Limericks Poem by Michael Burch

The Cosmological Constant
by Michael R. Burch

Einstein, the frizzy-haired,
proved E equals MC squared;
thus ALL mass decreases
as activity ceases?
Not my mass, my ass declared!



Ass-tronomical
by Michael R. Burch

Relativity, the theorists' creed,
says mass increases with speed.
My (m) ass grows when I sit it.
Mr. Einstein, get with it;
equate its deflation, I plead!



Relative to Whom?
by Michael R. Burch

Einstein's theory, incredibly silly,
says a relative grows, willy-nilly,
at speeds close to light.
Well, his relatives might,
but mine grow their (m) asses more stilly!



Clyde Lied!
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a mockingbird, Clyde,
who bragged of his prowess, but lied.
To his new wife he sighed,
'When again, gentle bride? '
'Nevermore! ' bright-eyed Raven replied.



Dot Spotted
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a leopardess, Dot,
who indignantly answered: 'I'll not!
The gents are impressed
with the way that I'm dressed.
I wouldn't change even one spot.'



Stage Craft
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a dromedary
who befriended a crafty canary.
Budgie said, 'You can't sing,
but now, here's the thing—
just think of the tunes you can carry! '



The Mallard
by Michael R. Burch

The mallard is a fellow
whose lips are long and yellow
with which he, honking, kisses
his bawdy, boisterous mistress:
my pond's their loud bordello!



The Platypus
by Michael R. Burch

The platypus, myopic,
is ungainly, not erotic.
His feet for bed
are over-webbed,
and what of his proboscis?

The platypus, though, is eager
although his means are meager.
His sight is poor;
perhaps he'll score
with a passing duck or beaver.



The Pelican't
by Michael R. Burch

Enough with this pitiful pelican!
He's awkward and stinks! Sense his smellican!
His beak's far too big,
so he eats like a pig,
and his breath reeks of fish, I can tellican!



The Better Man
by Michael R. Burch
　
Dear Ed: I don't understand why
you will publish this other guy—
when I'm brilliant, devoted,
one hell of a poet!
Yet you publish Anonymous. Fie!

Fie! A pox on your head if you favor
this poet who's dubious, unsavor
y, inconsistent in texts,
no address (I checked!) :
since he's plagiarized Unknown, I'll wager!



'Of Tetley's and V-2's' or 'Why Not to Bomb the Brits'

The English are very hospitable,
but tea-less, alas, they grow pitiable...
or pitiless, rather,
and quite in a lather!
O bother, they're more than formidable!



Time Out!
by Michael R. Burch

Hawking, who makes my head spin,
says time may flow backward. I grin,
imagining the surprise
in my mothers' eyes
when I head for the womb once again!



Time In!
by Michael R. Burch

Hawking's 'Brief History of Time'
is such a relief! How sublime
that time, in reverse,
may un-write this verse
and un-spend my last thin dime!



Caveat Spender
by Michael R. Burch

It's better not to speculate
'continually' on who is great.
Though relentless awe's
a Célèbre Cause,
please reserve some time for the contemplation
of the perils of EXAGGERATION.



Low-T Hell
by Michael R. Burch

I'm living in low-T hell...
My get-up has gone: Oh swell!
I need to write checks
if I want to have sex,
and my love life depends on a gel!



There was an old man from Peru
who dreamed he was eating his shoe.
He awoke one dark night
from a terrible fright
to discover his dream had come true!
—variation on a classic limerick by Michael R. Burch



The Beat Goes On (and On and On and On...)
by Michael R. Burch

Bored stiff by his board-stiff attempts
at 'meter, ' I crossly concluded
I'd use each iamb
in lieu of a lamb,
bedtimes when I'm under-quaaluded.



Pell-Mell for Hell Mel
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a Baptist named Mel
who condemned all non-Christians to hell.
When he stood before God
he felt like a clod
to discover His Love couldn't fail!



The Heimlich Limerick
by Michael R. Burch

for T. M.

The sanest of poets once wrote:
'Friend, why be a sheep or a goat?
Why follow the leader
or be a blind breeder? '
But almost no one took note.



The Hair Scare
by Michael R. Burch aka 'The Loyal Opposition'

The hair flap was truly a scare:
Trump's bald as a billiard back there!
The whole nation laughed
At the state of his graft;
Now the man's wigging out, so beware!



