Leaping Limb Rick

This is another poem written for a Pub Poets' open mic night, this time on the theme "leaping limericks". Clearly, the structure should comprise one or more limericks but what should be the subject? Hmm.. 

Leaping Limb Rick

A man who failed trying a back flip
Accidentally learned an odd gym trick.
By compressing his thighs
Thirty feet he could rise.
He adopted the name Leaping Limb Rick.

The heights he could reach were a thrill
In practising, hours he’d kill,
But Rick had a thought
And decided he ought
Not to waste his incredible skill.

“Be a burglar,” his mate Tommy said,
“and you’ll never be short of some bread.
Ignore the back door
And all the ground floor
You can enter the skylight instead.”

Rick didn’t like Tommy’s idea
as he thought it was too cavalier –
But before he could flout it,
his buddy passed out - it
was likely the excessive beer.

Perhaps he’d stop those on the rob
Like Batman he’d be a heart-throb
But try as he might, a
High jumping crime fighter
Would not be an e-ffective job

When he worked as a courier he found
His leaping increased with each bound
And as he grew stronger
Jumped higher and longer
Leaping Limb-Rick became quite renowned.

He entered the summer Olympics
the high and long jumps, were the basics
But he jumped far too high
To the clouds in the sky.
The plane end became Leaping Limb Rick’s.

Avon Calling

Whilst I appreciate the heritage of William Shakespeare, it would take some time to actually read his books. It's a question of priorities, and I'll let you ascertain if deciphering the Bard's language is likely to be (or not to be) a worthwhile calling for me. This collection of limericks may help if you're still unsure of my decision despite this introduction....


Avon Calling

I find it incredibly hard –
enjoying the works of the Bard.
No matter the sonnet,
won’t waste my time on it;
his plays held in high disregard.

Perhaps it’s the archaic style
that makes reading Shakespeare a trial.
I don’t have the leaning
to work out the meaning.
I leave his books closed with a smile.

If you like him then bully for you.
(I understand some people do.)
You have my respect
for your deep intellect
with all of those books to go through.

Convince me to follow your lead?
Don’t bother as I won’t concede
‘cause I’d find it silly
to spend time on Billy
with so much else out there to read.

A Burns Limerick (and Triolet)

Burns' Limerick

A date for which each Scotsman yearns:
Is it lost in the nation's concerns?
There's no need to worry
as fried haggis curry
can bring back the mem'ry of Burns.

Burns' Triolet

Burns’ Night comes but once a year,
the haggis and the pipes come oot,
Auld Lang Syne and tartan gear.
Burns’ Night comes but once a year,
wee sleekit tim’rous atmosphere,
address the lassies thereaboot.
Burns’ Night comes but once a year
The haggis and the pipes come oot.

Limericks for Halloween

Here we have five independent limericks on a theme of Halloween. They don't have individual titles (does anyone title limericks?) so... Well that's it, really.

 Limericks for Halloween

When that knock makes you open the door,
You’ll see witches and ghosties galore.
With the end of October
You’ll doubt that you’re sober
As Hallowe’en’s come round once more.


It’s late and the graveyard is still.
Do the backs of your arms feel that chill?
Now the witching hour’s near
There’s that frisson of fear:
Makes you think of that phrase – Time to kill…


Bolt your doors as the werewolves run free.
Shade your windows so vampires can’t see.
Do not heed “Trick or Treat”
As they crave human meat
And, besides, it leaves more food for me…


The zombies are walking tonight.
Slack-jawed, they are out for a bite.
In dozens they number,
In dozens they lumber,
Fast food is beyond them. All right?


A vampire with teeth made of wood
Wondered how it was, his dentist could
Choose to make them from balsa
Which made them look falser –
Continually* stained from the blood.

(* N.B. read Continually as four syllables – i.e. con-tin-yull-y)

The Trug Thief

I wasn't very happy last Tuesday when I discovered that someone had been in my garden and stolen the trugs I use when I'm weeding and pruning. Why, I don't know; they are not worth selling on, and the plastic is ripped on a couple. 

One of my friends suggested I write a poem, probably in jest. I thought the challenge was worth a limerick.

The Trug Thief

There once was a tea-leaf in Marton
Who nicked all the trugs from my garden
I hope that their fingers
Go green and it lingers
Until they sprout leaves and then harden.