Gaby is the Community Outreach Coordinator. She knits, reads, collects vinyl, yogas, and is the lead singer of a Brooklyn-based rock band. She is half-part Martha Stewart and half-part Fran Drescher. If she's not sleeping, she's probably Tweeting. Her favorite uncommon good is anything made by Dana Brandwein Oates or Emilie Shapiro.
Liquid comfort is held thoughtfully within
Hot or cold, refreshing yes, but he won’t sin
He’ll scowl with delight
Yet he won’t take a bite
Of the goodies you’ve stored above his chin
I apologize if I misunderstood and put my limericks in the wrong place. I am resubmitting them here just in case.
What time does a butterfly leave its cocoon?
Does the time matter if it’s shaped like the moon?
Tick, tock, until the metamorphosis takes place.
Until then let the hands take their place.
Hoot, hoot, says the owl by the moon,
with it’s head covered in an umbrella shaped like a balloon.
Catch a glimpse of the seeds at the base of its feet,
it will be waiting for the early birds at sunrise to eat.
Three shades of brown colored like the earth,
what do you imagine could be their worth?
A weaving pattern fits comfortably around your wrist,
just look at how they’ve got themselves in a twist!
there once was a trinity of trees,
the lumberjack needed all three,
he chpped down them all
he watched them all fall
and bracelets fell out out of the three
I had a friend. I loaned him ten.
I haven’t seen my friend since then.
For another friend I signed a note.
He disappeared. That got my goat.
To another friend I loaned a five.
I doubt that he is still alive.
I realize that in the end,
I cannot trust my own best friends.
There is a three-wooded bangle
That presents itself as a tangle.
It shows with class, though,
By shouting with gusto,
“I’m high-style from every angle!”
Yo, birdies come feast on my seed.
I have plenty to share if you need —
A roof over head,
A firm perch for a bed,
And a night owl to guard while you’re treed.
Perhaps it is true what they say —
That time “flies” when it’s gone from our day.
This clock’s is showing
What we should be knowing —
That butterflies capture it for play.
Meet our four hefty stoneware mugs,
Whose stern faces could out-tough some thugs’.
That’s ’cause they’re strong guys,
Who, both handy and wise,
Store treats below the drinks ready for chugs.
ReplyPhyllis BriskmanFebruary 26, 2013 at 10:52 am
An artist got lost in the mist
When his walking stick started to twist
Idea came for three woods
Now at Uncommon Goods
Of trinity braid for the wrist
12 Comments
Liquid comfort is held thoughtfully within
Hot or cold, refreshing yes, but he won’t sin
He’ll scowl with delight
Yet he won’t take a bite
Of the goodies you’ve stored above his chin
I apologize if I misunderstood and put my limericks in the wrong place. I am resubmitting them here just in case.
What time does a butterfly leave its cocoon?
Does the time matter if it’s shaped like the moon?
Tick, tock, until the metamorphosis takes place.
Until then let the hands take their place.
Hoot, hoot, says the owl by the moon,
with it’s head covered in an umbrella shaped like a balloon.
Catch a glimpse of the seeds at the base of its feet,
it will be waiting for the early birds at sunrise to eat.
Three shades of brown colored like the earth,
what do you imagine could be their worth?
A weaving pattern fits comfortably around your wrist,
just look at how they’ve got themselves in a twist!
there once was a trinity of trees,
the lumberjack needed all three,
he chpped down them all
he watched them all fall
and bracelets fell out out of the three
I had a friend. I loaned him ten.
I haven’t seen my friend since then.
For another friend I signed a note.
He disappeared. That got my goat.
To another friend I loaned a five.
I doubt that he is still alive.
I realize that in the end,
I cannot trust my own best friends.
There is a three-wooded bangle
That presents itself as a tangle.
It shows with class, though,
By shouting with gusto,
“I’m high-style from every angle!”
Yo, birdies come feast on my seed.
I have plenty to share if you need —
A roof over head,
A firm perch for a bed,
And a night owl to guard while you’re treed.
A bracelet as fine as can be.
Made from the bark of a tree.
It’s woven together
Still light as a feather
The colors, a beautiful three.
Perhaps it is true what they say —
That time “flies” when it’s gone from our day.
This clock’s is showing
What we should be knowing —
That butterflies capture it for play.
Meet our four hefty stoneware mugs,
Whose stern faces could out-tough some thugs’.
That’s ’cause they’re strong guys,
Who, both handy and wise,
Store treats below the drinks ready for chugs.
An artist got lost in the mist
When his walking stick started to twist
Idea came for three woods
Now at Uncommon Goods
Of trinity braid for the wrist