Pot o’ Gold

A leprechaun lives (I've been told)
Distributes the best pot o' gold:
   He grows pounds of flowers
   With magical powers,
And over the rainbow 't is sold.



Two Limericks

I. Marvelous Blarney
There once was a man from Killarney
Who looked like a lumpy Art Carney.
   His cup, though, was brimmin'
   With beautiful women
Because he spoke marvelous blarney.

II. Dirty Girl
There once was a horny young druid
Who watched as a woman bathed nuid.
   She got out the tub,
   And she gave him a rub,
And he slimed her with seminal fluid.  


Three Limericks

I. Lots of Luck
There once was an old Irish rover
Discovered a bright four-leaf clover.
   He reached down to pluck it
   And then kicked the bucket:
He bent down and died bending over.

II. Fairy Folk
A bonny young lassie named Mary
Fell hard for a laddie from Derry
   Who never would try her,
   But only passed by her,
A fairy in search of a fairy.

III. Boogers the Best
There once was a man from Racine
With boogers the best ever seen:
   He'd pick one and lick it,
   Then roll it and flick it
Till all of his fingers were green.


A Drinking Song

Oh, give to me the freshest drink,—
   A draught as smooth as silk
And whiter than the kitchen sink,—
   A pail full of milk!

Pour it with love, and watch it flow,
   (Nor spill a drop, for dread!)
Pour it precisely, enjoy the show,
   And give it a foamy head!

I drink it ere the morning sun
   Hath waked the early bird:
I wake and make a midnight run
   To taste the lazy herd.

I rise at dawn and drink again,
   And drink throughout the day;
Then drink a nightcap (or nine or ten)
   And dream of curds and whey.

I've heard it said I drink too much,
   And this is understood;
But man has never died from such,
   And, oh! it's just so good!



Only a fool would try, in line by line
Of fair assessment honestly expressed,
To paint with words the finest of the fine
Beauties of which you solely are possessed.
No elegance would not seem spread too thin;
And he who’d try would never be believed,
For none would see as truth the truth therein,
But think it all a lover’s eyes deceived.
So candid pics and videos must record
What speech could never adequately limn,
And would be doubted elsewise word for word,—
The evidence being hearsay and far too slim.
Yet, all of these leave much too much to doubt:—
All flaws would seem, no doubt, photoshopped out.

Like two caves spun with dusty cobweb-snares
Guarding a cache of emeralds is your nose.
Your globby eyes find shade ‘neath oxen hairs.
Like two thin frowning mustaches are your brows.
With microscopic mites your shiny skin
Glints, like a hanging fruit’s with aphid flies
Flitting around about and out and in,
Or a hot, oil-glistened frenchèd fry’s.
Like hard, mini marshmallows are your teeth.
Your lips, like jellied dextromethorphan.
Oh! oh! to be that rubber sole beneath
Those knobby tubers made for kicking a can!
But here again the painting is askew:
It lacks that certain something that’s in you.