My dog knows the difference between friends and foes.Friends give him treats and kiss his wet nose.But foes often standwith these awful tools in their hand,ready to grab his paws and start clipping his toes.
763. Prufrock limericks / verses a. I said to my dog, "Let us go then, you and I, *while pink, wispy clouds traverse the wide, azure sky.Oh, do not ask, “Where is it?”Let us go to your favorite tree so you can wizz it.And then we’ll stop by the bakery for a fresh piece of crumbly peach pie.” b. The other day, when I was walking by the sun-splashed sea, *I was overcome by a fiery joy and a titillating glee,as, on silvery, green rocks not far from the yellow beach,I heard mermaids singing, each to each,and then they turned ─ and they sang to me.* Play on "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T. S. Eliot.
764. In about a week, I'm going to see my maker,an old Italian guy, who left me with my present caretaker.I need to see him about my nose,because the damn thing just grows and grows.My caretaker says it's because I lie, but I don't know how seriously to take her.
765. Oh, America, land of high romance!There's my dog trying to nose a tossed-out pair of girly underpants,left there in full view,accompanied by a used condom or two.An object lesson for passing school kids, perchance?
766. Every time I walk past her, my heart begins to beat a little faster. For her, I'd give up everything ─ cigarettes, alcohol ─ even McDonalds or Burger King. Oh, I’d gladly be her slave, if she would only be my master.
767. I ran into my high school pal, Gus,who used to have a face full of pimples and puss.He was an anathema at our school,but I thought he was pretty damn cool,cuz Mary Jane, his mom, would always bake very special cookies for us.
768. Oh, grab me by my face,and guide it down onto your white, frilly lace.Let me see the whole of your bottom,oh, Hillary Clinton Rodham,and tell me about every potentate who’s come to visit this sacred place.
769. "So glad to be home,"said Betina to her husband, Jerome.“It's like the only place where I can dance,braless in my see-through underpants,while a guy sits there watching a YouTube video about the nightlife in Rome.”
770. Heraclitus said to himself, "Oh, shucks.I just noticed we live in a world of flux.You can't sit twicein the same bucket of ice,or of anything, expect a carbon-copy redux.”
771. On dog walk, every time I come upon a broken alcohol bottlewhose sharp pieces I carefully have to guide my doggy past,I wish Death the neck of the asshole would throttleto ensure this tossed-out alcoholic bottle will forever be his last.
772. No, no, no, no, no, no, don't say that.It'll bring nothing but a bunch of dismay, that.She'll know that I'm no longer in lovewith any of the starts of above,and it wouldn't make her very gay, that.
773. What, if for me, this day had never come?What if I’d died back there in that fight in the slum?I woulda never seen yaor been able to come between yaand that snake you were running from.
774. I love the idea of a metapoem,one that, late at night, comes knocking on the door of your home,and nearly out of breath, says, "I prayed, and I prayed!I prayed that this time I wouldn't be too lateto be included in the publication of your latest poetry tome.
775. Does anyone wanna take care of this wee little poem?Can I get a volunteer to take this little one home?Yes, Emily, she can go home with you.Yes, a few nice words and a little loving kindness should do.And promise to bring her back when she is fully grown?
776. Did you see that poem climax ─in the open like that, those risqué acts ─that girl blowing that sax,and those two guys making the beast with two backs?I'd be surprised if that poem doesn't get the censor's ax!
777. I'm just one poem among a hundred billion,to be followed, no doubt, by another hundred zillion.But what sets me apart ─is that I do burp ─I do fart ─and, moreover, I take it all to heart.
778. Poet, I know you.I've seen your poster in a classroom or two.And I've heard about how great you are.Even among the greatest, you are the star.But I write poems, too.And I'm so very eager to show the world what I can do.
779. My poetry teacher said, "In the mind of an unstudious, would-be poet,real poetry might be swirling around, but he wouldn’t know it,cuz instead of learning, he's always just grasping at straws, and thereby repeating the same old flawsthat makes every other unstudious, would-be poet ─ blow it."
