I wrote these for the Omnificent English Dictionary in Limerick Form, a magnificent, ambitious, and slightly insane attempt to write a limerick for every word in the English language, one letter group at a time. You can see my additions and revisions there, but I like to keep them here as well; the menu below leads to permanent pages for each letter group. You can also see some miscellaneous and co-written pieces, an area especially aimed at OEDILFers, a page for mature readers, and pages of limericks about fine artists, Australian rock bands, Africa, the Americas and the Pacific. One of these limericks, and a video of me reading it, featured in an AP article about the OEDILF at the end of 2017, and briefly on the Washington Post and New York Times sites. Two featured in The RSPB Anthology of Wildlife Poetry, edited by Celia Warren (A&C Black, 2011).
In New Zealand, the sun is inclined
To rise first during summer, we find,
In our city of Gisborne
(Yes, city! Like Brisbane).
Don’t stare at it, son—you’ll go blind.
Gisborne used to claim to be the first city on Earth to see the sun rise each day, but Samoa and Tokelau shifting the dateline around themselves in 2011 put paid to that for most of the year, although it’s still true in the summer months. Local government reforms in 1989 and 2002 complicated the definition of city in New Zealand, and by population Gisborne now falls short of city status. Try telling that to the locals, though.
Hastings: not that far from Napier
On the North Island. Many a drapier
Set up shop on their streets,
I suppose. (Hey, it beats
Other rhyme schemes. Yep, mind like a rapier.)
The New Zealand region of Hawke’s Bay is home to the “Twin Cities“ of Napier, on the coast, and Hastings, about 18km inland. There are further towns close to and between the two, and no doubt the whole lot will one day turn into a megalopolis (by New Zealand standards, anyway) with a new name: Nastings, perhaps, or Happier.
Dunedin, New Zealand: elite
University; Scottish retreat.
From Moeraki, not far: go
More south in Otago
And look for a bloody steep street.
Dunedin, named after Edinburgh, was a Māori area long before it was settled by Scots in the late 19th century. It’s a pretty place full of Victorian buildings and home to the University of Otago, the country’s oldest and considered one of the world’s best. Thanks to its student population, the city has long had a thriving musical scene. It’s also home to Baldwin Street, the steepest street in the world.
To its north in the South Island’s Otago region is Moeraki, a small town with a beach dotted with distinctive rounded boulders. To its east lies the Otago Peninsula, nesting site of albatrosses and penguins and home to New Zealand’s only “castle“, Lanarch, built in the 1870s by a homesick... Australian.
Alexander, this Hamilton’s not
Named for you: it’s New Zealand’s, that’s what.
Fourth most populous city
You’ll find here: a pretty
Nice place. Why not give it a shot?
(Sorry—thrown yours away, I forgot.)
Hamilton, an inland city south of Auckland on the North Island, was awarded the title of most beautiful large city in New Zealand in 2020. It was named after Captain J. F. C. Hamilton, who was killed in battle against the Tauranga Māori in the 19th century (perhaps while yelling “JFC!“). Local Māori have called for the city to be renamed Kirikiriroa, after the Māori village that was there before colonial invaders effed it up.
In Venice, the arched Bridge of Sighs
Is a venerable feast for the eyes,
From the outside, at least.
Inside, prisoners ceased
Really caring. Hang in there, you guys.
The Ponte dei Sospiri, built in 1600, is a white limestone bridge over the Rio del Palazzo joining the Doge’s Palace and the New Prison, across which convicts would be led to be imprisoned or worse. The bridge is entirely enclosed, apart from some small latticed windows; its English name, bestowed by Lord Byron, evokes the wistfulness of the condemned as they see their final glimpses of Venice. Similar enclosed bridges in Oxford and Cambridge have been nicknamed and named after it.
Big Banana, Big Pineapple, and
Big Merino: some things in this land
Are incredibly big.
Big Potato, Prawn, Pig
(Wait a sec—wasn’t that one a band?)...
The Big Cane Toad, Big Lobster, Galah,
Apple, Rocking Horse, Bullock (I’m far
From the end), Barramundi,
Ned Kelly (on Sund’y,
Let’s look for some more in the car),
Big Strawberry, Giant Murray Cod,
Golden Gumboot (yeah, that’s pretty odd),
The Big Turtle—oh, look, a
Big Stubbie—Big Kooka-
burra, Wine Bottle, Lollipop—God!—
Boxing Crocodile, Easel (I knew
I’d missed that), Western Rock Lobster too,
Big Orange, Big Peanut,
Big Beer Can (ain’t seen it),
Big Dugong and Big Kangaroo,
Big Cassowary, Penguin and Bogan—
“Build it bloody enormous“, our slogan—
And a Giant Koala
(Sure beats an impala!).
Big Chris, soon? But no Big Paul Hogan.
Australia’s big things—landmark sculptures or novelty buildings designed to look like something or someone representative of their location—emerged in parallel with the so-called “Roadside Giants“ of the United States. The first examples in the early 1960s were the Big Scotsman outside a motel in Adelaide and the Big Banana in Coffs Harbour, New South Wales. The few dozen listed here are only some of the best-loved of the many that have followed.
There’s no Big Pig (sorry, Babe fans), though there was indeed an Aussie band of that name in the 1980s, but there is now a Big Pigeon in Adelaide’s Rundle Mall—although as it’s made out of stainless steel, rather than fibreglass or concrete, and looks like proper art, it probably shouldn’t count. Comedian Paul Hogan, best known for playing “Crocodile“ Dundee, hasn’t rated a big thing—yet—but the NSW town of Cowra is attempting to raise funds to build a 40m tall statue of Chris Hemsworth, who plays Thor in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Hemsworth was born in Melbourne and raised in the Northern Territory, so has no particular connection with Cowra. As this would be almost three times as tall as my personal favourite, the Big Merino, I expect a visit will be in order should they ever manage it.
