You can’t call, text message or page
A man in a metal mesh cage.
I think this might be
Why the whole UFC
Roster’s always in such a great rage.
Friday, 14 December 2012
Sunday, 9 December 2012
Whether royalty, riff raff or rabble
Get sick and you'll cane it at Scrabble.
Jazike, Zarg and Querdze
Are suddenly words
With none of that "challenging" babble.
Thursday, 6 December 2012
Three hundred and sixty-six dates
All mentioned at different rates.
The top one’s the first
While eleven comes worst.
(September’s a special case, blates.)
Wednesday, 5 December 2012
I’m a substance obtained from the goo
From a tree that originally grew
In Old Venezuela
But thanks to some sailor
Now covers south Asia. You’re glue.
Those marvellous marketing chaps
Can show your consumers on maps.
It turns out you’re sellin’
Where people are dwellin’
But scoring a duck in the gaps.
Wednesday, 21 November 2012
Tuesday, 20 November 2012
I go round breaking mirrors for fun
It’s smashing in more ways than one!
When I reflect
On my failures inept
I can blame ’em on bad luck – job done.
Friday, 16 November 2012
A spider-made suit – just my luck
It sounds good, but boy did it suck.
The jacket was wearable
The pants, though, were terrible—
The flies just kept on getting stuck.
Thursday, 15 November 2012
There once was a man in a boat
Who said: “It’s just me and my goat.
How pleasant to swoon
On a hot afternoon
Afloat, with a goat, in my boat.”
Tuesday, 13 November 2012
It’s pretty cool getting to know
How these space up-goers up-go
And if tech makes you queasy,
Relax! It's quite easy —
It’s not rocket science, you... D’oh!
When predicting unlikely events
False positives give an immense
Skew to any data
So best wait till later
Before you get coaxed off the fence.
Monday, 12 November 2012
Poll happiness or poll dejection?
The smallest things have a connection,
But to get miles ahead
With your foe left for dead
You’d do worse than win the election.
A wannabe star in LA
Shamefacedly skipped town one day
And while he would claim
That he’d never sought fame
His cell number gave him away.
Whether living in mansion or hovel
You're probably reading this novel
About a hot chick
Who clicks with a dick
Cause she digs the way he makes her grovel.
Thursday, 8 November 2012
Hasn't XKCD been political lately?
This fixation on US politics has been the reason behind my non-posting. Try as I might, I have nothing to say about the history of the US Senate and/or House of Representatives, whether as a limerick, short story, radio play, graphic novel or anything else.
Instead, I'm hoping you can accept a limerick I've written about the current hot-potato political issue that's got us all abuzz here in Britain. With that out of the way and the blockage cleared, I ought then to be able to catch up with the rest of them before too long. So, take it away Nadine.
There was an MP, Nadine Dorries
Who went to eat grubs in the forest.
Her scheme was hare-brained —
She should have remained
London-bound and got grubby with Boris.
Friday, 26 October 2012
The zero-five hurricane season
Just went on and on for no reason.
Epsilon and zeta,
Expected to peter
Out, had some fun getting their tease on.
Wednesday, 24 October 2012
When gazing past Milky Way stars
Or glancing behind you in cars
That object in view
May be Neptuney blue
Though it seems to be redder than Mars.
A bod with a light social touch
Will not think of drama that much
While people who hate it
And constantly state it
Create more than Starsky and Hutch.
Bod? What's another one-syllable unisex word for a person?
Friday, 19 October 2012
Long ago, in the dark void ethereal
A material quite magisterial
Squeak-popped into view—
It all comes from H2,
From CDs to sea hawks to cereal.
Wednesday, 17 October 2012
In a move reminiscent of Motson
Today’s pundits come up with lots’n
Lots of cute unbroken
Streaks, but by that token
They’re rather less Holmes and more Watson.
Monday, 15 October 2012
A poem’s a pert piece of cake
That’s ever so much fun to make.
They always taste better for
Sprinklings of metaphor—
Give that salt cellar a shake!
Wednesday, 10 October 2012
My wind turbine powers a fan
Which blows a ball into a can
Which sets off a switch
For a solar lamp, which
I’m using to top up my tan.
When Microsoft got big and scary
We squashed them before things got hairy.
But while they were flat
All these others grew fat —
We could stand to be slightly more wary.
There once was a man from Shanghai
Who owned forty per cent of the sky.
His friends’ good intention
Was never to mention
That it ain’t a thing you can buy.
I drive to the city some nights
And park up to look at the lights.
Red, amber and green:
What on earth might they mean?
But the sight of them always delights.
Wednesday, 3 October 2012
Antimony! What does it do?
Antimony! Don't have a clue.
Know no use for Sb
And we're betting that neither do you.
I studied chemistry up to the age of 18, and I'm pretty sure that no teacher, textbook or exam paper I encountered ever mentioned antimony even once, except just to sit there like astatine, taking up another space in the periodic table that could have been used for adamantium.
Friday, 28 September 2012
I am taking a short break, staying with my friend Tidyup in the land of Doasyouretold. I will be back and posting webcomic/limerick fun in the middle of next week, but until then, remember to Eat Your Greens, Wash Your Face, and most importantly, Don't Do That.