780. "This verse says much too little in way too many words. Give the reader just the gist by reducing it by at least two-thirds." Those were my teacher's comments as she handed me back my poem, and as I was walking dejectedly back to my home, I ripped my masterpiece to pieces ─ and flung my failing words at the birds.
781. My poetry teacher says if you want to achieveyou shouldn’t be afraid to sometimes subtly deceive.Because if you only poetize about the expected,you’ll soon find yourself totally neglected.So dare to include what may be a little hard to believe.
782. This topic is too heavy for light verse ─two guys hijacking an occupied hearse ─then, driving around townwith the effing tops down.Can you think of a prank that's any worse?
783. My verse is very simple to learn and a breeze to recite.Just select a few that aren't too erudite.And then even if you're just a little bit smart,you can easily memorize three or maybe four by heart,while you're in the bathroom doing your thing tonight.
784. Neato!Tonight, I met a woman who doesn't have any libido,which means I'll never have to be jealous,because she’ll never have the hots for any other fellas (fellows),and we won't ever have to suffer the fate of the Othello's.
785. When my dog and I go on a walk, he thinks he can go anywhere ─on someone's driveway, doormat, or against their patio rocking chair.And when I say, "No, no! Whatcha doing,"he gives me this look like, "Do you know with whom you're screwing?"You don’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out who the boss is here.
788. What we have to drink doesn't really matter ─everything goes pretty well with pu pu platter.So yes ─ that sweet, yellow wine should go with this pu pu just fine ─and it shouldn't be that taxing on my weak, overactive bladder.
789. You can smell it from afar ─the residue of a black hole and its imploded star.But only if you have a cosmic nose ─whose olfactory nerve can readily transpose ─the sound of its light ─ into a molten, Milky Way bar.
790. Some folks question my science. They say it has an overrelianceon what comes out of a bull.Which, according to them, I use by the bucketsful.Fair enough! I admit in science, I'm not one of the giants.
791. As I reflect on my body's daily decay,I wonder, did God really mean to do it this way?Couldn't He have let me reach my life's end ─ whole ─ and entire ─instead of having part after part of me periodically misfire?You say, "Yes, He really meant to do it this way."Okay.
792. When I saw what looked like a monster walking my way,I was deathly afraid, I'm not afraid to say.And as he got closer with his eyes fiery red,imagine the horrors that raced through my head.And as he was passing, all I could think to say was ─“Have a nice day."
793. Do you write the number 8 with two circles or with a squiggly line?Oh, so you had to try it, before you could answer that question of mine.Notice how we habitually do things without thinking.Perhaps that's why this world is so stinkingfull of people who think that what's evil is actually benign.
794. It's not funny anymore,that you don't want to be my honey anymore,that it's never gonna be sunny anymore.No, it's not funny anymore,that you're never gonna kiss and hug me anymore.that ...Oh for Christ sake, stop it already!
795. Sorry, I know! That was over the top.Sometimes I just don't know when to stop.I shoulda done as Frost did,who would've immediately tossed it, had he written a poem that’s so obviously a flop.
796. At my age, I try not to look too far into the future,for fear that, at any time, any weakened suture,straining to hold my life together,might pop, tear, or sever,and give me over to Death, that blood-sucking moocher!
797. When the princess kissed the frog on its lips,she felt her heart do three, double skips.And then she fell to the floor,dead as a nail in a door.Yep, that's how they fall sometimes ─ these chips.
798. Today, let's talk about poetry and war,and ask that age old question, "What the hell are they good for."And in one, very loud voice, let us singthat famous refrain ─ "Absolutely nothing!"But let's do that only for war, because everyone’s well aware what poetry's good for.
799. When he sat there watching them cremate his body,he thought their work was a little bit shoddy.He woulda preferredif the fire had been hotter by a third,and if friends had been invited to toast him with a hot toddy.
