That’s not a cultist
On the thorns of a shrub in his backyard, a Texas man finds the severed head of a baby bird, beetles and a decapitated lizard.
Meanwhile, a UK-domain reader writes:
Stones taught me to fly. Love taught me to lie. Life taught me to die. But it’s not hard to fall when you float like a cannonball.
Very nice, and easily reshaped into a limerick:
Stones taught me to fly.
Love taught me to lie.
But it’s not hard to fall
when you float like a cannonball.
Life taught me to die.
There.
alison wrote:
That is not a limerick. Even I can tell it doesn’t scan. It is beautiful and sad, but that’s just more reasons why it’s not a limerick. There’s more to a limerick than its rhyme scheme. Sorry to be nit-picky, it’s a beautiful poems, I just have some axes to grind.
Posted 07 Jun 2020 at 3:59 pm ¶
Zed wrote:
There once was a pedant named Holly.
Correctness made her quite jolly.
She said “Oh how it sticks
When I see ‘limericks’
Failing criteria! Golly!”
Hmmm. Saw the comment by email and noticed only ‘hollyhedgehog’ as Alison’s email address, not ‘Alison’ as her name, and this arose in my head before I ever actually looked at the comment via the web and saw ‘Alison.’ But screw it, I typed it and I’m posting it.
Posted 08 Jun 2020 at 9:05 am ¶
Anonymous wrote:
Now, that’s more like a limerick! But whatever happened to the man from Nantucket?
Posted 08 Jun 2020 at 12:33 pm ¶
Kat wrote:
He kept all his cash in a bucket.
But his daughter named Nan
Ran away with a man,
And as for the bucket? Nantucket.
(only mildly entertaining, but the cleanest one I know)
Posted 13 Jun 2020 at 7:19 am ¶