A clever man was Edmund Clerihew
Bentley; a novelist, comedic gem,
And counted thus among the very few
Who have a type of poem named for them.

It started as a sort of schoolboy lark
To help recall a chemist’s famous deed,
And with that salty rhyme he made his mark,
And scribes like Auden soon followed his lead.

While tortured meter and a sense of fun
Make silly verses pointless to impeach,
Their aim is not just satire or to pun,
But rather fundamentally to teach.

So thank the clerihew if you recall
The architect who was behind St. Paul’s.

While sonnets have their devotees, too few
Respect the limerick as poetry,
While citing violations of taboo,
As if perdition came from childish glee.

Transgression, true, is in the poem’s soul,
To laugh at human idiosyncrasies,
And mock the powers seeking to control
Behavior and enforce morality.

And yet, when I take up my pen to write,
I can’t escape those lettered luminaries
Whose limericks both gladden and delight;
Sublimely silly, revolutionary.

Like Lear and Stoppard, see a trend and buck it,
Just like that cheeky fellow from Nantucket.