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Write a Limerick

Write you a limerick
Not really a big trick
You spit from your mouth
The words from the South
And prove that you're still a hick.

In all honesty, I love everything about the South. I live here, but the moonshine grabbed me for a minute.
 
A limerick's a poem in which
The humor is earthy or rich.
But the thing I must mention
About this invention:
The last rhyme is often a problem.
 
It's 2am and a knock at my door.
Crap! It's the cops, what are they here for?
"Your neighbors complained that is plucky of you,
To play your stereo with curtains open and in the nude."
Now I can't jam no more!
 
I have now realized my greatest fear,
There have been no posts in over a year.
It's finally time,
to create a rhyme.
I just don't know what to put here.
 
There once was a fellow in Tucson
Who went out in the sun without shoes on,
Because of the heat
He burned both his feet
You'll see it if you turn the news on.
 
There's no exercise quite like rowing,
Where you go but can't see where you're going.
Without a good cox
You could crash on the rocks
Or head over the falls without knowing.
 
It appears; my Limerick Brethen,
This thread has gone to Heaven.

It's best days are over,
With no posts since October.

So here it lies dead on Page Seven

(sniff!)
 
Over in "Haiku," I'd mention,
The poems are full of pretension.
But here they are punny,
Deliberately funny,
And hint at things you shouldn't mention.
 
I'm sighing, I'm sighing, I'm sighing,
I'm crying, I'm crying, I'm crying.
This thread's so neglected,
I wonder what wrecked it,
And why no one else's even trying?
 
I find myself back again here,
To write something that sounds sincere.

I'm racking my brain,
and going insane,

because I haven't typed a limerick in a year!
:(
 
Not meant to rhyme. :D I really wish that others had the same interest in this thread and the Dad Joke thread. The countdown and other game thread just seem pointless to me. Like, why are we still counting down to 2018?
 
I can always find two things that rhyme
And two more, but then here is the crime:
When the poem's almost finished
My skill seems diminished
And, err, uh, I get stuck.
 
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