Borne more of angst than understanding
Employing methods, far off from upstanding
The young anarchists ploy
Was to seek and destroy
Whilst obtaining all they were demanding
The first threw himself on the tile
At Walmart, in the Christmas toy aisle
He screamed and he pitched
Held his breath till he twitched
As his mother did her best to smile
The second locked himself in the loo
And screamed out, “There’s nothing you can do!
I will not wear that Tee!
Kids will make fun of me!”
Till his mother, her demand she withdrew
Now sister thought herself a bit slicker
She’d not fight mom, instead she’d just trick her
Off to study she’d go
And little would mother know
Till she came home awash in malt liquor!
Chelsea Ann Owen’s Terrible Poetry Contest this week called for limericks about birth. I guess mine is more about after birth, but what can I say. At least I tried…..
Thru Violet's Lentz 
Great poem. Mother’s worst trails.
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Anarchists indeed. Shame I never thought of that word when hunting the worst curses to pile on my lawless offspring! Nice one. 🙂
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I am hoping the off kilter meter of the first stanza will be enough to put me in the running on terrible poetry this week. And if not? Well I’ll just have to be pleased enough with rhythm the three that follow, Thanks, Crispina!
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In my humblest opinion, you ought at least to bag a rosette!
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Oh, that is brilliant! As a mother and a poet, I salute your efforts….. 🙂
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Thank you. And welcome to my world!
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These read like cautionary tales to parents. You’re always too good to win at being terrible, you know!
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Drat! Foiled again!!
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Foiled by your own talent!
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Lol this sounds like the sticky grubs I hear about from people who own them.
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