Bindy's Verses

grown up limericks

 A syndicated LA Times/Chicago Tribune columnist, Chris Erskine, wrote about eating a dish of calamari and shrimp, dripping in batter and sounding exquisitely delicious, as having been served “hot as a Harley and lickety-split” , a phrase that immediately captivated me. I wrote the following, and sent it to him.  


 "Hot as a Harley and lickety split”
The  line calls for immortality. It
should somehow be saved
(Maybe even engraved!)
I want every last tiny tidbit!


I’m glad I am not a Kardashian

Their only love seems to be fashion—-

So shallow that they

‘d never tackle —say hey—

A topic as deep as this: Passion!

Our passion may lead us to ponder

What lies up ahead for us yonder

Or our eyes might be glazing

At a topic so fazing

It causes our poor minds to wander.

Regardless, I’m passionate and proud

And don’t mind announcing it loud——

Without passion,life’s boring,

But with it we’re soaring

Let the Kardashians play down to the crowd!



At the race track, the people “Hurrah!”-ed

Fancy ladies in hats lah-di-dahed….

But when the horse no one chose

Won the race by a nose……

“It’s a sham!” , they all cried, “A facade!”

“Facade” can mean several things:

Gold plate, not pure gold, in your rings

Or a building’s new “face”

To disguise a dull space——

Or a singer who lip-syncs, not sings!

At least that’s the way I’ve defined it

And since this is my poem—(see, I signed it!)

But If you don’t agree

Well, that’s just fine with me

I really and truly won’t mind it 


A pair of most feminine eels

Were dying to try out high heels

But their teeters and totters

Made their dad sigh, “Oh, daughters,

Who would think I could raise

such shlemiels!”



The other day, in aerobic dance

I accidentally split my pants

They were old, they were thrift

Very cheap—like a gift—

Still—a most unwelcome new circumstance!

You’re prob’ly too young to recall

World War 2 (well now, aren’t we all?)

But they had a wise saying

That I keep “replaying”

And I’ll share it now, once and for all:

“Use it up, wear it out

Make it do—-do without”

That was the war’s wide assumption—

Nowadays it’s — conspicuous consumption!

So…I use it up, wear it out

Make it do, or do without

Regardless of peoples’ assumption!

But I have to admit, don’tcha see,

These split pants showed the world just a knee!

If it had been my keister

I might have been triste-er

So be sure to congratulate me!  


I always wrote “pomes” as a kid—-

It’s just about all that I did!

I filled empty times

With limericks and rhymes

Math? Geography? Heaven forbid!

And now that I’m grown and degreed, umm…

I see no evidence that kids need’em

But what really is worse is

When I write all these verses

I find grownups who can’t even read’em!


“There was a young lady from——-“ get it?

Just read it aloud; once you’ve said it,

The next lines? Piece of cake!

You can’t make a mistake——

Well,hallelujah, you’ve read it!


A lovely old fashioned word: fetching

Its meaning allows for such stretching!

As in "to fetch and carry"

Or: you're so fetching, let's marry!"

But (if you're angry) you just might be kvetching!



Odd word, don’t you think, is meander?

Look closer—-yeah, take a good gander!

Instead of an object

It should start with a subject

Or perpetrate grammatical slander!

So “meander” should thus be “I-ander”

If we, to the literate, pander

“Me” don’t go to the show

We don’t say, “Yes, me know”

In all frank and confessional candor.

Hmmmm, that makes we wonder anew….

And perhaps it has crossed your mind too

If you think of a word

That’s grammatically absurd…..

I’d love to hear about it from you!  



Hi! Do you know the words “shmoose” and/or


Well, in this case they’re both introducing

A gal who writes rhymes

And spends most of her times

When she isn’t just shmoosing—producing!



(and other themes)

The old Brits were as good with their syllables

As we Yankees are now with our billables

But as any can see

When it comes down to me

I am best when I’m feasting on fillables.  


Look around that restaurant
EVERYONE’s an immigrant!
Diners, servers, busboys, cooks
Once all garnered dirty looks!
If not themselves, their folks for sure
From people who thought themselves “pure”!
I dare you—‘cause I’m sure you can’t
Find one soul NOT an immigrant!***

*** Except, of course, the Native American


Big news! I have managed to pick up

A cure for the much-dreaded hiccup:

You’ll need a friend near you

To talk—when you hear, you

Will find no more hiccup will kick up!

It depends on the art of surprise

So let’s keep it between us, you guys—-

Ask a question or two

That comes out of the blue——-

Like, “Do you put ketchup on fries?”

Better yet: “What’s your uncle’s last name”?

(Or….your aunt’s, or….your grandma’s—this game

Sends a bolt from the blue

That so much startles you

That your hiccups go back whence they came!