Stumped and Stomped by Trump
by Michael R. Burch aka 'The Loyal Opposition'

There once was a candidate, Trump,
whose message rang clear at the stump:
'Vote for me, wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
because I am ME,
and everyone else is a chump! '



Toupée or Not Toupée, That is the Question
by Michael R. Burch aka 'The Loyal Opposition'

There once was a brash billionaire
who couldn't afford decent hair.
Vexed voters agreed:
'We're a nation in need! '
But toupée the price, do we dare?



Toupée or Not Toupée, This is the Answer
by Michael R. Burch aka 'The Loyal Opposition'

Oh crap, we elected Trump prez!
Now he's Simon: we must do what he sez!
For if anyone thinks
And says his 'plan' stinks,
He'll wig out 'neath that weird orange fez!



Rallying the Dupes
by Michael R. Burch aka 'The Loyal Opposition'

after Anaïs Vionet

Houston, we have a problem:
the virus is multiplying;
meanwhile, our Demander-in-Chief
keeps lying, lying, lying.

Houston, we have a problem:
the Astros are now the Nau(gh) ts,
but Tweety will still pack the 'Dome
untroubled by actual thoughts.

Originally published by LIGHT



15 Seconds
by Michael R. Burch aka 'The Loyal Opposition'

Our president's sex life―atrocious!
His 'briefings'―bizarre hocus-pocus!
Politics―a shell game.
My brief moment of fame?
It flashed by before Oprah could notice!



Baked Alaskan
by Michael R. Burch aka 'The Loyal Opposition'

There is a strange yokel so flirty
she makes whores seem icons of purity.
With all her winkin' and blinkin'
Palin seems to be thinkin'—
'Ah culd save th' free world 'cause ah'm purty! '



Going Rogue in Rouge
by Michael R. Burch aka 'The Loyal Opposition'

It'll be hard to polish that apple
enough to make her seem palatable.
Though she's sweeter than Snapple
how can my mind grapple
with stupidity so nearly infallible?



Pls refudiate
by Michael R. Burch aka 'The Loyal Opposition'

'Refudiate' this,
miffed, misunderstood Ms! —
Shakespeare, you're not
(more like Yoda, but hot) .
Your grammar's atrocious;
Great Poets would know this.

You lack any plan
save to flatten Iran
like some cute Mini-Me
cloned from G. W. B.

Admit it, Ms. Palin!
Stop your winkin' and wailin'—
only 'heroes' like Nero
fiddle sparks at Ground Zero.


Ribbing Adam
by Michael R. Burch

'Dear Lord, ' fretted Adam, depressed,
'did that tart really rupture my chest? '
'Yes she did, ' piped his Maker,
'but of course you can't take her,
or I'd fry you in hell, for incest! '



There once was a poet from Nashville
which hockey fans rechristened Smashville,
but his odd limericks
pulled so many weird tricks
his pale peers now prefer Ogden Gnashville.
—Michael R. Burch



There once was a poet from Tennessee
who was known to indulge in straight Hennessey
for his heart had been broken
and cruelly ripped open
by an ice-hoarding Dame of Paree.
—Michael R. Burch



There once was a girl with small boobs
who would only go out with young rubes,
but their c-cks were too small
so she sentenced them all
to kissing her fallopian tubes.
—Michael R. Burch



A coquettish young lady of France
longed to have lusty men in her pants,
but in lieu of real joys
she settled for boys,
then berated her lack of romance.
—Michael R. Burch



A virginal young lady of France
longed to have a menage in her pants
but in lieu of real boys
she settled for toys
& painted pinkies to make her bits dance.
—Michael R. Burch



A cross-dressing dancer, 'Dee Lite, '
wore gowns luciferously bright
till he washed them one day
the old-fashioned way...
in bleach. Now he's 'Sister Off-White.'
by Michael R. Burch



There once was a bubbly bartender,
a transvestite who went on a bender.
'So I cut myself off, '
she cried with a sob,
'There's the evidence, there in the blender! '
by Michael R. Burch



The Vampire's Spa Day Dream
by Michael R. Burch

O, to swim in vats of blood!
I wish I could, I wish I could!
O, 'twould be
so heavenly
to swim in lovely vats of blood!