Fangin’ north in me souped-up Torana,
I’ve promised ’er tourist nirvana.
As we’re drivin’, she scoffs,
“What’s so good about Coffs?“
Then she sees it: a [cough] Big Banana.
Coffs Harbour, a city on the north coast of New South Wales about halfway between Sydney and Brisbane, is best-known for its iconic big thing: a 13m long sculpture billed as the “biggest banana in the world“. Sadly, the Big Banana is lying prone rather than standing proud, but it’s still quite a sight. Since its erection in 1964 to promote its owner’s roadside banana stall, it’s been turned into the Big Banana Fun Park, with water slides, laser tag, mini golf, bumper cars, and the “World of Bananas“ plantation tour experience.
The Holden Torana was a mid-sized car made from 1967 to 1980, beloved of fangin’ hoons.
Go through Goulburn? I s’pose... take a break
On our drive up to Sydney. Don’t make
A turn here! “Big Merino”?
Pah! Some sheep I’ve seen... oh.
I see what you mean. My mistake.
The New South Wales regional city of Goulburn, a popular stop on the drive up to Sydney from Canberra, is famous for its big thing, a 50-foot tall concrete Merino ram built over a two-storey gift shop and wool display (15.2 metres, to be exact, but “fifty foot“ sounds more impressive, and it’s nothing if not impressive). When it opened in 1985 the Big Merino was smack in the middle of town, but after a bypass was built in the 1990s it was eventually relocated closer to the new route of the Hume Highway. One of my fondest memories of driving along the Hume is of taking a friend past it for the first time and relishing his reaction. In its new more spacious location, sadly, it just doesn’t seem as big.
Me muvver, a rock-lovin’ groover,
Was a musical shaker and mover.
Love o’ punk is what drove ’er
To claim “Disco’s over!“—
In hindsight, a futile manoeuvre.
Me father, a rock-lovin’ groover,
Was a miner: a lead ore remover
From seams found all over
Northumberland. Drove a
Few trucks with a rear-tipper doover.
If you gape and stare vacantly, awk-
ward encounters ensue. You’re the talk
Of the town now: “That kid
Must be short a few quid.”
People stop in the street for a gawk.
If you gawk at strangers (the first and older sense illustrated here), you’re likely in turn to draw a few looks or glances (the second and newer sense), as people wonder if you’re quite all there—or, figuratively speaking, whether you’re short a few quid.
Sally Brown is ol’ Charlie’s kid sister.
In her polka dots, who could resist ’er?
Well, Linus, for one:
Her affections he’d shun
When she said, “Sweet babboo: that’s you, mister.”
Sally Brown, the little sister of good ol’ Charlie Brown, was introduced to Peanuts in 1959. More forthright and confident than her big brother, she spent much of her time pursuing her crush Linus van Pelt, calling him her “sweet babboo”.
A schoolteacher noting the lack
Of comic-strip kids who were black
Prompted Schulz to create one.
Though never a great one,
Peanuts’ Franklin would often be back.
Charles M. Schulz created the Peanuts character Franklin in 1968 after a letter from a Los Angeles schoolteacher in the wake of the assassination of Martin Luther King. Although concerned about appearing patronizing, Schulz managed to avoid it, although some critics saw the character as nondescript and tokenistic. Franklin certainly lacked the distinctive traits of his classmates Peppermint Patty and Marcie, but as more of an everyman he often stood in for the reader while observing the weirdness of Charlie Brown and his friends. In the strip he was only known as Franklin, but Schulz gave him the surname Armstrong (in honour of fellow cartoonist Robb Armstrong) for a 1994 Peanuts animated special.
His ears look too thin, and this hound
Can rotate them and fly off the ground?
How is that even legal?
This whirlydog beagle—
This “Snoopy”—belongs in a pound.
When Snoopy first appeared in Charles M. Schulz’s Peanuts in 1950 he looked like a proper beagle puppy, with large oval ears. By the 1960s his ears had become long and thin, while in the 1970s they became more rounded. As they became more stylised, Snoopy began to use them in unusual ways, especially when in one memorable 1960 sequence he became a “whirlydog”. Schulz revisited Snoopy-as-helicopter throughout the 1960s and 1970s. None of it particularly resembled the actual small hound originally bred for hunting hares, although a hunt with massed beagles helicoptering in for the kill does have a certain Apocalypse Now appeal.
Ennui isn’t “ennui”! You’ve gone
And mis-stressed it! I’m tired of this, John—
It’s all bull. Please don’t say it’s
Your accent—no way it’s
Correct. I’m annoyed. It’s not on.
Ennui—that listless feeling of weariness and dissatisfaction at having too easy a life—comes from the same French roots as annoy. It can be stressed in opposite ways on opposite sides of the pond: for Uncle Sam it’s ahn-WEE, while for John Bull it can be either on-WEE or ON-wee.
Americans know it as candy,
And kids understand that it’s dandy.
We British say sweets
For these sugary treats,
Which describes how they taste, which is handy.
Aussie tourists say, “Don’t be a wally:
A candy or sweet is a lolly,”
But here that’s a lollipop.
(“Really? Good golly, pop,
Why’s this a land of such folly?”)
“Tonight! Princess Kate and friend meet up,
And both are seen putting their feet up
At home! What’s this mean
For Australia’s next Queen?”
Bloody hell, ACA, what a beat-up.
In Australia, a beat-up is something blown out of all proportion, usually in news reports and the like. It’s the manufactured outrage beloved of the tabloid press and commercial current affairs shows like the Nine Network’s A Current Affair (or ACA).