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Firstly, and most foremostly, ahead of all other thoughts and considerations, before any Johnny-come-lately or Jemima-come-hither subject tries to muscle it’s way into the paragraph, (briefly grapples with one such Johnny, and soon sees him off good and proper), esme and the Cloud would like to thank all the wondrous and splendiferous contributors who have taken the time, (some a good few hours nay even days constructing their art, others clearly around 40 seconds max –  points at herself *) to pen what is not the easiest of rhyming formats, indeed tis what, (Tiswas – chucks some random custard pie in a few unsuspecting faces, waking them up from their light snooze in the process), could, would and should be said to be, and I quote, – ‘a fuckering fuck of a didler’ (source – esme*) to manipulate into any quality form of entertainment that won’t get you chucked out the back door into a filthy alley by the scruff of the neck.

sees the crowd look nonplussed and start to open their phones

AHEM! All entries shall remain anonymous, however esme will still accept any latecomer’s offerings from anyone who should pass this way between now and the end of the universe,  –  looks at her watch which is a one foot square pocket watch she is wearing upon her back that ticks like Big Ben and publish them in this very post (holds up a fence post). Also, if anyone can guess which entries are esme’s she’ll give them an award for being the Most Celeverest Sporter of Clogs in the Cosmos, with a bag of sticky buns plus napkin for their dribbling chin thrown in.

So please, genteel/uncouth ladies, gentlemen, and manta rays,  put your hands, ears, gills, buttocks and heels together, as we of the Cloud proudly present for you…

The Cloud’s Limericka Insensibilia Anonymosa 2016!

There was a young man from East Anglia,
Whose loins were a tangle of ganglia.
So he doused them in glitter,
Which made the girls titter,
And made them all spangly. Then Spanglier!

There once was a man from Nantucket,
Who offered to sell me a bucket.
Though rusty with dents,
I gave him three cents,
So into his head I could chuck it.

There once stood a man on a ledge,
Who was flashing his meat and two veg.
He tripped over his shoe,
Falling out of the blue,
Landing arse up in the neighbour’s hedge.

I thank you dear Esme I do,
I would ever only do this for you.
It’s these games that you play,
That are making me stay.
But for now I must say too-da-loo!

So I came over here
To give limerick post a cheer,
Thought shall I go all the way?
Or just be a bit risqué?
Well make up your own mind my hotpants are sheer.

A bear with a beautiful garden,
Begged of local old ladies his pardon,
Not for poo in the woods,
Or stealing baked goods,
But for waggling around his huge hard-on.

A blogger from Somerset was she,
Writing posts as oblique as a zee.
No bugger could fathom,
So in comments she’d ‘ave ‘em,
Doing double-entendre repartee.

The Shit-shoveller’s shoes are seriously strange,
His toe-caps suspiciously shiny.
They shimmer and twinkle
Whilst all else doth stink,
All covered in gunk and fair slimy.

The nobleman Tarquin Von Stiglitz,
Shred soon each his condoms to bits.
Her ladyship suggested,
Whilst being big-chested,
Instead that he come on her camping holiday in the Rhineland.

An empress who lived on a cloud,
Was said to be giddy and loud.
She could juggle in fits,
With her thre’punny bits,
Because she was so well endowed.

There once was a man with an axe,
Who could stop a girl dead in her tracks.
At the sight of his chopper,
She’d faint good and proper,
But don’t quote me
I ain’t got all the facts.

During varying circumstances uncertain,
The P and F hid behind a red curtain,
The baby would growl,
The box tied with string it would howl,
Whilst the ladder had gone for a burton.

Lady called Esme the friendly,
Waved upon Matty’s agendee.
His heart here it leaped,
On the blog that he keeps,
Yet he is horrible and not very kindly.
y’know..
[okay, not really my heart, Esme, let’s be reasonable here, it is a poetry school for goodness sake. I am seventy four years old, live with my aunty and our cats and I collect snails.]

