Limericks are an old and great tradition. They're fun and they stick in your head - surely that's what they're designed to do. The recipe is that they are five lines long with lines 1, 2 and 5 rhyming with each other. Lines 3 and 4 also rhyme with each other. They have a distinct rhythm with lines 1, 2 and 5 having 3 beats and lines 3-4 having two. If the rhythm is wrong it can throw the whole thing out as you read it in your head. The last line usually has a twist or element of humour. Sound easy? Well we did struggle a bit but we had a lot of fun and some came out a treat. The following limericks were written in less than an hour. Not bad going team!
An old man from the North Pole called Dick
Whose beard grew incredibly thick
Announced with a sigh
'I do not reply
To letters addressed to Saint Nick'.
There was a grey donkey from Fyffe
Who had led a very hard life
Working each day
He ne'er ran away
And yet he still went under the knife
There was an old man called Trump.
Who shook the world with a bump.
His approach was so bad,
that he became just a fad
In the end he went down with a thump
In life we all need a hand
All I wanted was to be in a band
With the biggest hit, just a little bit hip
Promptly went off with a bang.
There was a sly dog from Rassia
Who became known as the flasher.
With a name like Putin, he should be Put-in the bin.
Not romp around as the smasher.
While he was living in Dunedin
A man ate food from a bin
He said, 'This food is yuck'
'But it saved me a buck'
So he could afford a bottle of gin.
He was known as Uncle Sam
He ate chops made of lamb
Though he like the taste
With chilli paste
He said it tasted like Spam.
An old woman named Jelly
Wore large necklaces around her belly
She'd pull faces to make folks laugh
And she slept some nights in the bath
Wellington's on, she danced well, yea!
There was a young farmer from Portobello
Who painted his flock bright yellow
He took them to town
Which made the police frown
He certainly was a strange fellow.
There was a young man from St Kilda
Who hired a very poor builder
He fell off the roof
On top of the youth
Who was lucky he had not killed her.
This blog features creative writing by people from Artsenta, an art studio based in Dunedin, New Zealand. The work presented is by a mix of writers and often posted immediately following our weekly writing session. Artsenta is a creative space for people who are receiving support for their mental health. We believe that creative expression is an essential part of every person's well-being. For more information on Artsenta please visit www.artsenta.org.
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