John Moynes
At some point in the last month, John Moynes passed the milestone of 1,500 Limericks A Day.
One thousand five hundred Limericks.
Written and posted on the same number of days.
Many will recall the callow, clean-shaven poet who, in 2011, began spreading the news through anapestic meter.
Few knew he would emerge – by sheer dint of number of ‘ricks posted – as the most published poet on the planet.
A revered, wise elder daily bearding the likes of Trump armed with little more than five-lines in a world where nothing rhymes with orange.
We are working on some artwork to celebrate John’s achievement, but will need a little verse.
If you would like to share your appreciation to the Bard of Broadsheet you are very welcome to help complete the Limerick below:
‘A prolific poet called Moynes,
Picked up his pen and girded his loins,
___________________________________,
____________________________________,
_________________________________’
Verse must cease at 5.45pm.
Thanks all.
Earlier: A Limerick A Day
‘A prolific poet called Moynes,
Picked up his pen and girded his loins,
In his pocket he had some coins,
He happened to be in the town of Foynes,
Dropped his pen, went out and bought a box of Lyons.’
is there prizes btw
I don’t think you have to worry about that, sweetums.
u obviously haven’t a clue about poetry
There might be a Golden Discs voucher in it Pee Pee…but you’ll never receive it.
I think Pee Pee should win
All the others should go to the bin
they can take it on the chin
and have a bottle of gin
and give a drunken grin
haha
typical
A Black Mirror episode, ‘Hated in the Nation’,
Would cause one some slight hesitation,
In being overly mean,
To a bad rhyming scheme,
Though this deserves no great ovation
I’m probably askin’ for trouble here…but:
You’re looking for a rhyme in anapestic meter.
But you’ve already established a meter (sort of) with your introductory two lines.
And to my rhythmic ear; they’re not exactly…well…rhythmic.
I think it would need to be; “Grabbed a pen and girded his loins” for example?
Oh what the hell:
A prolific poet called Moynes
Picked up his pen and girded his loins (arrgh)
Up to now altruistic,
Can he be optimistic
Of finally gaining some coins?
A McGonagallian metrical sensibility is one of the delightful defining features of Mr Moynes’ verse.
Funny thing, The Old Boy. I’m an adult and have been for a very long time. Whenever you post, though, I feel like a stoopid teenager. You have an authoritative, almost patrician tone.
I hope that doesn’t sound like a complaint. It’s very much a compliment.
without the old boy, this place would be a bit of a sewer.
one tries
Thank you, Andyourp. I aim not not make anyone feel stupid.
You don’t make me feel stupid. I just realise I’m an aul dope when I read your posts. Big diff.
I think your stupidity is part of your overall appeal
“I aim not not make anyone feel stupid.”
Hahahhahahahahahahaaahajaa
Typo of the day.
A prolific poet called Moynes
Picked up his pen and girded his loins
– but I must interject –
How can we pay our respect
When it’s the meter you’re misemployin’?
A prolific poet called Moynes,
Picked up his pen and girded his loins,
With the flick of his wrist,
Has mastered the gist,
And forever more counting his coins
A prolific poet called Moynes,
Picked up his pen and girded his loins,
But he pee-ed off the State,
Whom he’d often berate,
And escaped transatlantic from Foynes.
Happy Verse-ary Moynser! I guess you started frequenting this joint around the same time as I.
*strokes non-existent beard*
Would love to assist with Limerick but head melted and hungover. Maybe in the morning there’ll be no stopping me.
A prolific poet called Moynes
Picked up his pen and girded his loins
Wrote a Limerick per day
which the ‘sheet did display
and often the reader rejoins!
This one is actually perfect.
Sam, you win. Don’t listen to the rest of these troglodytes.
A prolific poet called Moynes,
Picked up his pen and girded his loins,
In limerick style
He showed us his guile
But would never, ever purloin
…z
(For completeness.)
Interesting fact: in original limericks they repeated a version of the first line at the end.
A prolific poet called Moynes,
Picked up his pen and girded his loins,
“I will shoot from the hip,
and I will not give a jip,”
Said the prolific poet called Moynes
howzat?
Bingo!
bleedn grammar n spellins
A prolific poet called Moynes,
Picked up his pen and girded his loins,
With each rise of the sun,
He limericked and spun,
A career from an online sojourn.