A palship short entrusted,
Through words dry conducted,
She moved on to blog Ron,
Now Mat, he has gone.

A gay boy called Pinky felt randy,
But could not attract a fair dandy,
Taking matters in hand,
He thought of his gland,
And fixed up a splendid hand shandy.

The professor did so love his spanking,
Inflicted by ladies high-ranking,
In dominance they,
Did at times convey,
Such thoughts as would have him a-wanking.

Now Esme has said there are rules,
But those who do limericks are tools,

To follow in line,
Is not very sibylline,

That could lead to soothsaying to fools.

It’s getting quite late and I’m sleepy,
These limericks are making me weepy.
But I can’t really cry,
I ain’t that sort of guy,
And sobbing at poems is creepy.

Prospero lives far on an isle,
He displays a mysterious smile.
Of magic he’s learned,
Wizard’s stripes he has earned,
And his writing doth surely beguile.

A girl loved her Star Trek and Spock,
So much she ignored the door knock.
As visitors shivered,
She sat there and quivered,
Whilst thinking of half-Vulcan cock.

Picked up pen in the morning,
To write out this poem not snoring.
I don’t even know,
if angels do crow,
Because, never did ask – how boring.

A trans woman, proud of her clitoris,
Says to each visitor, “Look at this!”
Some say that they’re bored,
Some start to applaud,
Which shows showing off is quite hit-or-miss.

A girl liked her dildo inserted,
Whilst occasionally being inverted.
So she stood on her hands,
Though despite her best plans,
She came as her balance deserted.

A poet called Esme La Bum-Bum,
With doughnuts would stuff full her tum-tum.
A vegan was she,
Miss La Bum-Bum, Esme,
Though she gobbled down any old yum-yum.  – (*editor -cheeky sod)

There once was a virgin called Mary,
Whose carpenter boyf was quite hairy.
With his huge whittling tool,
He did her overrule,
Should she ever dare call him a fairy.

A cricketing farmer called Matty,
Had impure thoughts ‘bout his catty.
A pussy with whiskers,
Left his palms full of blisters,
So he beat off his balls with a batty.

There once was a grey-beard from Lymm,
Who no soul could ever call dim.
He got caught by the fuzz,
As he sat on the buzz,
Cos his bard was more out than twas in.

A shy girl lived high on a cloud,
Her lover being quite well endowed.
A wind blew one day,
And her skirt flew away,
So he did what was seldom allowed.

An atheist Aussie was he,
In shorthand just known as JayZee.
When God-squaders came,
They with arguments lame,
Were dispatched swift in ear with a flea.

The President and Founder was odd,
And none knew what to make of this bod.
Over quite what he ruled,
He never us schooled,
No dominion had he, the daft sod!

When I saw what the topic involved,
The wheels in my head had revolved.
I once got a horrid affliction,
In the guise of a limerick addiction,
But luckily I have evolved.

A professor who enjoys his whipping,
In his dungeon would oft be found gripping
His fair maiden’s cheeks,
As his fingers did seek,
To see if he’d got the maid dripping.

He knew capturing the heart was chancy,
Of the new country doctor named Nancy,
But when he got off,
When she said turn and cough,
Well let’s just the wedding was fancy

Deep in the earth lived a wombat,
Alone with a penchant for muskrat.
In waters they dwelt,
But to keep dry his pelt,
He stuck to his hand-to-gland combat.

A determined young woman called Jane,
Hit her small son with a cane.
Not once, but again,
And again and again,
And again and again and again.

A waitress called Rose-Marie Hunt,
Earned big tips despite being blunt.
She served up her entrées,
In D-cups upon trays,
Whilst customers fingered her extensive wine list.

There once was a blog on a cloud,
That was known to at times get quite loud.
You’d swear it was thunder,
But is it any great wonder…

…To learn it was Esme and crowd.

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