A Kinder, Gentler Death
I
If Death would only tickle
Our fears could ease a little
When he comes to your bed
Would it cause you more dread
If he carried a feather or sickle?
II
And if Death could give us a smile
Spread some cheer once in a while
He needn’t bring gifts
Though he could fill the wish
Of the poor man whose pain is a trial.
III
And finally, if Death would just vary
And sometimes be temporary
If he’d let us come back
Or send signs through the black
We’d find him more complimentiary.
Limericks
1
A bloke with a car and a bike
Decided one day he would hike
To London and back
With a driver called Jack
And his hairy assistant called Mike.
2
A Welsh-speaking lady from Wales
Went to town and spent up in the sales
She had to get a lift back, see
So she ordered a Tacsi
To avoid walking back in the gales
3
The PM was called Mrs May
In Europe she wanted to stay
But the rest wanted exit
So they organised Brexit
And then voted on that every day!
4
“The climate’s not changing,” said Trump
With a great intellectual jump
As the wind and the rain
Came again and again
And the icebergs broke off with a bump.
5
We aren’t selling too many arms
To countries with few or no charms
It prevents unemployment
While providing enjoyment
And workers for strawberry farms.
6
Take Britain back, said a man
Whose grandparents came from Japan
His wife was half Chilean
And his housemaid Brazilian
While his girlfriend was born in Bhutan.
The strange and enchanting oddities we saw through the windows of the house at the end of Knickerbocker Street (Limerick VIII-XII)
. . .
VIII
A ghostly, arthritic Marquis,
was locked in the attic, so she
played the piano,
with hands limp and callow,
but still never found the right key.
. . .
IX
There’s a “man” who lives in the nook
(he has a translucent look).
We approached, walking slow,
and whispered hello,
but he never looked up from his book.
. . .
X
Said a ghost to the cook, “It’s a crime
that you simply don’t think I’m sublime.
I’ll love you forever;
in every endeavor,
I’d offer you flours and thyme.”
. . .
XI
“I can’t go to sleep,” said Grace Sue,
whose bedtime was long overdue.
“Something’s under my bed—
it’ll bite off my head!”
Said a voice from the dark: “That’s not true.”
. . .
XII
An inclement mite felt no penchant
for the house and its terrible tenants.
He chewed at the beams,
devoured the seams,
and toppled the rafters to wreckage.