The poem above was inspired by a Josh Parkinson depiction of Elizabeth Bathory swimming up to her nostrils in the blood of her victims, with their skulls floating in the background.



Light verse and nonsense verse …

Less Heroic Couplets: Mini-Ode to Stamina
by Michael R. Burch

When you've given so much
that I can't bear your touch,
then from a safe distance
let me admire your persistence.



The Trouble with Elephants: a Word to the Wise
by Michael R. Burch

An elephant never forgets
which is why they don't make the best pets:
Jumbo may well out-live you,
but he'll never forgive you
so you may as well save your regrets!



A hairy thick troglodyte, Mary,
squinched dingles impressively airy.
To her children's deep shame,
their condo became
the first cave to employ a canary.
—Michael R. Burch



There once was a troglodyte, Mary,
whose poots were impressively airy.
To her children's deep shame,
their condo became
the first cave to employ a canary.
—Michael R. Burch



Trump's real goals are obvious
and yet millions of Americans remain oblivious.
—Michael R. Burch



Cover Girl
by Michael R. Burch

Cunning
at sunning
and dunning,
the stunning
young woman's in the running
to be found clothes-less on the cover
of some patronizing lover.

In this case the cover is a bed cover, where the enterprising young mistress is about to be covered herself.



First Base Freeze
by Michael R. Burch

I find your love unappealing
(no, make that appalling)
because you prefer kissing
then stalling.



Paradoxical Ode to Antinatalism
by Michael R. Burch

A stay on love
would end death's hateful sway,
someday.

A stay on love
would thus BE love,
I say.

Be true to love
and thus end death's
fell sway!



Less Heroic Couplets: Funding Fundamentals
by Michael R. Burch

'I found out that I was a Christian for revenue only and I could not bear the thought of that, it was so ignoble.' — Mark Twain

Making sense from nonsense is quite sensible! Suppose
you're running low on moolah, need some cash to paint your toes...
Just invent a new religion; claim it saves lost souls from hell;
have the converts write you checks; take major debit cards as well;
take MasterCard and Visa and good-as-gold Amex;
hell, lend and charge them interest, whether payday loan or flex.
Thus out of perfect nonsense, glittery ores of this great mine,
you'll earn an easy living and your toes will truly shine!



Less Heroic Couplets: Crop Duster
by Michael R. Burch

We are dust and to dust we must return...
but why, then, life's pointless sojourn?



Less Heroic Couplets: Shady Sadie
by Michael R. Burch

A randy young dandy named Sadie
loves sex, but her horse neighs 'She's shady! '



The couplet above is based on the limerick below:

Shady Sadie
by Michael R. Burch

A randy young dandy named Sadie
loves sex, but in forms fancied shady.
(I cannot, of course,
involve her poor horse,
but it's safe to infer she's no lady!)



Less Heroic Couplets: Just Desserts
by Michael R. Burch

'The West Antarctic ice sheet
might not need a huge nudge
to budge.'

And if it does budge,
denialist fudge
may force us to trudge
neck-deep in sludge!

The first stanza is a quote by paleoclimatologist Jeremy Shakun in *Science* magazine.



The Limerick as Parody

Marvell-Less (I)
by Michael R. Burch

Mr. Marvell was ill-named? Inform us!
Alas, his crude writings deform us:
for when trying to bed
chaste virgins, he led
off with his iron balls ginormous!

Marvell-Less (II)
by Michael R. Burch

Andrew Marvell was far less than Marvellous;
indeed, he was cold, bold, unchivalrous:
for when trying to bed
chased/chaste virgins, he led
off with his iron balls ginormous!

When reading the second version of the poem, the reader can select 'chased' or 'chaste' or read them together, quickly.



I Learned Too Late
by Michael R. Burch

'Show, don't tell! '

I learned too late that poetry has rules,
although they may be rules for greater fools.

In any case, by dodging rules and schools,
I avoided useless duels.

I learned too late that sentiment is bad—
that Blake and Keats and Plath had all been had.

In any case, by following my heart,
I learned to walk apart.

I learned too late that 'telling' is a crime.
Did Shakespeare know? Is Milton doing time?

In any case, by telling, I admit:
I think such rules are shit.



