limerick that scans like a chicken:
a critical interrogation

A Haicoup in the Shape of a Limerick

If every syllable
were billable
don't you suppose
poets would write prose
and drink where everything's refillable?

-Dirk Stratton

Not confused, my friend. Oh, no. You see, we are radically redefining the limerick and the haiku as each other; a milennial swap intended to promote renewed harmony between the Brits and the Asians.

Yes, that's right. But we on the vanguard of this new poetic form are used to being misunderstood and marginalized. Oh, you can cling all you want to your old "haikus" and "limericks", go on with you. But the tide is turning, slowly at first, then in a great poetic tsunami, in our favor. Soon limericks and haikus will be forever swapped and the old forms will seem laughably naiive. Soon you will not be able to lick us, and will have to join us. But for now you can have your fun, I suppose.

There once was a poet, or bard(e),
who enjoyed a nice plate of Swiss chard(e).

He went out one day
(late autumn, the crimson leaves
fall, like the Dow Jones)

and figured he'd stay
(winter's fingers caressing
his pack of Luckys)

in his shed, in the back, avant-yard(e).

-Joe Futrelle

There once was a Sam
From San Fran, whose ditties did
Fail to scan. As much

As he tried, all his
Chickens were fried, and his eyes
were occlud'd with sand.

( I call this poetic form a Heimlich.)
-Sigfried Gold