Rot off the press – Limericked views on breaking news

 

The news is extra, you can bet.

Its fiction casts a wider net.

Of facts, off-base,

No track or trace –

Let’s give those folks a statuette.

 

Behind the scenes, they access gain.

They pick and peck past their domain.

Don’t blink. Press print.

Oh, no. You didn’t.

Our hearts are torn; they pour champagne.

 

As readers, viewers, they hoodwink.

They tap their keys; they nod and wink

To grab the scoop

And loop-de-loop.

The story’s never what we think.

c2023 by Linda Ann Nickerson

 

This poem was posted in response to these prompts:

• Five-Minute Friday: “access”
• Mad Kane’s Limerick-Off Monday: “net”
• Meme Express: “off-base”
• Simply Snickers: “pick,” “press,” and “print”
• Stream of Consciousness Saturday: “heart”

 

Image: “Extra! Extra!” from The Graphics Fairy / vintage / public domain

 

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Zealotic or Zesty?

 Zealotic as I used to live,

Though given often to misgive –

I’d hang with those

Who’d turn the nose,

But long would dawdle to forgive.

Bare truth can be a hazard deep,

As from compassion it can keep.

We may be right,

But wrongly bite,

If facts unchecked are all we heap.

I hope at last to hold my zeal,

And yet to sail more even keel.

A balance shift

Could be a gift,

If to the heart it does appeal.

c2018 by Linda Ann Nickerson

Image:

Theme art – adapted from public domain image

Still from The Dark Past, 1948

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Oh, No, You Don’t

A MonSter waits outside the door

With mayhem he has wrought before.

But he’ll be schooled;

I’ll not be fooled.

He’ll be my prisoner of war.

 It won’t be pretty. That I know.

But I am prepped for toe-to-toe.

So bring it on.

My sword is drawn.

I’ll send you back beneath, below.

 

 Flash fire at me, if you dare.

I’ll not be caught twice unaware.

No wilting wimp,

Though limbs go limp,

I know you’re not my worst nightmare.

c2018 by Linda Ann Nickerson

Image:

Theme art – adapted from public domain image

Still from Frankenstein, 1931

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May-Glow Maniac

One need not be in politics

To practice down-and-dirty tricks.

A cranium may grow obscene

When one fixed on himself is keen.

Look how he swells;

The tales he tells,

While seeking others to demean.

To gain all glory he’ll embark.

He operates without benchmark.

No conduct clue,

He’s much ado –

We think he might glow in the dark.

No pound of flesh will satisfy,

Nor does he still his battle cry.

Napoleon

By him’s outdone.

To this one rules do not apply.

His self-strong shell is compromised,

Though he to date is unchastised.

Enough! Enough!

Let’s call his bluff.

A blowhard’s trust is ill-advised.

c2018 by Linda Ann Nickerson

Image:

Theme art – adapted from public domain image

Still from North by Northwest, 1959

Feel free to follow on Google Plus and Twitter. Please visit my Amazon author page as well.