jericsmith.com
1. Truckless in Ruffin 2. Hannah Knows Her
Limits 3. Nephews Triumphant 4. Opel,
Entrepreneur 5. Riverfront Property 6. Like Chicken 7. Fashionable Footwear 8. Waiting for Amtrak 9. It's Pretty, But . . .
10. Downwind 11. About
Your Recent Real Estate Acquisition . . . 12. Please Be Kind to Paper Bags 13. Tough
Love 14. Augie's
Advice 15. No Pain, No Pain 16. Swamp vs. Marsh 17. Hutson the Pyro 18. Aunt Sister 19. The Air in Coosawhatchie 20. Ann's Old AMC 21. Danger in McPhersonville 22. Instrument 23. What Makes Bud
Smile 24. Old Missus Ryder 25. The Fisherman 27. The Pritchards of Pritchardville 28. Doggie Don't Smile 29. James and 30. Where is Pocotaligo? 31. Road Hog 32. Schooling Skeeter
LOW COUNRY LIMERICKS:
Poems About the South Carolina Coast
and the People Who Live There
(But not the Tourists)
From
Yemassee on up t' Ruffin,
my
ol' truck, it was huffin'
and puffin'
'til
it died in the sun
there
on Route 21.
Now
for haulin' stuff, I have got nuffin'.
Down in Limehouse
(just north of
lived an armless old lady named Hannah.
She could knit with her toes,
and dial phones with her nose,
but she wasn't much good at piano.
None of us ever liked Uncle Roddy,
since he treated us all pretty shoddy.
So tonight we all jeer,
as we drink up his beer,
watching crabs pick the meat off his body.
While the bridge builders worked on the river,
Cousin Opel would often deliver
little lunches and snacks
that she bought down at Jack's,
plus massages. Oh Lord, please forgive her.
Though the
it's quite short, really, but, still, it's wide.
Kinda stumpy and squat,
and it steams when it's hot,
like Luella, my blushin' new bride.
On the train tracks I found a smashed
'gator,
who, it seemed, had been hit by a freighter
filled with kaolin clay,
on its way to the bay,
so I cut off its tail, to fry later.
There's all sorts of critters 'round
here
that'll bite, scratch or sting you, my dear,
so those shoes may look good
out in
but they're no good for stomping, I fear.
In Yemassee, outside the station,
I am feeling some great trepidation,
since I just missed the train,
which will not come again
for a twenty-four hour duration.
The little boy came from
saw moss in the trees, said "Oh my, oh!"
He grabbed some, he did.
Now the poor stupid kid,
of chiggers has got some supply, oh.
Boy, that pulp mill can smell awful
briny,
though it does me no good to be whiny,
since it won't go away,
and I do plan to stay,
even though my yard stinks worse than heinie.
Take a look at these maps, new and old,
side by side, just a glance, and behold:
where there once was wet sand,
now there's tenuous land
not to mention that house you were sold.
Gramma Linda,
she loves her some critters,
both
the nice ones and ones that have bit her.
If
you're out on the town,
and
there's critters aroun'
and
you want them gone, well, jus' go get her.
There's an cheap storage shed out in
where I keep my old chairs, books and curtains,
not to mention the box
with the hasps and the locks
that my wife's in, to keep her from flirtin'.
"Don't go pokin'
aroun' there," says Augie.
"'specially after it rains, when it's soggy,
'cause you'll sink in the muck
and be plum outta luck,
since the sheriff done sold his search doggy."
Unca Dana would race through
the woods,
goin' faster'n
he prob'ly should.
When
we asked him just why,
without
pause, he replied:
"Cause
them bruises, they feel kinda good."
"Quite
a swamp," said the tourist from Philly,
so
I turned to him, saying "Not really:
'cause
a swamp has got trees,
but
this don't, as you sees:
and
to call this marsh 'swamp' is plain silly."
Out
near Estill lived Hutson the Pyro,
who
would dance n' spin like a broke gyro
while
burnin' up woods,
peoples'
houses or goods,
singin'
"Look at the beautiful fire, oh!"
My
Aunt Sister, she's lookin' right pretty,
n'
her swimmin' suit, it's itty bitty.
As
we sit by the shore,
and
she shows more n' more,
I
am envyin' my Unca Daddy.
When
driving out by Coosawhatchie,
I
found my throat feeling quite scratchy.
Was
it dust in the air?
Or pollen? Or hair?
Or some virulent virus quite catchy?
Through
Lobeco drove Ann in her Pacer,
'twas
an old car, not much of a racer.
Past
the speed trap she roared
with
the gas pedal floored,
but
the cops said, "Ain't worth it to chase her."
In
McPhersonville, nothing moves quickly,
'cept the creepers and vines that grow thickly
'round
the houses and trees,
just
as fast as they please,
sometimes
trapping the old and the sickly.
Man,
that David, he loves his harmonica
with
a love that is far from platonica.
When
he sits down to blow
an'
them notes start t' flow,
it's
much better than twelve gin n' tonicas.
With
his cane pole and bobber, Bud's happy,
(although
saying so makes him feel sappy).
With
his beer and his dog,
he'll
go sit on a log,
toss
his line and catch flounder and crappie.
Did you hear about Old Missus
Ryder?
She
got bit by a brown recluse spider!
She
just laid down to die,
didn't
bother to try
even
calling her health care provider.
Though
cirrhosis had hardened Hank's liver,
and
the Parkinson's caused him to shiver,
he
still sat on his pier,
fishing
year after year
on
the dirty brown
26. Spinosaurus
So
they called that girl chile Emmeline,
and
her nature was quite serpentine.
She
would crawl through the dunes
singing
magical tunes
until
spikes would burst out of her spine.
In
Pritchardville lived Alma Pritchard
with
her shiftless third husband, named Richard.
People
asked her just why
she
put up with that guy,
and
she'd tell them: "He scratchard my itchard."
Cousin
Emily has a great pet,
a
li'l puppy that she has named Rhett.
Though
he has a nice leash,
he
does not have good teeth,
so
in dog shows, on him you can't bet.
Whilst
sculling out on the Chechesee
with
James
picked up his oar,
and
gave her what for
'til
the bilge of the scull was quite messy.
is
an awfully long way from
not
to mention
and
it's quite further still
from
the People's Republic of
There
was a rapscallion named Charlie
who
would roar through the town on his Harley.
He
would swerve off the street,
to
crunch small children's feet,
then
go home and eat pork rinds and barley.
Don't talk metric with my Cousin Skeeter:
he don't care 'bout no grams or no liters.
With a pound of C-4
and six feet of det cord,
he's been blowing up kiloparkingmeters.
Copyright 2003-2007: J. Eric Smith.
Git!