Fending off the Grammar Police…
Our language gets little, if any, respect
Its spelling and grammar we often neglect
And when we’re accused
Of “language abused”
We counter, “Politickly your, incorect”!
© 2014 David E. Miller
Archives
All posts for the month June, 2014
At the World Cup…
It’s clear to most needy Brazilians
That shanties are not like pavilions
A shanty’s forever
Pavilions are never
Intended to last–but cost millions!
© 2014 David E. Miller
Photo by David E. Miller
Piggy Poo. A five-part limerick…
One day, as we passed a tall mound
Sweet Flora, my wife, looked around
To see what foul smell
Had made her nose swell…
The answer I readily found!
“Just look at that heap, Flora. You’re
Undoubtedly smelling manure!
The pig farm nearby
Maintains a clean sty.
But this is disgusting for sure!”
Whined Flora, “Then what shall we do?
I don’t want to smell piggy poo!
I won’t pinch my nose
And do not suppose
That our daily walks are now through!”
With shovels we vowed to return
And do the old shire a good turn
By hauling away
This fecal display…
Next day, though, we watched the mound burn!
So now when we feel a bit stiff
We walk without fear of the whiff
That caused my sweet rose
To claim, “I’ve a nose
No mastiff can hope to outsniff.”
© 2014 David E. Miller
Spotting a fraud…
Suspecting a “spotless and saintly” Dalmatian
Of shameless assault on a virgin Alsatian
A shrewd German shepherd
So doggedly peppered
Dal’s image with filth that he begged for salvation
© 2014 David E. Miller
A waisted voice…
The orphans all claimed that the beadle
Was thin as a tweed knitter’s needle
The waistcoat he wore
Was so tight they swore
It made his gruff voice toodle-tweedle
© 2014 David E. Miller
(Photo by David E. Miller)
You can’t cheat Fate. A six-part limerick…
Adrift in the Bramidae Sea
Astoker, a ship escapee
Knew life would be brief
For on Pomfret Reef
He soon would be human debris
Astoker escaped from the ship
Before it was in the storm’s grip
But most of the slaves
Confronted the waves
In hopes of surviving the trip
The Borgo was fragile, in fact…
The high waves impacted, then cracked
The hull of the ship
With watery whip
And left little time to react
A handful of slaves braved the sea
(Their feet were unshackled and free)
And in the sea found
(Since all but one drowned)
That Fate is a hard thing to flee
Astoker, though, managed to live
By slipping through Fate’s mortal sieve
But soon he’d be borne
By waves to be torn
To shreds on a Bramidae shiv
The reef, like a razor, would halt
His drifting; in jagged basalt
His body would thresh
About till his flesh
Succumbed to Fate’s final assault
© 2014 David E. Miller
Smooth sailing…
A sailor, one night, around three
Awoke with a need to go pee
The urge was quite strong
But did not last long
He fell back asleep in the sea
© 2014 David E. Miller
Eye Spy…
A spy on the run thought it wise
To purchase a facial disguise…
“Those eyes? We import ’em
’Cause spies can afford ’em.”
(Of course, a few spies cussed ’em eyes!)
© 2014 David E. Miller
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