Four words? That’s a challenge worth meeting;
some poets could take a hard beating.
To jibe with that rule
makes them feel like a fool,
as they search for a sound worth repeating.
A limerick two-fer, perfected,
after all of the rhymes are inspected
at the end of each word,
doesn’t seem so absurd;
it just needs all my wits, well-collected.
It’s absurd to think that I’ve perfected
This limerical art. When inspected,
My rhymes do not jibe,
Unless readers I bribe.
Meeting critics, I’m always rejected!
Wow, Zella! All four in one verse?
I’d taken too long to rehearse;
the critics will pan me,
the censors will ban me,
and bribing them might make it worse!
I find myself caught in duality:
Rhyme and scansion take on practicality.
My limericks make cens
Or else their defense
Is their rhyme-- no excuse for banality!
…Oh, wait. We lost search and wits, didn’t we. Color me boggled.
I think I’ve arrived here too late.
Shall the censors deem to set me straight?
Is this a challenge worth “taken”
Or am I mistaken
Or set to be incarcerate?
Ahem.
Oh Zella, I’m sorry to see
Of our posting times’s duality
We’ve both got good rhyme
But when at the same time
You tower in height over me.
Five-foot-eight is a rather poor tower,
But with praises your scansion I’ll shower.
Height won’t do the trick
For a good limerick:
It’s insanity gives you the power!
For eight or nine hours I’ve strained;
this contest is frying my brain.
Is it poetic vanity
or merely insanity?
My talents have gone down the drain!
My mother likes baking and frying
But I find the gourmet to be trying
I just simply can’t cook
With or without a book
My talents are stealing and lying.
A short-order cook used to say,
“The bums think my food is gourmet–
franks with or without
a fresh scoop of kraut
beat a fancy French meal any day!”
Ah! Temptation in wait for me lies:
At McDonald’s, with tasty French fries,
Or the place of my dreams
Serving scoops of ice creams
Made there fresh – I’m ballooning in size!
“A dream of ballooning”, claimed Freud,
“hints at climactic pleasures enjoyed.”
But his theory’s sunk,
claim those who debunk;
are they jealous, or simply annoyed?
Many think I a lunatic be
For me dreams are all balloonacy
I’d pay many doubloons
For to have me balloons
For ballooning** on Pirate’s Day, matey!
A pirate named Bad Peg-Leg Mikey
Was playing (that’s good for your psyche.)
But only a lunatic
Gives a balloon a kick–
Those peg-legged splinters are spiky!
(Yarrr.)
'Tis joy of a level climactic
With zest that is truly piratic
To leave rivals jealous,
Impress all the fellas,
With rhyming fanatic (lunatic)?
Man, this coding is a bitch! :eek:
Ah, Zella – we post head to head
Simulpost once again in this thread
But without more ado
I shall leave it to you
To rhyme next. Me? I’m headed to bed. 
The zest with which we approach rhyming
Has no rivals-- our problem’s our timing.
We must get a leg on,
To help us to egg on
Our psyche-- or else take up miming.
Once again I have egg on my face.
It’s time for me to leave this place
If I simulpost again
I won’t be welcomed in
I must go to bed while still in good grace.
Hey, Lisa, no worries: I too
Have a face full of simulpost goo.
No more posts for tonight,
Not again 'til morn’s light.
So with grace I’ll retire. Toodleloo!
A new face among us is Zella
Who seems like a jolly good fella
She worries: “Did I
Post too quick on the fly?”
As the hurricane pounds her umbrella.