800. I’m glad you’ve learned to deal with my silly way of thinking,and finally understand that what I say, I say with a laugh and a winking,and that when I make a gaffyou're now able to laugh,instead of praying for my poetic career to be sinking.
<home page> <previous page> <next page> © 2024 Rio Jansen. All rights deserved.

Dog-walking Limericks and other five-line verses 751- 800

Note: Some of these verses lean left. If you lean right (which is completely cool, of course), you may not be totally happy with this site. Back to home page
751. On the 13th day of Christmas
751. On the 13th day of Christmas,my cruel love gave to me a big, fat ol’ whacking,a thunderous shellacking,and a black eye through which I still cannot see.
752. Santa limericks / verses a. What could anyone doif Santa decided he was through ─done bringing those presentsto rich folk and to peasantsand even to me ─ and even to you? b. I can now wholly admit that Santa doesn't exist,although when I first heard it, I was totally pissed.All that parental pretending,and lies never ending.Should I also cross God off my list?
753. When I saw the Grim Reaperpull out his peeperand piss on the fallen mistletoe,I yelled, "Hey Jack!Can't you use the facilities out back?That's what normal people do, you know?
754. I did it again.I had sexual relations with Jen,even after I sworeI wouldn't do it no more,and only have sexual relations with men.
755. The day I turned forty,my kid said, "Oh Lordy,now, you're exactly four times my age.I said, "By this rendition,you’ve proven yourself to be a mean mathematician.Now get back in your cage, before I act out my rage.
756. There once was a little girl from Brussels,who was just a sprout with very small muscles.But when any bully got in her way,she wasn't afraid to say,"Careful, boy! Don’t be the next victim of one of my tussles.”
757. Every day, whether it's nice or bad weather,my dog and I go on a long walk together,which I know he enjoys much more than I,because he gets to sniff every nice thing that comes by,but ─ not I.
758. For everything that's somewhat slender and perpendicular to the ground,as dogs can attest, a fitting purpose has been found.They see these objects of God's and man’s creationas some of the best places for canine urination.And who's to say their reasoning isn't perfectly sound.
759. As I see kids waiting for the school bus,I flash back sixty years to the two of us.Remember in Mr. Parker’s class ─ the secret notes we used to pass?Two kids so deeply in love ─ at eleven plus.
760. Just let her.Don't do anything to upset her,if, as you say, you love her, and all.Let her make her bubbly noise,with her retinue of giggly boys,who make her feel like the belle of the ball.
761. I live in a small, mobile home,about 5600 miles from the outskirts of Rome,about 7200 miles from the waters of the Ganges,and about 5100 miles from Machu Picchu in the peaks of the Andes.It's a nice, cozy little home,where every day, I try to come up with at least one, splinter-new poem.
762. Heaven? What kind of place is that?Let me tell ya, it’s a place where you can get the best sex, tit for tat,where tables are always piled high with savory food, strong drink, and sweet dessert,and everyone can eat and imbibe all they want and never have their head or tummy hurt.And best of all, no one ever has to go to school, or work, or even do a single chore.And all that can be yours for as little as a tithing of 10% ─ and never a penny more!
763. Prufrock limericks / verses a. I said to my dog, "Let us go then, you and I, *while pink wispy clouds traverse the wide azure sky.Oh, do not ask, “Where is it?”Let us go to your favorite flower bed so you can wizz it.And then we’ll stop by the bakery for a fresh piece of crumbly peach pie.” b. The other day, when I was walking by the sun-splashed sea, *I was overcome by a fiery joy and a titillating glee,as, on silvery, green rocks not far from the yellow beach,I heard mermaids singing, each to each,and then they turned ─ and they sang to me.* Play on "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T. S. Eliot.
764. In about a week, I'm going to see my maker,an old Italian guy, who left me with my present caretaker.I need to see him about my nose,because the damn thing just grows and grows.My caretaker says it's because I lie, but I don't know how seriously to take her.
