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Miscellaneous Limericks
I feel rather like—
"the virgin who pouted "By Jingo I never fucked a flamingo!" We bought him a bride But he fumbled and sighed: "Here, damnit, I can't make my Thing go!"
or the—
"fellow who fucked as but few can Had a fancy to try with a toucan. He owned like a man The collapse of his plan "I can't, but I bet none of you can!"
But let me remember—
"Paul Proper vowed virtue a cinch is" His tool was a foot and four inches He thought it was legal To, bugger an eagle, But utterly wrong to fuck finches.
His twin brother Puritan Peter Whose prick measured one millimetre Thought Hell would break loose If one got on a goose But a saint may be stuck on a skeeter.
I feel very weak, I would rather recollect the—
"boy who buggered a sea-mew was tempted to tackle an emu He said, when he lost, Though our love has been crossed, I shall always sincerely esteem you.
or the—
"son of a merciful Mandarin Who said "Could I get a gander in The family way I should openly say I considered it fancy philandering."
or the—
"young dude who decided to bribe his Mamma to procure him an ibis, "Don't get me a crane It would give me a pain If you knew how exclusive the tribe is."
or the—
"professor of Ethical Culture Once said to his class "T'would insult your Intelligence if I said I got stiff For anything less than a vulture."
or the—
"youth declared "Never love's bond or Chain will I bear, of get fond or Fain of a creature Whose wings are its feature Except in the case of a condor."
or the—
"Frantic fanatical friar In love with a large lammergeier In spite of his sins He knew why, when it spins Is a mouse—for the fewer the higher."
but not like—
"The hoary old sinner named Sinnet Took his prick out and started to skin it, He muttered "Though that's key Was fat old Blavatsky I could do at a pinch with a linnet."
or the—
"absurd and antique Annie Besant Who accosted an innocent pheasant It said "Of a surety I'll tell Krishnamurti And that would be very unpleasant."
or the—
"holy Theosophist, Leadbeater, At a battue who said to the head beater "Your prick I am crazy To suck, but I'm lazy Just fuck your five fingers, instead, beater."
or the—
"Here my enthusiasm for Theosophy is getting me away from my Birds! Here let me recall this:
"Rate did you say?" cried Cadger, "rate?" I fuck at the regular spadger-rate! Bring me a duck! I'll teach you to fuck, I swear I would scorn to exaggerate!
On the duck he did excellent work, he Destroyed it, he never got jerky, He smoothly went on To a goose, and a swan, And we left him untired with a turkey."
6.15 a.m. I'll shave.—
"A clergyman said to a girl "You Love fucking; Jehovah will hurl you To hell if you love it So much that you covet The criminal cock of a curlew!
She said.—
"There you go! False alarm again! You bally old bounder, get calm again! I once taught a starling To answer to Darling, But I'm usually faithful to ptarmigan."
(Note Above all written straight off under the influence of cocaine in the early hours of the morning on 11 October 1920, at the Villa Santa Barbara, Cefalu, Sicily.)
13 November 1920. 1 p.m. Pity is the last innocence of pride.—
There was a young poet called Keats Who shagged every day in the streets He did it because The alternative was To shit every night in his sheets.
There was a young poet named Shelley Who much preferred bottom to belly, He argued the former Was tighter and warmer [Last line missing].
There was a young poet names Swinburne Who swore "May my soul and my skin burn The prospect appalls Not a person whose balls To bugger a Siamese twin burn."
There was a young poet named Browning Who rescued a virgin from drowning Next day they got marries, Next month she miscarried. His philosophy kept him from frowning.
An old poet named Coventry Patmore Would say he thought no man had shat more Or wetter or worse Or a niftier verse And added: I piss and I cat more!
There was a philosopher, Spencer, Who never knew pleasure intenser Than once when he saw Mr. George Bernard Shaw Attempting to bugger the Censor."
"A hog-like abortion named Mudd Was like a one-eyed rotten spud His one chance to clean His person obscene Is wash himself out in his blood”
20 June 1924.—
A bootiful Lydy named Butts Was God, gas, grease, gamboge and guts The dairies of Dorset That bulged from her corset Were highly esteemed by the Knuts.
I wanted that sensitive slut's Young soul to bud out in my hut's Back garden—a rose To bewitch both my nose And my eyes but—oh, too many 'buts'!
—
There was a young poet named Earp Who was moved by his Maker to chirp That the nightingale used to use-Earp Blithe Spirit! the lark He would dare in the dark. He moistened his gillet with turp- entine, and he sang to the purp- le night skies of velvet. But when it struck twelve, it Was bed time for well behaved Earp.
