A gardener who grew marijuano
perfected a mixture of guano
that perked up his crops
and attracted the cops.
I'd try it, except I don't wanno.

pt03 says the max is 150!
Ain't seen it but sounds rather iffy.
Why not re-expound
And "boor" those around
Until this thread's quite dead and stiffy?

I worry about this new vice
Sending off rhymes not quite nice
IÂve developed bad habits
Limericks breed like rabbits
When should I put them on ice?

Schreber, and all you other compost poets - just a quick goodbye for a while.

School is now out for some time
So youÂd think IÂd have leisure to rhyme
But IÂm going away
For a nice holiday
Or Âvacation you'd say in your clime.

Enjoy the rest of the summer, Flora.

(OK, the dry spell is over)

"Never use seedy greens without heating"
is advice that is well worth repeating.
'Stead I'm weeding and weeding,
and weeding and weeding,
and weeding and weeding and weeding.

(Can you guess what I was doing when this inspiration hit?)

Laundry?

;-)

So the thread had slipped off of the page,
and we thought it was the end the Age.
But schreber couldn't resist
a new limerick to list,
Now it's entering a scary new stage.

Claire

There once was an Internet forum
That observed the most lovely decorum.
Then a limerick thread started,
The members departed,
And soon there was barely a quorum.

I'd learned compost helps with fertility
and enhances one's gard'ning ability.
But when friends saw what I grew
and the limericks, too,
they started to doubt my virility.

I can't blame my friends who demean me.
A male gardening poet's unseemly.
But they'll soon shut their mouths,
and abandon all doubts,
when they see my enormous zucchini.

My Momma done tole me
To avoid jokes about fertility
But she was neither gardener nor 'poster
So I'll just ignore her
BTW, best bury huge zukes in 'post debris

///
I know this is lame ... but hope others will say...'hey, I can do better than that', and this entertaining thread will continue.

There once was A man named fred.
who composted his wife that was dead
when the cops beat the door
he will compost no more
they through him in jail in stead.

I compost in bins lined in 3
the neighbor stands laughing at me
while I toil and turn
he piles to burn
but my garden out produces HeHE!

there once was a composter named Lloyd
with yard deco he tinkered and toyed
with a beer in hand
and project well planned
his contraptions were quickly deployed

(Me) yard deco, good stuff!
(Wife) junk!

Every time this thread dies down to dusto
And the keyboards are starting to rusto,
There comes a composter that
Pulls back this dead ghoster
Then stirs the pile up with more gusto.

Thirty-sevenÂs a number quite prime
(The posts that are yet left to rhyme).
pt says one-fifty
Might close this thread swiftly
And a re-start, methinks, is a crime.

36 is the number so fair
web masters love rhyme! (Oh contraire)
we will go back to are bins
with big wide grins
for neglected compost!(beware).

James

I think this will be thirty-five
that's keeping these limericks alive.
When we reach the countdown
we can all go to town
as busy as bees in a hive.

Claire

Hamlet [Act 111, Scene IV]
And do not spread the compost on the weeds, To make them ranker.

Heed Shakespear's sage advice
Even from a mad character's device
Because Hamlet was insanely angry
He warned his Mom with suggestive imagry
An obvious threat, and not very nice

spreading some compost on your weeds
could double your greens ror your compost needs
some say why
have weeds to the sky
for it is best on your vegetable seeds

the city is just 1 block away
that is best,Ido have to say
the Doogooders holler
try to fine me a doller
they can cite,but can't make me pay

from yard deco I do erect
head frames for tomato project
they look like hell
but work quite well
so I shall move on to another subject

PS if you build your tomato sopports strong enough
you can always pull an engine in the off season.

James

Oh, where is our Flora U.K.?
Seems like ages since she went away.
Can she care for her piles
from across many miles?
Or, ignored, will they fail to decay?

You folks are very clever! I've been laughing so hard, I have tears running down my face!

Sorry, no limerick. I'm not that talented-

Deanna

This bloody limerick thread
just won't get out of my head!
I tried to ignore it
but there's nothing for it
but to write one. Or so it is said.

There, I wrote one! But is one enough?
I can't write much more of this stuff.
I'll try to write three
and then we will see
if they sound a bit too off the cuff.

So now please can I have some respite?
My muse is getting contrite!
Becoming a bard
is awfully hard
and I ain't got no clue what to write...

Schreber, itÂs lovely to hear
That you're wondering when I'll appear
Again on this thread
But as already said
IÂve had two weeks of hols. Is that clear?

As it happens IÂm back for one day
Before I again go away
This time itÂs hiking
And much to my liking
But the gardenÂs a mess, I must say.

I quickly went down there today.
The piles showed delicious decay
But the zucs were stonkers
The beans had gone bonkers
For the harvest has suffered delay.

My compost pile is on a field of clay,
A field IÂd swap any good day.
Everything I dump is organic matter
But it looks as if itÂs all a tatter.
Hope springs eternal someday itÂll pay.