Limericks

There once was a poet from Tennessee
who was known to indulge in straight Hennessey
for his heart had been broken
and cruelly ripped open
by an ice-hoarding Dame of Paree.
—Michael R. Burch

A coquettish young lady of France
longed to have lusty men in her pants,
but in lieu of real joys
she settled for boys,
then berated her lack of romance.
—Michael R. Burch

A virginal lady of France
longed to have a ménage in her pants
but in lieu of real boys
she settled for toys
& painted pinkies to make her bits dance.
—Michael R. Burch

There was a young lady of France
Who'd let cute boys root in her pants:
Where they'd give her the finger
She'd permit them to linger
because that's the point of romance!
—Michael R. Burch

A germane young German, a dame
with a quite unpronounceable name,
gave me a kiss;
I lectured her, 'Miss,
we haven't been intro'd, for shame! '
—Michael R. Burch

A germane young German, a dame
with a quite unpronounceable name,
Frenched me a kiss;
I admonished her, 'Miss,
you've left me twice tongue-tied, for shame! '
—Michael R. Burch

A germane young German, a dame
with a quite unpronounceable name,
French-kissed me and left my lips lame.
I lectured her, 'Miss,
That's a premature kiss!
We haven't been intro'd, for shame! '
—Michael R. Burch

Although I prefer
onions
to bunions,
I still primarily defer
to legal reefer.
—Michael R. Burch

Cancun Cruz
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a senator, Cruz,
whose whole life was one pus-oozing schmooze.
When Trump called his wife ugly,
Cruz brown-nosed him smugly,
then went on a sweet Cancún cruise!

Anchors Aweigh!
by Michael R. Burch

There once was an anchor babe, Cruz,
whose deployment was Castro's bold ruse.
Now the revenge of Fidel
has worked out quite well
as Cruz missiles launch from his caboose!

Canadian Cruz
by Michael R. Burch

There was a Canadian, Cruz,
an anchor babe with a bold ruse:
he'd take Texas first
and then do his worst
to infect the whole world with his views.



Updated Advice to Amorous Bachelors
by Michael R. Burch

At six-thirty,
feeling flirty,
I put on the hurdy-gurdy...

But Ms. Purdy,
all alert-y,
kicked me where I'm sore and hurty.

The moral of my story?
To avoid a fate as gory,
flirt with gals a bit more whore-y!



Mating Calls
by Michael R. Burch

1.
Nine-thirty? Feeling flirty (and, indeed, a bit dirty) ,
I decided to ring prudish Eleanor Purdy...
When I rang her to bang her,
it seems my words stang her!
She hung up the phone, so I banged off, alone.

2.
Still dreaming to hold something skirty,
once again I rang up our reclusive Miss Purdy.
She sounded unhappy,
called me 'daffy' and 'sappy, '
and that was before the gal heard me!

3.
It was early A.M., 'bout two-thirty,
when I, once again, rang the regal Miss Purdy.
With a voice full of hate,
she thundered, 'It's LATE! '
Was I, perhaps, over-wordy?

4.
It was probably close to four-thirty
the last time I called the miserly Purdy.
Although I'm her boarder,
the restraining order
has frozen all assets of that virginity hoarder!

***

Less Heroic Couplets: Word to the Unwise
by Michael R. Burch

I wanted to be good as gold,
but being good, as I've been told,
requires something, discipline,
I simply have no interest in!

***

Villanelle of an Opportunist
by Michael R. Burch

I'm not looking for someone to save.
A gal has to do what a gal has to do:
I'm looking for a man with one foot in the grave.

How many highways to hell must I pave
with intentions imagined, not true?
I'm not looking for someone to save.

Fools praise compassion while weaklings rave,
but a gal has to do what a gal has to do.
I'm looking for a man with one foot in the grave.

Some praise the Lord but the Devil's my fave
because he has led me to you!
I'm not looking for someone to save.

In the land of the free and the home of the brave,
a gal has to do what a gal has to do.
I'm looking for a man with one foot in the grave.

Every day without meds becomes a close shave
and the razor keeps tempting me too.
I'm not looking for someone to save:
I'm looking for a man with one foot in the grave.

***

Less Heroic Couplets: Shell Game
by Michael R. Burch

I saw a turtle squirtle!
Before you ask, 'How fertile? '
The squirt came from its mouth.
Why do your thoughts fly south?

