The naked maestro: Limerick competition
Daily Comfort ZoneThere once was a maestro, Viotti
Who thought he was being quite naughty.
He stripped off on a beach
With a camera in reach
And showed all the world his bare botty.
You try.
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Pass the sick bucket…
Lorenzo, we’re calling your bluff!
Daily on Insta you’re struttin’ your stuff.
You and Dany from Berlin
Commit the narcissist’s sin.
And over on slippedisc they can’t get enough.
There once was a man called Viotti
Who almost displayed parts quite knotty,
He climbed on the rocks,
In nothing but socks,
And thought he was really hot totty.
At least one person knows how a limerick should scan! Congratulations.
Oh leave him alone. He’s a sexy guy.
Lorenzo Viotti from Lausanne
fancies himself quite the ladies’ man,
he shows off his bums,
as taut as a drum,
But ne’er his balls the size of pecans
There is this conductor Lorenzo
Who quit taking his daily benzo
A real “ladies man?”
Or really a “man’s man?”
Only his lovers can yes-or-no.
There once was a percussionist who got lucky,
Wearing swiss watches on the podium quite smugly,
Their Rachmaninoff was trash and the Mahler like whiplash,
‘Twas all naked ambition for the cash.
A maestro with quite nothing on,
But contriving to hide his baton,
Posed to prove he lifts weights
Between podium dates
But provoking no more than a
yawn.
This conductor’s a bit of a bodger
Misconducting by shaking his todger.
The bum notes are duff
He performs in the buff
And his climax’s is always a dodger.
OR:
There was a conductor named Viotti,
Who was vain to the max ’bout his body,
He took it all off,
While the rest of us coughed,
And indited his judgment as shoddy.
There once was a Maestro of lore
Who walked from shore to shore
The crowd wanted Mahler
But he didn’t bother
He stripped naked instead, alors.
A conductor by name of Viotti
Is purported to be quite a hottie.
His baton is quite long
But that luminous dong
Is what drives his musicians quite potty.
He conducted with his shaft,
though many thought him daft
saying, “let’s see a woman pull this off.”
There was quite a good band from Brum
Whose conductor showed off his bum.
When asked to explain
The Chief Exec said “once again..
it’s so we get new people to come”
Organist, Fartimus Howells
was famed for playing tunes with his bowels.
At his last gig in Crewe
when his lunch followed through,
the crowd drowned his refrain with their howls.
As regards that conductor Viotti,
I’ll not lose any sleep over what ‘e
Thinks we’d most like to see
Of his bod — notably,
His polpette and pink manicotti.
I put off by conductor Lorenzo
And the stuff he displays for the lens. Oh,
For the days of decorum
When Norm Lebrecht’s forum
Was home to bom gosto extenso.
(Sorry — should be: •“I’m• put off…”
One could argue (I guess) he’s a cutie.
Nonetheless, I adjudge it my duty
To urge others: “Don’t pose
With your dangling hose
On display (do you hear, Signor Muti?)!”
A maestro of global repute In the habit of ‘tootling’ his ‘flute’. Recent photo exposés Showed his parts red and rosés shrank them smaller than tadpole (or newts) (for the sake of public decency)
The maestro was con un leone,
His body both muscled and bony,
He stripped to the buff
But the sea was too rough
And a conger eel chewed coglioni.
On the conductor who goes by Viotti
The comments here seem so snotty
The man had to pee
While so near to the sea
So let him get on with his potty
There once was this pretty weird guy,
who’s everything but who’s not shy.
His clothes in the sand,
’cause commando he went,
the sun burned not only his thigh.
Lorenzo Viotti is very nice,
His body is flavoured like sugar and spice,
One glance and you’re in!
Or would that be a sin?
You might have to raise your price.
Oohhhh, how many erotic poetry on Slipped Disc:
Bravi tutti e buon Natale a voi !
At the end of this year so rotten
(Arguably best forgotten)
We can all unite
At the gladsome sight
Of a conductor scraping the bottom.
splendid!
Norman, this is quite simply the best comments section on here I’ve ever seen.
Who knew the trolls were actually so artistically apt? Brings out the best in them!
Can we have more poetry captions on this site please!
A conductor did not think it rude,
To show himself off in the nude.
But I think its heinous
To show off your penis
Then again I’m a terrible prude.
Perfect metre, one apostrophe missing
Thanks Norman. Your comment reminds me of an end of term report – B-, Could try harder!
B+
Centimetres are more usual in this context.
(Replace “Then again” with “But then,” and it will scan perfectly! )
There once was a naked baton
As perfectly built as a swan
It sounds somewhat cheesy
But one may get wheezy
To meet him and then get it on.
There once was a conductor, Viotti,
Whose nude poses caused quite a potty.
Norman, critic of dread,
Turned enviously red,
As Viotti just shrugged, looking haughty.
So sure was he of his appeal
The Maestro did a public reveal
But then out went the tide
Leaving nothing to hide
What we saw there was just a small eel
__________________________
A conductor strips down to the buff
To show us he has the right stuff
But cold water did beckon
Which forced him to reckon
That his baton was not firm enough
____________________________
My inner 10 year old is digging this.
Slipped Disc’s architect, Norman Lebrecht,
At times posts things to which some object.
But I say, “He sheds light
On such topics we might
Otherwise have consigned to neglect.”
Remember this guy, pretty lewd,
keeps running around in the nude.
His baton he waved,
oh look: it is shaved,
but obviously not yet tattooed.
(I don’t know, didn’t dare to look. 😀 )
When there’s a nude man up on the podium
Waving his stick at the poor euphonium
If you’re in the front row
What you’re dying to know
Is how big was his dose of Imodium?
I might respectfully suggest:
If a man soils his pants on the podium
(Causing outright revulsion and odium),
If you’re in the front row,
Duck and cover! His flow
Might besmirch you! (He took some Imodium.)
Were he not all-consumed über alles
With repeatedly flashing his phallus,
He’d restrict its display
(naughty, lewd, and risqué)
And decrease his impression as callous.
A young maestro who seems quite the snack
Likes to show off more than his six-pack.
Cue the clutching of pearls
And the snark from the churls
Who all envy his assets they lack.
That self-obsessed maestro, Viotti
Was anxious to show off his botty,
But, try as he might,
His features were slight,
Not gigantic, like dear Pavarotti!
He is hot tho!
If a naked conductor you’re seeking
At whose privates you’d like to be peeking:
Ecco Maestro Viotti!
(One question, though: Ought he
Indulge in such unabashed streaking?)
Tell us, Norman: could you have predicted
That those photos which brashly depicted
Maestro Viotti’s presumption
Would stir up the gumption
Of Slipped Disc’s most rhyming-afflicted?
Maestro Viotti’s vainglory is chronic,
As evinced by his photos moronic.
Lavish thanks, then, to Norm
Who pitched limerick form
As a cleansing and fortifying tonic.
Adam wins!
Had Norm offered a medal or cup,
My response would have been a loud, “Yup!”
But my honest reaction?
Far more satisfaction
From fierywoman’s thumbs-up!
He is physically beautiful. But is he a good musician?