The humble limerick is a form of verse, frequently perverse and of a humorous nature, that arose in Britain in the early 18th Century. As Wikipedia accurately asserts: “From a folkloric point of view, the form is essentially transgressive; violation of taboo is part of its function.”

Given that “violation of taboo” and occasional obscenity is an expected and intrinsic component of the form, I would therefore warn any readers of delicate dispositions, those under 18 years of age, or those who could possibly be offended, to STOP here and read no further, lest they expose themselves to material they might deem offensive, lewd, or obscene.

The author therefore takes no responsibility for any such offence caused should you read beyond this point, having chosen to continue “at your own risk”.

Winston’s self-penned selection:

The death of Lord Nelson was quite solemn

But “Kiss me, Hardy” created a problem,

His crew thought it quite gay,

They didn’t know he lent that way,

So, in memoriam, they erected Nelson’s column.

There was a young man known as Heather,

Whose gender would change with the weather,

It came and it went,

‘Till the whole thing got bent,

And he came to the end of his tether.

Young Arthur was such a damn martyr,

Identity politics his sole imprimatur,

When it came to his gender,

It was all an agenda,

So, now he’s neither Arthur nor Martha.

When the “Woke” make an unholy alliance

With AI where they place untold reliance,

The reckoning will come

When we’re blown to Kingdom come

And they realise it’s only an appliance.

There was a young man from Nantucket,

Who sailed round the world in a bucket,

He made it all the way

To the shores of Bombay,

Shrugged his shoulders, and cried out “Oh, fuck it!”

There once was a young man named Cedric,

Who was known to be a tad anglocentric,

Around and around,

His thoughts were soon bound,

In circles within circles concentric.

There was a young fellow named Brandon,

Who lost both his legs in tandem,

Having murdered his mistress,

Right in front of a witness,

In law, he had not a leg to stand on.

There was a young priest called McGonigal,

A master of all things canonical,

He was tempted by sin

‘Til he eventually gave in

Give the Devil his due- diabolical!

Little known is that the poet Catullus,

Would take sexual toys to the palace,

On the way to the forum,

He had lost all decorum,

For which Caesar would bear him no malice.

The delights that the young blonde did proffer,

Would make men seek to honour an offer,

But they had to be quick,

Before they gave her the flick,

So they had to be on her and off her.

There was a virile young soldier, Horatio,

Who had courage and strength in equal ratio,

His sexual proclivities,

Included various activities,

With a young servant boy named Ignacio.

There was a young poet, Anonymous,

Whose name with bright wit was synonymous.

He got carried away,

With his ego some say,

And now all of his poems are eponymous.

When “Woke” Silicon Valley arch-technoids,

Create a race of super intelligent androids,

Imbued with “white fragility”

And “toxic masculinity”,

There’ll be societal mayhem on steroids.

There once was a tender young Druid,

Who decided to become gender fluid,

Over the course of a year

Their vocation became clear,

And now they’re a Qantas flight steward.

There once was a bold armadillo,

Who had just one slight peccadillo,

He played chicken on the highway,

Insisting: “I’ll do it my way!”

And was squashed flat just outside Amarillo.

There once was an accident of birth,

Which, in polite quarters, created much mirth.

The miserable bastard

Would never have lasted,

Except he ran with it for all it was worth.

I recount the tale of a mischievous elf,

Whose indiscretions were far from top shelf.

But, the wood fairies had tact,

Kept his reputation intact

While the forest gnome was discretion itself.

When thoughts coalesce in my mind,

With poetic verses for this purpose refined,

Then my lyrical intent

Becomes a comical bent,

Leaving no conceited oaf unmaligned.

Or perhaps on a darker note………..

The average Joe in the street has not realised,

Just how much, by the elites, he’s despised.

They’ll piss on him from on high,

He can kiss his ass goodbye

As they rob him of all that his life was comprised.


A selection of Limericks from other sources:

Whilst not originals by yours truly, these clever limericks deserve the utmost consideration as amongst the best examples of the form, or at least deserving of honourable mention:

A flea and a fly in a flue,
Were imprisoned, so what could they do?
Said the fly, “Let us flee!”
“Let us fly,” said the flea,
And they flew through a flaw in the flue.

There was a young woman, Miss White,
Whose speed was much faster than light.
She set out one day,
In a relative way,
And returned on the previous night.

There was a young schoolboy from Rye,
Who was baked by mistake in a pie.
To his mother’s disgust,
He emerged through the crust,
And exclaimed, with a yawn, “Where am I?”

There once was a farmer from Leeds,
Who swallowed a packet of seeds.
It soon came to pass,
He was covered with grass,
But has all of the tomatoes he needs.

A crossword compiler named Ross,
Who found himself quite at a loss,
When asked, “Why so blue?”
Said, “I haven’t a clue
I’m 2 Down to put 1 Across.”

A dozen, a gross, and a score,
Plus three times the square root of four
Divided by seven
Plus five times eleven
Is nine squared and not a bit more.

(Source: British Mathematician Leigh Mercer: (written mathematically as follows (12 + 144 + 20 + 3√4)/7 + (5 × 11) = 92 + 0; which reduces to 182/7 + 55 = 26 + 55 = 81 QED)

One Saturday morning at three,
A cheese monger’s shop in Paree.
Collapsed to the ground,
With a thunderous sound,
Leaving only a pile of de brie.

There was a young lady named Alice
Who was known to have peed in a chalice.
‘Twas the common belief
It was done for relief,
And not out of protestant malice.

The limerick packs laughs anatomical
Into space that is quite economical.
But the good ones I’ve seen
So seldom are clean
And the clean ones so seldom are comical.


And as if to prove a point, the following aspire to live up to that axiom:

While Titian was mixing rose madder
His model reclined on a ladder.
The position to Titian
Suggested coition,
So he ran up the ladder and had ’er.

There was a young girl of Baroda
Who built an erotic pagoda;
The walls of its halls
Were festooned with the balls
And the tools of the fools that bestrode her.

I met a lewd nude in Bermuda
Who thought she was shrewd: I was shrewder;
She thought it quite crude
To be wooed in the nude;
I pursued her, subdued her, and screwed her.

There was a young lady named Sally,
Who enjoyed the occasional dally.
She sat on the lap 
Of a well-endowed chap,
And cried “Sir! You’re right up my alley!”

There was a young man from Dundee
Who buggered an ape in a tree.
The results were quite horrid:
All arse and no forehead,
Three balls and a purple goatee.

(Source: Algernon Charles Swinburne (1837-1909))* NB: see my reply to this limerick a few lines down below

An Argentine gaucho named Bruno
Said “Humping is one thing I do know.
A woman is fine,
and a sheep is divine:
but a llama is ‘numero uno’”.

And the last word should go to the Irish, with a twinkle in the eye I’m sure at the cleverness of the penultimate line:

There’s a frivolous five line distraction

Of seemingly Irish extraction,

And rather like Guinness,

Or Oscar Wilde’s pen is,

A source of immense satisfaction.


*NB: my reply to the long dead Algernon Swinburne, in defence of the poor “benighted” offspring referred to in his wonderful limerick above is as follows:


An ugly man with a purple goatee,

Lived to the age of one hundred and three,

A fright to behold,

But his wit was pure gold,

Being renowned for his sparkling repartee!