***

Helen Keller
saw more than the stellar-
visioned
and the televisioned.
—Michael R. Burch

***

Antsy kids of the world, unite!
You don't like facts, so fight!
Call them all 'haters, '
those cool, calm debaters,
then your mommies can tuck you in tight.
—Michael R. Burch

***

Ireland's Ire has Landed

The luck of the Irish has failed:
Trump's landed and cannot be jailed!
From Killarney to Derry
the natives are very
despondent and bombs have been mailed.

Donald Trump has alarmed Country Clare:
the Irish are crying, 'Beware!
He won't pay his tax,
his manners are lax,
and what the hell's up with his hair? '

The Donald has landed in Doonbeg
(Ireland) . Why? For a noon beg:
he's running real low
on cash, so you know
he'll fit like a freakin' square peg.

The luck of the Irish has faltered.
Trump's there and he cannot be haltered.
From Killarney to Derry
the natives are very
insistent his visa be altered.

***

Poets laud Justice's
high principles.
Trump just gropes
her raw genitals.
—Michael R. Burch

***

Zip It
by Michael R. Burch

Trump pulled a stunt,
wore his pants back-to-front,
and now he's the butt of bald jokes:
'Is he coming, or going? '
'Eeek! His diaper is showing! '
But it's all much ado, says Snopes.

***

Limerick-Ode to a Much-Eaten Ass
by Michael R. Burch

There wonst wus a president, Trump,
whose greatest ass (et) wus his rump.
It was padded 'n' shiny,
that great orange hiney,
but to drain it we'd need a sump pump!

***

On the Horns of a Dilemma (I)
by Michael R. Burch

Love has become preposterous
for the over-endowed rhinoceros:
when he meets the right miss
how the hell can he kiss
when his horn deforms her esophagus?

On the Horns of a Dilemma (II)
by Michael R. Burch

Love has become preposterous
for the over-endowed rhinoceros:
when he meets the right miss
how the hell can he kiss
when his horn is so horny it lofts her thus?

On the Horns of a Dilemma (III)
by Michael R. Burch

A wino rhino said, 'I know!
I have a horn I cannot blow!
And so,
ergo,
I'll watch the lovely spigot flow!

The Horns of a Dilemma Solved, if not Solvent
by Michael R. Burch

A wine-addled rhino debated
the prospect of living unmated
due to the cruel scorn
gals showed for his horn,
but then lost it to poachers, sedated.

***

A Possible Explanation for the Madness of March Hares
by Michael R. Burch

March hares,
beware!
Spring's a tease, a flirt!

This is yet another late freeze alert.
Better comfort your babies;
the weather has rabies.

***

Voice of (T) reason
by Michael R. Burch

Love is the highest, the greatest, the grandest!
Love has us all and our lovers in thrall!

Love, but don't fall.

Love is the coolest, the truest, the Yule-est!
Love is sage Andrew's Marvell-ous ball!

Love, but don't fall.

Love is the sweetest, the deepest, the fleetest!
Yes, that's the problem - a pall over all.

Love, but don't fall.

***

Final Ballad of the Unhappy Camper
by Michael R. Burch

I'm low on jizz,
lost my fizz,
out of biz.

Flabby and horny,
morose and mourny,
gals're scorny.

Friggin' Low T Hell!
Unable to swell!
'More sleep'? Do tell!

***

Less Heroic Couplets: Weird Beard
by Michael R. Burch

for and after Richard Thomas Moore

C'mon, admit—love's truly weird:
why does a vagina need a beard?

Should making love produce foul poxes?
What can we make of such paradoxes?

And having made love, what the hell's the point
of ending up with a sore, limp joint?

Who invented love, which we all pursue
like rats in a maze after sniffing glue?

***

This is my randy version of a classic limerick originally published by Arthur Henry Reginald Buller in Punch on Dec.19,1923.

An incestuous physicist, Bright,
made love at speeds faster than light.
She had sex one day
in her relative way,
then came on the previous night!

There was a young porn star of Ghent
whose get-up just got up and went.
Too sleepy for sex,
her fans became ex-
subscribers, and no checks were sent.
—Michael R. Burch

Fair Elle was an eely lover
who squiggled beneath the covers...
She was hard to pin down!
When I did it, she'd frown,
then wouldn't do none of my druthers!

