Limericks Part 6 - We Get
a Little Dinghy
The great FlagCaptain Commander Ted,
Would always keep two hats at his bed,
'Cause with no advance sight,
Of just what jim would write,
He knew not which to put on his head.
There once was an Ottoman Pasha
Who mourned the loss of his pasta
and beans and beefsteak
and strawberries and cake
he hopes the situation won't last'a!
There once was a Fox nicknamed "Blue,"
Who wanted a story, that's true,
Went aboard for a meal,
Then accepted a deal,
But what's next (s)he hasn't a clue!
There once was a writer named Jim
who had an incredible whim
to sail the ocean blue
with Letters' fearless crew
now he bails to keep Strassburg's trim!
It is true that I have been away
no Letterstime or other games to play
but still I read the fictive posts
of jim, and EJ and the other hosts
it's still the best way to waste the day!
Far worse than death and taxes
and outbreaks of nasty Anthraxes
I fear most of all
the scary siren call
the contagion of horrible limerickses!
I am honored... by the tributes paid by WB and Colleen. No greater love
hath a man (or woman) for his brother (or sister) than he (or she) cast
down his (or her) taste with the writing of Limericks.
It is great, I can say
having been long away
to be feted with verse
and not with a curse
these tributes I can never repay
Oh, if it's a limerick you want ...
You asked for it! I remember a certain bit someone once said he'd write
Kronprinz Wilhelm, with much coal burned,
Managed not to get interned,
This raider of sorts,
Reached friendly ports,
Though how she did it, we never learned.
There was a ship named Kronprinz Bill
whose captain decided to have a big thrill
with cunning so bold
in a ship that was old
he nonetheless went for the kill
The British were no match, no how
for the KW smashed them with her bow
the Navy officers all shun
the use of KW's gun
and KW rammed with her prow
This ramming continued hell-bent
till KW's bow was almost rent
she would have rushed to the States
given the condition of her plates
but then a message from Deutschland was sent
"Come Back!" yelled the Deutsches Marine-Amt
"ve haf a mission fur sich so very prompt!"
so poor KW turned to port
though fuel was very short
and northward drove her captain, von Stampt
Though ice was very near
and in visibility, not at all clear
proceeded Kronprinz Bill
her crew at constant drill
driven on by thought of Hamburg bier
The Royal Navy, by all rights
should have had KW in their sights
but this was Letterstime
and reality warn't worth a dime
and KW continued, days and nights
'Twas off the coast of Norway, cold
when this great Hunnish liner, bold
finally met the British foe
who was only an AMC, woe
to the British, who were rammed, I'm told
In that black and endless Arctic night
the terrible, awful heart-rending sight
of British sailors swimming
and lives and hopes a-dimming
caused our von Stampt to stay the fight
And so laden with German and British
the KW sailed to lands quite Hunnish
and once off Helgoland Bight
her crew realized with great delight
that home was near, and their trip at a finish
So in triumph did old Kronprinz Bill
with sirens and horns all a-shrill
proceed on to Stettin
there a dry-dock to get in
so to be readied for more British to kill
I read your saga quite agog,
Expecting escapes in deep fog,
But that ramming and sinking,
Where the ice is all clinking,
Makes me think you've been hitting the grog!
Guns, drop ten and fire for effect!
The Captain of the Great Benbow
Watched in disgust as the jimericks did grow.
Across the mighty North Sea,
they sickened another Kapitan zur See.
In a rare Olive Branch of Peace,
they agreed the jimericks must cease.
To save the world from a dire fate,
overrun by jimericks, none too great,
they lounged on the long quarterdeck
in deck chairs stolen by Marine Captain Beck
The circumastances were dire
As the artillery did fire.
To meet the impending disaster,
required the skills of a master.
The talents of the Great Baron they sought,
and more ammunition they bought.
"To the shores of New York City!
To save the world from jimericks pity.
Work together you must,
It is no problem, I trust."
Their disgust of jimericks was so great,
it replaced Anglo-German hate.
So the dreadnoughts did steam,
to the land of milk and cream.
On their arrival they found,
that jimericks and puns abound.
Strange characters did populate the land,
mass confusion was at hand.
Somewhere out there was a drinking man,
with a nice cellar on the von der Tann.
The good Kommodore wished his master,
would come hither ever faster.
The great Hadi, another golden avatar
exclaimed the dining above par!
While mourning no personal jimerick,
another strawberry he did lick.
The majestic Irish Countess,
killing English her ques'
And some Americans with worried hands
wished no massacre off their lands
and bade farewell to the German mess
The jimericks were brewing Gotterdammerung,
on tenterhooks, all the readers were hung.
All the foul jimericks were spun,
and men prepared for battle begun.
Lord, said the master of the good ship Benbow
there's no point in sending the shells off to go.
The jimericks were here to stay,
many seem to like it that way.
Jimericks are now a part of reality
though not their author's sanity.
So back across the ocean they sail.
-Captain Lord Herrick
On Markgraf, the sailors fill many a pail.
To await the coming storm
we wish Jim would form!