Wednesday, 26 September 2012
There was a cop from Cambridgeshire
With one day to go to retire.
It ended v badly,
As later was sadly
Reported by George Alagiah.
Tuesday, 25 September 2012
The logic in which you take pride
Is not an infallible guide.
It's rarely enough
Cause you need to know stuff
Before you can rightly decide.
There once was a man from Bolivia
Who cared not for flim-flam or trivia
He'd only one thought:
Earth's eventual mort
That sensible man from Bolivia.
Thursday, 20 September 2012
Any print comic you care to name
Is limited by its own frame
But webcomics ain’t
Subject to that constraint;
I wish limericks could do the same, but they are governed by quite rigid rules about line length, scantion and rhyme scheme which can’t really be broken without compromising the integrity of the piece. If you want an impossibly tall tower, or a balloon ride, or a warren of underground tunnels, you can't just extend the format to include them - you either have to find a way to work them into the syllables available, or leave it for another time. If I had the space, I could write about rainbows playing hide and seek in the spray from waterfalls tumbling into forest pools, or playful mole-eating kobolds tapping secrets into your dreams by night. I could zoom out to reveal a beachy shoreline stretching hundreds of miles in one direction, and mysterious crags disappearing away in the other, and every cave would be home to sad, pale, blinking eyes, and every grain of sand would be the key to another universe. Inland, people would be working and talking and playing and relaxing and arguing and making up again, all those things that people do, and some of them would write their own poetry too, each of which could be as endless as mine around them, and richer and more full of delights, and some would actually rhyme properly and contain original metaphors. And as the seasons changed and the world spun around, the limerick would go on and on and on, turning corners and throwing up bumps in the road and bursting out into splashes of colour at the most unexpected times. But I can't do any of that - or at least not all at once. I recognise the limitations of my chosen form, on paper, online, or anywhere, and they must be observed. Sometimes the best that can be hoped is to raise a single half-smile, sometimes there might be more, sometimes an idea might crystallise and stay in your head for some while. Sometimes the poem will be forgotten as soon as it's read, or not even finished. The writer's job is to make a virtue of constraint, just as the artist uses the picture frame as an essential part of the composition. But it's only natural to yearn, occasionally, to step outside the frame and frolic in the fields beyond.
Tuesday, 18 September 2012
At midnight, a goblin armada
Creeps silently into my larder
To turn food once delicious
To dangerous dishes
That would scare Don Alonso Quesada.
The “literally” misuse brigade
Must be met head on, fought and allayed
Or else just ignore ’em
And keep your decorum
For all the attention you’re paid.
Friday, 14 September 2012
At any time of the sports year
I can wear the right shirt, and drink beer
But it's all just a token
The spell will be broken
The second I'm spoken to, dear.
This one's written very much in character - I love sport, dear. And I know loads about it, honey pie.
Monday, 10 September 2012
All those things I was meaning to do
Slipped my grip, caught the wind and then flew.
I watch them disappear
In the ionosphere
Like balloons of He or H2.
Novelty hydrogen balloons are for those of us who live in alternate reality, "steampunk" type universes. Philip Pullman and all that.
Sunday, 9 September 2012
Any caper you care to devise
With a car reg of just 1s and Is
Is a futile endeavour
For though it seems clever
It's really not ever so wise.
Wednesday, 5 September 2012
Monday, 3 September 2012
Whether fitness fanatic or glutton,
Neglect not your number 9 button.
Take one second away
On your micro-display
And --ping!-- poor 9 won't be forgotten.
Saturday, 1 September 2012
Your religion’s the world’s fastest growing?
That’s got to be something worth knowing.
Hang on – it sounds ample
But how big’s the sample?
Excuse me, I’ve got to be going.
Wednesday, 29 August 2012
A “sex party” sounds pretty sketchy;
“Sex tarp” might make mademoiselles retchy.
But either way, you’d
Best prepare for a rude
Rebuff. Really! So crude! And so lechy!
Could be an unlucky comic for all you binary fans out there.
Without coming over as snooty,
How daft is American footy?
A quarterback will
Need a measure of skill
But the linemen just need a big booty.
Nothing to do with the comic, dismissive of a much-loved sport, and the dreaded eye-rhyme as well. And two days late. Ugh!
Friday, 24 August 2012
There once was a young man from Mecca
Who met a one-year-old woodpecker.
But something was lacking:
A card, shiny packing
And --gasp!-- a deluxe Black and Decker.
Wednesday, 22 August 2012
These star ratings’ benchmark is four:
An excellent product scores more.
Below four: Don’t bother.
Full marks: The guy’s mother has recently stopped by the store.
Tuesday, 21 August 2012
While being sucked into the jet
Yvette became struck with regret.
All that stress and alarm
For a rash on her arm
Which was hardly a comparable threat.
If a substance has been sent for testing
I hope I'm not rude in suggesting
You ought to disclose
What the test process shows
Before I do any ingesting.
Monday, 20 August 2012
I applied for a job. Being grilled,
My case sucked the guy in and spilled
Him in my chair. When he
Tried the same thing on me,
I said, “Sorry, that opening’s been filled!”
Not a comic that lent itself well to the limerick form. Still, only three behind now!