There once was a camel who loved to hump.
Please get your crude minds out of their slump!
He loved to give rides on his huge, lordly lump!
—Michael R. Burch

I wanted to live like a sheik, in a harem.
But I live like a monk without gals 'cause I scare 'em.
—Michael R. Burch

***

Mouldy Oldie, or, Septuagenarian Ode to Cheese Mould
by Michael R. Burch

I'm getting old
and battling mould —
it's growing on my cheese!

My phone's on hold
to report the mould —
my life is not a breeze!

I pray and pray,
'Send help my way —
good Lord, I'm on my knees! '

But truth be told,
it's oversold —
that's it, I'm done with cheese!

***

Wonderworks
by Michael R. Burch

History's
mysteries
abound
& astound,
found
(profound)
the whole earth 'round,
even if mostly
underground.

I wrote the poem above after discovering an article about the aptly-named Wonderwerk Cave in an ancient (March 2016) falling-apart issue of *Discover* that I rescued from my car. The cave in question lies in South Africa's Northern Cape province, around 300 miles southwest of the 'Cradle of Civilization.' Artifacts discovered in the Wonderwerk Cave appear to be even more ancient than the Cradle's. According to the article, 'The density of stone artifacts in the region is staggering.' The use of fire may now date back as far as 1.8 million years.

***

The Procrastinator's Creed
by Michael R. Burch

It's always, 'Tomorrow, I'll do it.'
Work? I eschew it.
I never collect money I've loaned
and the rest of this poem's been postponed.

***

WHEN MAN IS GONE
by Michael R. Burch

When man is gone
won't the sun still rise?

Will anyone care
that he isn't there?

Will the porpoises
lack purpose,

the marigolds
fold?

Will the doves and the deer
weep bitter tears?

Or will life continue,
glad to be off his menu?

***

That Mella Fella
by Michael R. Burch

for John Mella, former editor of LIGHT

There once was a fella
named Mella,
who, if you weren't funny,
would tell ya.

But he was cool, clever, nice,
gave some splendid advice,
and if you were good,
he would sell ya.

***

One for the Thumb!
by Michael R. Burch

Counting rings, the counters come,
marching to the same sad drum:

'Your GOAT has two, but ours has four! '

'Our GOAT has six, and six is more! '

'One for the thumb! Our GOAT's the best! '

But Robert Horry's not impressed.

Jim Loscutoff is trying on
the mantle of the GOAT, anon.

Frank Ramsey laughs himself to tears:
since he won seven in just nine years.

Tom Heinsohn, K.C. Jones, Satch Sanders
and Hondo all have eight, ring ganders.

Sam Jones has rings to fill both hands
(that's ten for all math-challenged fans) ,
won in twelve years, as truth demands.

Meanwhile, the only GOAT we know,
Bill Russell, has one... for the toe!

***

Mating Calls, or, Purdy Please!
by Michael R. Burch

1.
Nine-thirty? Feeling flirty (and, indeed, a trifle dirty) ,
I decided to ring prudish Eleanor Purdy...
When I rang her to bang her,
it seems my words stang her!
She hung up the phone, so I banged off, alone.

2
Still dreaming to hold something skirty,
I once again rang our reclusive Miss Purdy.
She sounded unhappy,
called me 'daffy' and 'sappy, '
and that was before the gal heard me!

3.
It was early A.M., 'bout two-thirty,
when I enquired again with the regal Miss Purdy.
With a voice full of hate,
she thundered, 'It's LATE! '
Was I, perhaps, over-wordy?

4.
At 3: 42, I was feeling blue,
and so I dialed up Miss You-Know-Who,
thinking to bed her
and quite possibly wed her,
but she summoned the cops; now my bail is due!

5.
It was probably close to four-thirty
the last time I called the miserly Purdy.
Although I'm her boarder,
the restraining order
freezes all assets of that virginity hoarder!

6.
It was nearly twelve-thirty
when, in need of something skirty,
I rang up (to bang up) the reclusive Miss Purty...
She hung up the phone
so I banged off, alone.

***

Hot Cross Buns
by Michael R. Burch

Lexi, Lexi, Lexi,
so lovely and perplexy,
please meet me for a meal
spicy and Tex-Mexy.

Done with hot fried fritters,
bend over, show your knickers;
then, as your ass cheeks redden,
ignore the public snickers.

***

New Year's Dissolution
by Michael R. Burch

The year draws to a close...
Who knows
where the hell the time goes?

