A limerick challenge was waiting

for rhyme (without rhythm abating).

Words plopped into place

to marry the pace

while humor got stuck in the grating.

I needed a way to unstick it

(that laugh that was lodged in the thicket

of whirl-minded word,

soon written absurd)

before all the Prosers would picket!

Just then, in a moment inspiring

my fingers fair flew with desiring

the ditty below

for gauntlet to throw

(and get all our cylinders firing).

The Limerick

There once was a poet so dandy

who lived on a beach long and sandy

the problem so sad

that this poet had

was that he was not very handy.

He often would burn his potatoes

when cooking. To can his tomatoes,

he took on a chef

(with moniker “Jeff”)

who promptly flew off to Barbados.

When it came to cleaning or mopping,

the poet would spend his time chopping

up words to apply

(in hopes they would dry)

as cover for dust-bunny droppings.

He’d stumble in haphazard fashion

while trying to live out his passion

of life by the sea;

Alas! Woe was he!

He never fared well on sea-rations!

The moral; if one finds it needed,

is happiness might be impeded,

without and within,

but chin up your chin,

when life hands you limericks screeded!