765. Oh, America, land of high romance!There's my dog trying to nose a tossed-out pair of girly underpants,left there in full view,accompanied by a used condom or two.An object lesson for passing school kids, perchance?
766. In a laundromat, I saw someone who obviously didn’t want to be seenfurtively fidgeting next to a giant washing machine.I saw him stamp out a cigarette,then, crawl in and get himself all wet.But when he crawled out, he wasn’t anywheres near clean.
767. I ran into my high school pal, Gus,who used to have a face full of pimples and puss.He was an anathema our school,but I thought he was pretty damn cool,cuz Mary Jane, his mom, would always bake cookies for us.
768. Oh, grab me by my face,and guide it down onto your white, frilly lace.Let me see the whole of your bottom,oh, Hillary Clinton Rodham,and tell me about every potentate who’s come to visit this sacred place.
769. "So glad to be home,"said Betina to her husband, Jerome.“It's the only place where I can dancebraless in my sheer underpants,while a guy sits there watching a YouTube about the nightlife in Rome.”
770. Heraclitus said to himself, "Oh, shucks.I just noticed we live in a world of flux.You can't step twicein the same bucket of ice,or of anything, expect a carbon-copy redux.”
771. Caroline? *Carolex?Carol act?Cowax?Carwax?Karwak?Karowak?Oh, you mean Jack Kerouac!* Some of the closed caption misspellings of Jack Kerouac's name during an Allen Ginsberg interview on YouTube.
772. Me, Myself, and I ran into You, Yourself, and You.We hadn't seen each other for about ─ what? ─ a week or two.You said to Me, "Know what we should do?The six of us should plan on dinner in about a week or two."Me said, "Sure. But let’s make that dinner for five, okay, You?Cuz that week, I’s got some other things I desperately needs to do."
773. What, if for me, this day had never come?What if I’d died back there in that fight in the slum?I woulda never seen yaor been able to come between yaand that snake you were running from.
774. In the mind of an unstudious, would-be poet,real poetry might be swirling around, but he wouldn’t know it,cuz instead of learning, he's always just grasping at straws,and thereby repeating the same old flawsthat makes every other unstudious, would-be poet blow it.
775. My little poem, heaven knows,didn't mean to step on your toes.But if it did,it wants to make up for itby giving you a few little titty shows.
776. Does anyone wanna take care of this wee little poem?Can I get a volunteer to take this little one home?Yes, Emily, she can go home with you.Yes, a few nice words and a little loving kindness should do.And promise to bring her back when she is fully grown?
777. Did you see that poem climax ─in the open like that, those risqué acts ─that girl blowing that sax,and those two guys making the beast with two backs?I'd be surprised if that poem doesn't get the ax!
778. Poet, I know you.I've seen your poster in a classroom or two.And I've heard about how great you are.Even among the greatest, you are the star.But I write poems, too.And I'm so very eager to show the world what I can do.
779. "This verse says much too little in way too many words. Give the reader just the gist by reducing it by at least two-thirds." Those were the teacher's comments as she handed back my poem, and as I was walking dejectedly back to my home, I ripped my masterpiece to pieces ─ and flung my failing words at the birds.
780. My poetry teacher said if you want to achieveyou shouldn’t be afraid to sometimes subtly deceive.Because if you only poetize about the expected,you’ll soon find yourself totally neglected.So dare to include what may be a little hard to believe.
781. I love the idea of a metapoem,one that, late at night, comes knocking on the door of your home,and nearly out of breath, says, "I prayed, and I prayed!I prayed that I wouldn't be too lateto be included in the publication of your latest poetry tome.
782. I'm just one poem among a hundred billion,to be followed, no doubt, by another hundred zillion.But what sets me apartis that I do burp,I do fart,and, moreover, I take it all to heart.
