Last Reviewed: June 2025
I follow current affairs and politics, but my main gig is creating computer software.
To give myself a break, I enjoy creative writing, in particular flash fiction. But to fire my brain up, I like to write short rhymes. Although I’ve dabbled with forms as varied as haiku and sonnets, my preferred form is the limerick.
My main reason is that I believe that poetry should be accessible, relatable, and this suits limericks well. So mine are deliberately both direct and, I hope, humorous. I want to leave people chuckling (or possibly groaning) rather than scratching their heads trying to figure out some hidden meaning.
Some of my favourites are:
Let me take a moment to write this ditty,
It is certainly fun, and very witty,
I worked quite hard to make it rhyme,
And almost succeeded, as you can see.
A purveyor of canine cuisine
Got sucked into his mincing machine,
He was chopped up and ground,
Then deliciously browned,
And once cooked, turned the dog food bright green.
Tender Morsels (variation)
A missionary in a tight spot,
Ended up in the cannibals’ pot.
Then they ate him up, whole,
Left not even a bone.
Could have used some more pepper, they thought.
While at college my friend was a dandy,
But caught pox one night when feeling randy,
Abstained calendar year,
Till he got the all clear,
Which was good news indeed for his handie.
My first car was a banger, I’d say,
Dodgy handbrake would never obey,
I abandoned all hope,
When I parked on a slope,
And then saw the thing rolling away.
When an expert sommellier Chris,
Tried a new wine, he swiftly dismissed,
Said “Some wines are sublime,
They get better with time,
But this one, I’m afraid, tastes like ….”.
Bought plant for math class,
It bloomed and brightened the room,
But it grew square roots.
A choirmaster straight from Glamorgan,
Left the church-goers shocked, and what’s more, stunned.
He sat down at his perch,
At the front of the church,
And he started to play on his organ!
As their sex life was falling to pieces,
Thought of role-play to make some increases,
But his codpiece conspicuous,
Made him look quite ridiculous,
And his missus just fell into creases.
On his death bed, the man, almost spent,
Had his son by his side to augment,
Cried out, nearing his death,
With his very last breath,
“You’re an arse! You’re not getting a cent!”
and I enjoy writing flash, too. I have several pieces that I particularly like, among them:
The Arranged Marriage
For Fandango’s Story Starter #1, where we build something around the following phrase: Don’t you dare come any closer… She was lucky, she knew. Not many would have her start in life. She must take full advantage, to grow tall and strong. As she waxed, she caught fleeting glances of her neighbour, who shared her youth. Over time, she saw his full range, and his sturdy presence soothed her, his power commanding by her side. She admired his summer peaks,…
The Injured Party
For Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #107, where we write about this photo from Pixabay. Lydia dozed in her armchair. She spent most afternoons like this, slipping in and out of consciousness, since her retirement almost two years ago. A shrill knock at the door woke her. Who could that be? Visitors were rare, these days. Padding down the hallway almost on tip toe, the diminutive old lady meekly opened the door. “Mrs Evans ?” She didn’t recognise the man standing…
Trapped
I pause, breathless. Gulp deep buckets of air. The murky alley offers little shelter. But I have no choice. Have I lost him yet? Fast, ominous footsteps approach. I start to tremble. Is this it?
Mister Bump 
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