There was a bright boy named Regudy [Israel Regardie] Who looked an impossible Judy Where 'er he was seen Folk shouted "Ad din! Ad din zabur unnuck, Jahudi!"
A sausage-lipped songster of Steyning [Victor B. Neuburg] Was solemnly bent on attaining. But he broke all the rules About managing his tools And so he broke down in the training.
23 June 1933—
There was an old lady of Cheltenham, Said “Cunts? Why, of course dear, I dealt in ‘em. I though it my duty To make ‘em so fruity My clients used simply to melt in ‘em.”
Atlantis Book Shop
A dwarf kike who called himself Houghton [Michael Houghton]! His balls in his boyhood were caught on His mother's false teeth In a foul slum in Leith She stewed them with truffles and Corton.
This was an impromptu, a challenge by Tom Driberg, C. K. Ogden and McGregor Reid. Line 1 was given to me. Idea all right, but Corton is a bad rime I don't know if the incident described is authentic.
7 January 1937—
There was an old lady of Barking Thought Life & its cares were too carking (?) She could not approve of the way events move, And frowned upon laughing & larking.
Her daughter went down to the Creek And had her cunt licked by a Peke, Her bottom enjoyed By sixteen unemployed And her mouth crammed with spunk by a Greek.
1 December 1937—
Said a Yankee who visited Wells "Say these ecclesiastical swells Seem grand at contriving To manage their swinging To a musical peal of ten bells."
(Pendant to Constant Lambert's series.)
15 December 1939—
There was an old lady of Bingley Who wailed "I do hate to sleep singly. I thought I had got A bloke for my twat But he seems rather queenly than kingly."
8 January 1941—
A fat-headed female called Burt Was an artist in sexual dirt Devotedly shat In her shoes or her hat And wiped her backside with her skirt.
(The idea of this Limerick is to imitate the stupidity, grossness, & vulgarity of this refined & fart-mouthed cow hippo).
3 January 1942—
A party called Malachi Frank Was respected in ev-er-y Bank Why must we assume That they put on his tomb: “He lived—and he died—and he stank”
22 January 1944—
There was a young lady named Emily Who was not understood by her family. She acted so rummily The head of the fummily Had her crossed by a greyhound from Wembley.
He feared she would breed a facsimile: Bring utter disgrace on the family! So he read her a homily In front of the fomily— And the Devil flew out of the chim-ily!
25 March 1945—
Joking about Aston Clinton's witches, I said I had seen Miss Clarke riding over the trees on her broomstick. She took Umbrage! Therefore:
There was an old lady named Clarke, Most surely a maiden of mark! She made her fat womb stick Astride of a broomstick, And ho! for a lark in the dark!
Moral: don't take things too seriously!
My name it is Aleister Crowley I'm a master of Magick unholy Of philtres and pentacles, Covens, conventicles, Of basil, nepenthe, and moly.
An aspiring young man Kenneth Grant Unwillingly buggered his aunt. He said: "On my uncle's Back side are carbuncles: I wish that I could, but I can't."
—
There was an old man on a roof Who said I'm entirely aloof I cannot explain What is wrong with my brain But I feel I have absolute proof.
—
At Newlyn a furious filly Cried Christ! I have frigged myself silly. I cannot get Granny To tickle my fanny; I'll marry that bugger Bodilly.
—
A sour non-conformist of Wells Scowled: Nothing so surely repels The grace of the Lord As this evil abhorred— A musical peal of ten bells.
And the atheist cobbler of Wells Sneered "Humbug! Indignantly swells My breast at the thought They should hide their good sport With a musical peal of ten bells.
A stern Plymouth Brother of Wells Groaned: Luve VI II foretells Eternal damnation For feeling elation At a musical peal of ten bells.
A salvationist lassie of Wells Cried: Heaven's array against hell's! My tin tambourine Rebukes this unclean And musical peal of ten bells.
An infidel flautist of Wells Said: Humph! Christianity sells The people a pup— But it partly makes up With a musical peal of ten bells.
A Cumbrian student of Wells Moaned: Of for the peace of the fells! Tintinnabula omnia Give me insomnia— Their musical peal of ten bells.
A mystical Quacker of Wells Said: Silence assuredly spells More Truth to the soul That hath God for its goal Than a musical peal of ten bells,
Said a prominent Baptist of Wells "Noise merely disgusts and repels. An infant's immersion Does more for convention Than a musical peal of ten bells.
A militant Mormon of Wells Said: Decent polygamy quells Lust, would bring pious ease Back to the diocese With a musical peal of ten bells.
A mighty Magician of Wells Had mastered the science of knells. You'd never believe What man can achieve With a musical peal of ten bells.
He rocked the foundations of Wells With a series of sinister spells. To-day you may search In vain for that church With its musical peal of ten bells.
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