There once was a man with a thought,
Who felt pretty sure that he ought,
To know whence he came,
And the source of his name,
And the place where his genome was wrought.
Whilst collecting some Monopoly rent,
A chap of philosophical bent,
Was thinking about money,
And how it was funny,
That it came then immediately went!
When he needed to trim all his hedges,
Or straighten his ragged lawn edges,
He’d search for his tools,
On the hooks on the walls,
And all over the garden shed ledges.
Stuck again in a jam on the M25,
Reviewing my earlier decision to drive,
At least on a train,
Or sat on a plane,
I’d know at what time I was due to arrive.
It started out simply as a dripping bath tap,
It would have been fine but a clumsy old chap,
Made a makeshift repair,
Which engendered despair,
With the size of the flood from his plumbing mishap!
There once was a stick man from Surrey,
Who often would fret and would worry,
About what he should eat,
About what type of meat,
He should choose when he ordered his curry!
I wonder if fishes ever get upset?
I wonder if they even know they’re wet?
Yet they swim all day,
Staying well away,
From my rod & tackle and my landing net!
They started proceedings with a timid “I do”,
Gave their full names and then made promises too,
Then they each gave a ring,
She remembered to bring,
Something old, something new and things borrowed and blue.
Should we stay or should we go?
The problem was he didn’t know
Which side to trust,
But vote he must,
So he chose to keep the status-quo !
Drifting skywards from the lamp-lit street below,
A whispering and blue ephemeral echo,
A beautiful sound,
That swirls around,
And resolves at last to a saxophone solo.
We always sung “to plough the fields and scatter”,
But nowadays it’s a very different matter,
We sow our fields with great finesse,
Guided quite precisely by the GPS,
Doing what it seems to take to make the harvest fatter!
They sang the anthem with all their might,
Dressed in robes, they were quite a sight,
As the words of the rhyme,
And the harmonies sublime,
Made the spirits of the audience soar in flight.
What are you thinking this cold Christmas night?
Does the future you’re facing seem stormy or bright?
Is the Bethlehem tale,
Full of wonder – or stale?
Was that star just a comet, or a portent of light?
Whilst driving his car along the busy main road,
As forecast the weather first rained then it snowed,
His wheels became stuck,
In the slush and the muck,
And now he’s sat waiting for his turn to be towed!
He used to commute for hours every day,
Along a busy and congested motorway,
So he changed his career,
Took a job that was near,
To have time to consider his drop in pay!
Its taste is sought by gourmand devotees,
Its aroma can be pungent upon the breeze,
It is better when ripe,
Whatever the type,
It’s round, it is square, it is of course cheese.
Maundy Thursday for some marks the end of Lent,
Forty odd days that many people have spent,
Missing things they desire,
Hoping that will inspire,
Their faith in the God of the New Testament.
Whilst having a bit of a laugh,
he wore an extremely long scarf,
Which then made him fall,
And look very un-cool,
In a candidly shot photograph.
A cyclist from London pedalled on until,
He finally reached the brow of the hill,
Then he free-wheeled down,
To a pub in the town,
Where he stopped and is said to be drinking there still.
There once was a man who decided he would,
Eat more of his greens and less of his pud.
So he ate lots of kale,
But then started to fail,
As the smell and the taste of dessert was so good.
You start with a plain sheet of uncrumpled A4,
Make the first fold and then make some more,
Then an awkward tuck,
And with a bit of luck,
You have the paper boat you’ve been aiming for.
“I do find the cousins a most peculiar bunch …”
“But they did just feed us a very nice lunch …”
“I had the ham …”
“I went for lamb …
… and I simply adored the gin and rum punch !”
There was a catastrophe unforeseen,
No jam in a jar where jam had been,
Nothing to spread,
On slices of bread,
Hence the “Great Jam Crisis of Twenty Seventeen” !
There once was a man whose twin boys,
Had a collection of musical toys,
He was tempted to play,
On their ukulele,
And so made a cacophonous noise.
Other rhymes not in the (approximate) form of limericks available at musing75.wordpress.com/rhymes