How can I put this, Captain my Lord?
your poetry amazes, I fall on my sword
the rhyming is thorny
the verse so complexed
even I admit that I'm sore vexed
Please keep it up, Hoya
your verse and your fire
keep drawing the Prussians into new ire
they cannot with pen their friends so inspire
so keep it up, Robert, my friend and my boy-a!
Hoya? What is that anyway?
Apologies, my Lord, for my heretical
assertion that your education was Jesuitical
but your grasp of poetic rhyming
and your good sense of timing
made me think your education was critical
Gee, jim, it was only a Limerick . . .
Methinks you take your fiction serious
and sometimes act a tad imperious
my goal was only to poke some fun
at my failure to write the prose I should have done
my task here was to pen verse a bit impious
It's true, I will not cavil now
that Kronprinz Bill would protect her prow
for Deutschland and Schnitzel lay in sight
across the stormy Helgoland Bight
a welcome refuge from the gale, and how
It was never my intention, it must be seen
to inhibit the ships of the Kaiserliches Marine
whether liner or warship, you must agree
they all seem fit when they're at sea
and always for "Brit kill rings," so very keen
Now "seen" and "Marine" don't really rhyme
but I have to work and don't have the time
to worry of such things and all lit'rary matter
I have things to do and folks with whom to natter
so I'll cease my "poetry," lest I'm accused of a crime!
My offer to the Pasha, however, still stands
a transport away from innards and glands
and other such Hunnish food as he might
be forced to eat, not to his delight
to my table, where sits, "Roast Beef of Old England's"
Impious, not imperious
Once there was an oil-fired cap"tun,"
Who did not want his fleet to run,
Whose shells at foot-plus-quarter,
Satisfied even Porter,
Who held that the Brits should have won.
Whose kilted gunner spouted zeal,
Eager to bring the Hun to heel,
And 'twere fourteen guns just astern,
As one of Hanzik's soon would learn,
With many impacts of British steel.
So bitter was that LA Dave,
When turning north he could just wave,
He shook his fists,
At fog and mists,
When Lord Jellicoe's nerve did "cave."
Dave thinks things now really bite,
Anchored there with new Warspite,
Do shots fired West,
Call for Brit's best,
To steam now to the battle site?
Perhaps it depends on what Lords know,
If they should stay, or if they should go.
Will Letters sortie from the Bight?
Challenging Grand Fleet to a fight,
With what then is left in Scapa Flow?
Far be it for me, dear sir jim
to question your enduring hymn
to Prussian superiority
over British inferiority
I hope that I am soon forgiv'n
Your Baron Letters, scar-faced and grim
I'd just as soon not meet that evil Hun, him
whether in street or harbor dark
given the chance, he'd make his mark,
leaving my ship quite all out of trim
Even worse is the Duchess' male alter-ego
that Bavarian dandy, Prinzregent Luitpold's young CO
he takes sport in killing,
British dead are so thrilling
just thinking of him sets my poor knees a-quiver so
But still we serve, we who but anchor and wait
upon the events off yonder Long Island strait
we can but try to rhyme,
and bide our quiet time
'til battle calls us hither, whether sooner or late
For the Pasha, a Poem
Pasha, my Pasha, of you have I sung
you that keeps me in stitches, with posts all in fun
if only, dear Pasha, you would switch sides just once
and make the Prussians, those Huns, now the dunce
I would give you a dreadnought, nay, more than just one
Now my dear Pasha, imprisoned as you are
on the daempfer Imperator, a floating bazaar
forced to eat evil wurst
and pigs knuckles, even worse
how can we free you, my dear Turkish tar?
I have it, my Turk, a solution so fine
that jim should've thought of it, had he only the time
Nik will take his transporter, lately of fame
and will transport you thither, yes with the same,
to H.M.S. Queen Elizabeth, where with me you'll dine!
So we'll both raise a glass (mine of wine and yours of tea)
to the confusion of our enemies, on land and at sea
for you, dear Pasha, are destined, it's quite clear
to be a great sea warrior, see, d'ye hear?
and together we'll vanquish Kaiser Bill and Admiral T
There once was a pasha so grand,
His sultan sent him off to a foreign land.
Now he's on a liner
(A great floating diner)
The guest of a bold German band.
Hail to the Pasha ...
Hadi Pasha, that Captain Great,
Boasts appetites no cook can sate,
Lamb and fowl and inch-thick steaks,
Pies and crisps and well-iced cakes,
Are not enough, at any weight.
Nor is it rolls, nor roasts, nor wings,
Nor anything the baker brings,
Not brew, not wine,
Not brandy fine,
What he wants is Brit kill rings.
And a Haiku, too!
In time of falling leaves,
Noble Turk Lord longs to hear,
Sounds of sinking ships.
(Perhaps I should be specific as to which kind...)
A-ha, hmmm, a new form of art to mangle, jimku!
First, though, a serious attempt. Just to show I really can do one when
I put my mind to it:
Wakes churn white the sea,
As the sun daubs red the sky,
And guns soon the waves.
Ok, enough "real" Haiku, switching to jimku:
Patey's crews look West,
And so do Hanzik's gunners,
With wet paint brushes.
Hmmm, how about ....
Buffet tables groan,
With offerings for Hadi,
As do jim's readers.