If I turn and turn will it heat up?
Or pour it a beer or pee from a pup?
All I want is black gold
Before IÂm too old
And blest soil for my veggies to sup.

Someone led me to this link,
Sure hope I donÂt stink.
Just really want good compost
Took a chance, thought IÂd post
Off I go, best to all, wink, wink.

Seems composting work's never done,
and poetry's getting ho-hum.
So I got off my rump,
gave this thread a bump.
Now it's where it belongs--on page 1.

My wife begged so long for a horse,
that I thought it would lead to divorce.
But I swallowed my pride,
so she gets to ride.
(And I get the manure, of course!)

I should have known better than to
compromise and drop my guard, too.
My wife was "so sure"
I still wanted manure
that our horsey count now stands at two.

2 ponies is great for green hoarders.
But today we got 2 more as boarders!
The size of my piles
can be seen now for miles.
(And the smell is attracting reporters.)

Kitchen scraps, sawdust, and straw,
vegetables, both cooked and raw,
fish tails and heads,
and (shhh!) even breads,
go into my bin's gaping maw.

My bin is by no measure picky.
It eats anything, fresh or icky.
My friends, young and old
ask about my black gold.
I tell them "just try, it's not tricky."

Oh no, Schreber's at it again!
Why can't he just stay with his bin?
Instead of wasting our time
showing off with his rhymes.
If we're lucky, the worms'll do him in!

I have a confession to make.
The name "don b" was a fake.
I discovered that old one
from way back in '01.
Now everyone knows I'm a flake.

Today in the gardens I have seen a toad and my trusty garter snake....hope it moves down to the sweetpotato row.

Anyway I am reminded of my very first written poem. It was an assignment in 2nd grade and I still remember it:

I saw a toad
going down the road.
He seemed to say,
"You go the other way."

There's a hurricane coming named Earl,
that may give my compost a twirl.
Category 4, 2 or 3,
or a near miss it could be.
A PITA is H. Earl!

Claire

All the garden beds now are turned under
In the distance are rumbles of thunder.
The wind, icy and keen,
Will freeze both brown and green
And scatter the leaves that we plunder!

In SoCal we compost year-round.
The effect on the garden's profound.
But a nice winter break
from the fork and the rake
would be good--and my back could rebound.

It's not too cold yet on the coast,
and I've only got half-done compost,
But wintry winds are ahead
and I must soon start to spread
or all of my plants will be toast!

Claire

Like a wraith from the ranks of undead
It raises its mouldering head
In gloomy November
Composters remember
That unkillable limerick thread

There once was a lady named Gay
In her compost she always did lay
When the sun would shine
And a tall glass of wine
She would dream of scoring more hay

There once was a man named ted
who composted behind a big shed
when his gal said I do
he shouted Woo Hoo
And thats were the couple was wed

An aspiring young Princess named Kate
Dug a garden that hadn't a Gate.
To banish her Fauna,
She sowed belladonna.
Now her Flora are truly first-rate.

The brutal SoCal winter's nifty.
Our winter wardrobe can be thrifty.
No shorts and no tan
for those two weeks in Jan.
when the temp. (brrr!) gets down close to fifty.

NY, I can't rhyme the word 'fauna'
With a word that for me goes like 'corner'
Over here 'belladonna'
Sounds like the name 'Connor'
It's all down to where you were born - ah.

(Clever type faces - how do you do that?)

As the season of autumn now passes,
Our piles just get leaves and no grasses.
So, away from the bin
The rhymes must begin.
(We âÂÂposters get bored on our azzez.)

Stocked her pond with piranha?

Make that ...
She stood out in her Sauna.

(With thanks to daguvanah!)

Thanksgiving Day is upon us
and we composters get a huge bonus.
When the feasting is done
it's just as much fun
watching leftovers turn into humus.

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!

Notwithstanding his fondness for fonts,
NYG toned them down for the nonce.
"Although my lilacs
Look great in italics,
Ariel does quite well for my plants."

Up north, where the weather is cold,
One gardener resolved to be bold.
He constructed a greenhouse
With the climate of Venus
And grew flowers of deep blue and gold.

One fine day in May (or was it June?),
A composter struck up a tune.
"Such fine tidbits I'll
Toss in my pile
That my plants will grow over the moon!"

There once was a GardenWeb thread
Given up by its members for dead.
But as summertime waned,
And the brooding skies rained,
It woke up and again reared its head!

Oh no! cried the Garden Web horde;
nygardener must surely be bored.
Whoever manages to end
this frightening new trend,
will earn a stupendous reward.

Claire

Let us end this charade pretty puhleez
To wit I've shipped bones and grease
From a certain NY address
To the Compost Police, a mess
They'll have it shut down, desisted and ceased

:-] Kidding!

nyg's poetic juices are flowing
(I gather his corn has stopped growing).
But in Zones 9 and 10,
work's about to begin.
Our winter crops we must start sowing.

Truly, a great monster was created.
'Tis my hope that these limericks be abated.
Nygardener has twitched
From an unstoppable itch
That apparently can't be sated.