I have a clown phobia and a lawnmower phobia. If you want to drive me over the edge, hire a clown and send him to mow my lawn.
But since it isn’t technically clown season and is most definitely lawnmowing season, I thought it would be interesting, and hopefully fun, to try a lawnmowing limerick thread. If you would like to contribute, here are the rules:
1. Your poem must scan and rhyme according to good limerick form: a more-or-less anapestic line pattern, 3-3-2-2-3, rhyme scheme a a b b a. Example:
There was an old soldier of Bister
Went walking one day with his sister,
When a cow at one poke
Tossed her into an oak,
Before the old gentleman missed her.
Nursery Rhymes, Mother Goose
2. Clever/humorous is good; tasteless/off-colored is bad. See WIZ’s submissions guide.
3. Your limerick must address the humor, ironies, or downright absurdities of growing and mowing grass lawns. Or, if you’re a lawnmowing enthusiast, write a limerick defending this most noisy and noxious warm weather ritual.
4. Add your limerick to this thread in the comments section of this post. That way, we’ll have them lined up to be read in succession.
The grass lawn is a curious invention;
Out West, a most wondrous convention.
There folks force it to grow,
And then they’re forced to mow,
And to Roundup them weeds, not to mention.