783. This topic is too heavy for light verse ─two guys hijacking an occupied hearse ─then, driving around townwith the f'ing tops down.Can you think of anything much worse?
784. My verse is very simple to learn and a breeze to recite.Just select a few that aren't too erudite.And then even if you're just a little bit smart,you can easily memorize three or four by heart,while you're on the toilet doing your thing tonight.
785. "A hundred times nothing’s still nothing,"my poetry teacher said as in a glass her glass eye she was washing.By which she sarcastically meant, this semester I'd written a lot,but the quality still wasn't anywhere near hot,as I had to jump aside to avoid the water that out of her eye glass came sloshing.
786. I wish I’d thrown you away.You were a poem with precious little to say.But for some reason I kept you,probably because I knew, if I'd swept youunder the rug, that's not where you were gonna stay.
787. I don't know what I’d do,if I couldn't be a fulltime servant to you.If I ever got some free time to rest,or to spend some time with you, halfway undress,it would change my entire perspective of you.
788. What we have to drink shouldn't really matter.Everything goes pretty well with pu pu platter.So yes, that sweet, yellow wine should go with pu pu just fine,and it shouldn't be that taxing on my weak, overactive bladder.
789. My father was lust, and my mother was dust,so it’s from lust and from dust that I came.And if you so think,I'll concede, Mr. Schwink,that this conceit is pretty damn lame.
790. You can smell it from afar ─the residue of a black hole and its imploded star.But only if you have a cosmic nose ─whose olfactory nerve can readily transpose ─the sound of its light ─ into a molten Milky Way bar.
791. Some folks question my science. They say it has an overrelianceon what comes out of a bull.Which, according to them, I use by the bucketsful.Fair enough! I admit in science, I'm not one of the giants.
792. As I reflect on my body's daily decay,I wonder ─ did God really mean to do it this way?Couldn't He have let me reach my life's end ─ whole ─ and entire ─instead of having part after part of me periodically misfire?You say, yes ─ He really meant to do it this way.Okay.
793. On a Romantic Poets tour, when we were overlooking the ruins of Tintern Abbey,I felt a sudden urge to grab the ass of my dearest friend, Gabby.But as the professor continued reading Wordsworth's poem in a sonorous voice,I reckoned mixing high art with my profane thoughts would've been a very poor choice. And so, I fought off my overwhelming urge to get grabby with Gabby,there overlooking the ruins of Tintern Abbey.
794. When I saw what looked like a monster walking my way,I was deathly afraid, I'm not afraid to say.And as he got closer with his eyes fiery red,imagine the horrors that raced through my head.And as he passed me by, all I could think to say was ─ “Have a nice day."
795. Do you write an 8 with two circles or with a squiggly line?Oh, so you had to try it, before you could answer that question of mine.Notice how we habitually do things without thinking.Perhaps that's why this world is so stinkingfull of people who mistake what's evil for what is benign.
796. It's not funny anymore,that you don't want to be my honey anymore,that it's never gonna be sunny anymore.No, it's not funny anymore,that you're never gonna kiss and hug me anymore.that ...Oh for Christ sake, stop it already!
797. Sorry, I know! That was over the top.Sometimes I just don't know when to stop.I shoulda done as Frost did,who would've immediately tossed it, had he written a poem that’s so obviously a flop.
798. At my age, I try not to look too far into the future,for fear that, at any time, any weakened suture,straining to hold my life together,might pop, tear, or sever,and give me over to Death, that blood-sucking moocher!
799. When the princess kissed the frog on its lips,she felt her heart do three double skips.And then she fell to the floor,dead as a nail in a door.Yes, that's how they fall sometimes ─ these chips.
800. Today, let's talk about poetry and war,and ask that age old question, "What the hell are they good for."And in one, very loud voice, let us singthat famous refrain ─ "Absolutely nothing!"But let's do that only for war ─ because everyone’s well aware what poetry's good for.
<home page> <previous page> <next page> © 2024 Rio Jansen. All rights deserved.