I'm up to my nose
in ill-fitting clothes!

They canceled my shows!
My corns grow in rows!

And yet I'll survive...
Perhaps... I suppose...

So let's ring the New Year in
with tonic and gin
and greet the foolish Babe
with an even-more-foolish grin!

***

Her Whirlwind Life
by Michael R. Burch

for Tallulah Bankhead

'Never slow down
or someone'll catch up.
Virgins are boring,
give me a slut.'

'Male or female,
it really don't matter.
Life is too short
to live it in a halter.'

***

The Ex-Prez Sez
by Michael R. Burch


The prez should be above the law, he sez,
even though he's no longer prez.



Mercedes Benz
by Michael R. Burch

I'd like to do a song of great social and political import. It goes like this:

Oh Donnie, won't you lend me your Mercedes Benz?
My friends screw in Porsches, I must make amends!
Like you, I f-cked my partners and now have no friends.
So, Donnie won't you sell me your Mercedes Benz?

Oh Donnie, won't you rent me your sexy import?
You need to pay your lawyers: a tart for a tort!
I'll await her delivery each day until three.
And Donnie, please throw in Ivanka for free!

Oh, Donnie won't you buy me a night on the town?
I'm counting on you, Don, so don't let me down!
Oh, prove you're a playboy and bring them around.
Oh, Donnie won't you buy me a night on the town?

Oh Donnie, won't you lend me your Mercedes Benz?
My friends screw in Porsches, I must make amends!
Like you, I f-cked my partners and now have no friends.
So, Donnie won't you sell me your Mercedes Benz?


Ode to a Pismire
by Michael R. Burch

Drumpf is a sissy:
his hair's in a Fritz.
Drumpf is a missy:
he won't drink Schlitz.
Drumpf's cobra-hissy
though he lives in the Ritz.
Drumpf is so pissy
his diaper's the Shitz.



The Ballade of Large Marge Greene
by Michael R. Burch

Marge
is large
and in charge,
like a barge.

Yes, our Marge
is quite large,
like a hefty surcharge.

Like a sarge,
say LaFarge,
apt to over-enlarge
creating dissent before the final discharge.


Trump Limericks aka Slimericks

The Nazis now think things're grand.
The KKK's hirin' a band.
Putin's computin'
Less Ukrainian shootin'.
They're hootin' 'cause Trump's win is planned.
—Michael R. Burch

Trump comes with a few grotesque catches:
He likes to grope unoffered snatches;
He loves to ICE kids;
His brain's on the skids;
And then there's the coups the fiend hatches.
—Michael R. Burch



Trump's Saddest Tweet to Date
by Michael R. Burch

I've gotten all out of kilter.
My erstwhile yuge tool is a wilter!
I now sleep in bed.
Few hairs on my head.
Inhibitions? I now have no filter!



the best of all possible whirls, for MAGA
by Michael R. Burch

ive made a mistake or two.
okay, maybe quite *more* than a few:
mistakes by the millions,
the billions and zillions,
but remember: ur LORD made u!

where were u when HEE passed out brains?
or did u politely abstain?
u call GAUD "infallible"
when HEE made u so gullible
u cant come inside when Trump reigns.



My Sin-cere Endorsement of a Trump Cultist
by Michael R. Burch

If you choose to be an idiot, who can prevent you?
If you love to do evil, why then, by all means,
go serve the con who sent you!



Bird's Eye View
Michael R. Burch

So many fantasical inventions,
but what are man's intentions?
I don't trust their scooty cars.
And what about their plans for Mars?

Their landfills' high retentions?
The dodos they fail to mention?
I don't trust Trump's "clean coal" cars,
and what the hell are his plans for Mars?



Untitled

Don't disturb him in his inner sanctum
Or he'll have another Trumper Tantrum.
—Michael R. Burch

It turns out the term was prophetic, since 'conservatives' now serve a con. — Michael R. Burch

To live among you — ah! — as among vipers, coldblooded creatures not knowing right from wrong, adoring Trump, hissing and spitting venom.

Trump rhymes with chump
grump
frump
lifelong slump
illogical jump
garbage dump
sewage clump
sump pump
dry hump
cancerous lump
malignant bump
unpleasingly plump
slovenly schlump
yuge enormous diaper-clad rump
and someone we voters are going to thump and whump
—Michael R. Burch



Putin's Lootin's
by Michael R. Burch

They're dropping like flies:
Putin's "allies."