This.
A prolific poet called Moynes,
Picked up his pen and girded his loins,
But with the Limerick form,
Already jaded and worn,
It all felt like a kick in the groin.
(sorry John just jibing I do like a bit of word play )
A prolific poet called Moynes,
Picked up his pen and girded his loins,
Pushed fake news for the views
And lies to confuse
All for a pittance in coin.
COINS!
Christ above. Do I have to do everything for everyone?
You’re a martyr, and dj’a know what? They’d be lost without you.
Twas soft and long,
And silky and brown,
The boast of the country,
And talk of the town.
For bearded John with thanks .
A prolific poet called Moynes,
Picked up his pen and girded his loins,
While adopting a look that’s quite strange,
Like a druid from Newgrange
That could do with a wash in the Boyne.
before andy gets to you, it BOYNES, DAMMIT
+S
A prolific poet called Moynes
Picked up his pen and girded his loins
We know it. Will the proposed work of art
Mark the end or the start
Or the middle?
Andyourpointiswhatexactly’s getting annoyed
that broadsheet is a poetry void
she corrects everyone
which is a pain in the bum
even more so than a hemorrhoid.
;-P Sorry..
Well now I’m feckin’ apoplectic.
A rse hole by Andyothername
Would still smell as sweet
But also prick
Anybody want a peanut?
Inconceivable!
A prolific poet called Moynes,
Picked up his pen and girded his loins,
If only he saw us, pick up our Thesaurus
His quill would bolstering his femur
*cough
Some great entries there.
Speaking of poetry, https://twitter.com/MallowNews/status/1096084158084988928
*chortle*
A prolific poet called Moynes,
Picked up his pen and girded his loins,
Always quick with the wit
And not afraid to take shit
He wrote yet another five lines
‘A prolific poet called Moynes,
Picked up his pen and girded his loins,
With the nib to his mouth
he noticed a drouth
so went for a pint in Rathmines
That works if you’re posh. So it obviously works for me.
A prolific poet called Moynes,
Picked up his pen and girded his loins,
Now that is quite heinous
It’s a pen not a penis
That metaphallic aesthetic of groins.
A collection of his limericks should, of course, be called a Moynthology.
A prolific poet called Moynes
Picked up his pen and girded his loins
With humour and wits
He vilified twits
Like Trump, Theresa May and O’Brien
In memory of the first limerick I ever learned:
A prolific poet called Moynes,
Picked up his pen and girded his loins,
He once met a shark
And said ‘What a lark!’
There WAS a prolific poet called Moynes.
A prolific poet called Moynes,
Grabbed his pen and girded his loins.
He’s the ‘sheet’s five-line-truther,
Forsooth there’s none smoother,
(Though, at times one can *just* see the joins).
Fair play, John. Thanks for the 1500!
A prolific poet called Moynes,
Picked up his pen and girded his loins,
He composed a satire
On each new dumpster fire
to amuse folk from Christchurch to Des Moines
‘A prolific poet called Moynes,
Picked up his pen and girded his loins,
But knocking ’em out was hardly detrimental
‘Cause he’s made it onta Comedy Central
A club not every poet joins
Fair play Johnny
Dunno how ya did it
But I bet everyone reading this is just thrilled tisn’t 1500 Frill-Bits they’re being asked to commemorate
xV
‘A prolific poet called Moynes,
Picked up his pen and girded his loins,
After punning a lot then he
Went to the Journal Dot ie
To pocket those populist coins’
‘A prolific poet called Moynes,
Picked up his pen and girded his loins,
While sat on some paper,
He drew his own pecker,
Now writes Limericks for his courts’ essoins!’
And a hearty *applause* on your achievement John, fair dues !! :0)
Fair play, Mr Moynes, fair play indeed.
Roses are red
Violets are ace.
But rhymsters are blue
in the bloody face.
A prolific poet called Moynes,
Grabbed his pen and girded his loins,
Wielded words anapestic,
To slay foes dumb & septic,
Hirsute Bard of the Barbs with his foins.
“foins” …nice :)
There once was a poet called Banger,
His poems he wrote with his langer,
It wasn’t his fault ‘‘twas good irish malt,
That made Banger rhyme langer with skanger.
‘A prolific poet called Moynes,
Picked up his pen and girded his loins,
Now he must stop.