Ah, but who gets their funny
money?

Two birds with one stone:
no dissent, buy a drone.

For tyrants the darkest day's sunny!



Preempted
by Michael R. Burch

Friends, I admit that I'm often tempted
to say what I think about Trump,
but all such thought's been preempted
by the sight of that Yuge Orange Rump!



Mate Check
by Michael R. Burch

*The editorial board of the Washington Post is "very worried that American women don't want to marry Trump supporters."*

Supporting Trump puts a crimp in dating
(not to mention mating) .

So, horny dudes, if you'd like to bed
intelligent gals, and possibly wed,

it's time to jettison that red MAGA cap
and tweet "farewell" to an orange sap.



Squid on the Skids
by Michael R. Burch

Sidney Powell howled in 2020:
"The Kraken will roar through the land of plenty! "

But she recalled the Terror in 2023
with a slippery, slimy, squid-like plea.



The Kraken Cracked
by Michael R. Burch

She's singing like a canary.
Who says krakens are scary?

Squidney said the election was hacked,
but when all her lies were unpacked,
the crackpot kraken cracked.

Now, with a shrill, high-pitched squeal,
The kraken has cut a deal.

Oh, tell it with jubilation:
the kraken is on probation!



Trump's Retribution Resolution
by Michael R. Burch

My New Year's resolution?
I require your money and votes,
for *you* are *my* retribution.

May I offer you dark-skinned scapegoats
and bigger and deeper moats
as part of my sweet resolution?

Please consider a YUGE contribution,
a mountain of lovely C-notes,
for *you* are *my* retribution.

Revenge is our only solution,
since my critics are weasels and stoats.
Come, second my sweet resolution!

The New Year's no time for dilution
of the anger of victimized GOATs,
when *you* are *my* retribution.

Forget the damned Constitution!
To dictators "ideals" are footnotes.
My New Year's resolution?
*You* are *my* retribution.



Two Trump Truisms
by Michael R. Burch
When Trump's the culprit everyone's a "snitch."
It ain't a "witch hunt" when the perp's a witch.



Horrid Porridge
by Michael R. Burch

*My apologies to porridge for this unfortunate association with an unwholesome human being.*

Why is Trump orange,
like porridge
(though not some we're likely to forage) ?
The gods of yore
knew long before
Trump was born, to a life of deplorage,
that his face must conform
to the uniform
he'd wear for his prison decorage!


Dictionary Definition of Trump
by Michael R. Burch

Trump is a chump;
he's the freep of a frump;
he's an orange-skinned Grinch and, much worse, he's a Grump! ;
he's a creep; he's a Sheik (sans harem) ; a skunk! ;
"Kill the veep! " he's a murderous coup d'tot-er in a slump;
"Drain the swamps, then refill them with my crocodilian donors! ";
Trump is a rapist with insufficient boners;
Trump is, as he predicted, a constitutional crisis;
Trump is our non-so-sweet American vanilla ISIS;
Trump is a thief who will bring the world to grief;
Trump is a whiner and our Pleader-in-Chief.



Triple Trump
by Michael R. Burch

No one ever trumped a Trump like Trump.
He turned Mar-a-Lago into a dump
and spewed filth at the stump
like a sump pump
while looking like a moulting Orange Hefalump!
Trump made the Grinch seem like just another Grump
by giving darker Whos a "get lost" lump.
No colored child was spared from his Neanderthalic thump.
Trump gave fascists a fist-bump,
consulted Nazi servers for an info-dump
and invited Russian agents for a late-night hump.
Don the Con con-sidered laws a speed bump,
fired anyone who ever tried to be an ump,
and gave every evil known to man a quantum jump.
You may think he's just plump
and a chump,
with the style of a frump,
the posture of a shlump,
his brain in a slump,
and perhaps too inclined for a porn-star hump,
while being deprived by his parents of a necessary whump...
but when it comes to political asses, Trump is the rump!

#TRUMP #DONTHECON #MRBTRUMP #MRBDONTHECON #MRBPOEMS

Keywords/Tags: light verse, nonsense verse, doggerel, limerick, humor, humorous verse, light poetry, bawdy, salacious, ribald, risque, naughty, racy, spicy, adult, nature, politics, religion, science, relationships