Tag Archives: bishop

1204. Saint Nicholas

Ms Peaburger set her class an assignment; all were to write and present a speech on a given topic. Modesta had to prepare her speech on “The Origins of Saint Nicholas”.

Modesta began:

“Saint Nicholas was the Bishop of Myra, in Turkey, in the fourth century. He would celebrate Mass daily for the people of his Diocese, and he would hear Confessions, as well as Baptize and Confirm young members of his flock. He would celebrate Weddings for happy couples. And he visited the sick and Annointed them with the Sacrament of Extreme Unction as it was then called.

He spent many hours in prayer every week, and practised much penance and fasting. Apparently he even wore a hair shirt to…”

“Excuse me,” butted in Ms. Peaburger. “You have clearly got the wrong Saint Nicholas. What you’re talking about has nothing to do with Christmas. Next time you’re given an assignment I suggest you research it thoroughly. Sit down!”

Poems 23: The four seasons

(These limericks are the last of my first-of-the-month poems. There have been 35 poems in all. The weekly music finishes this coming Wednesday the 6th. There will have been 101 music compositions. The daily stories reach the finish line on Thursday 7th with story 1001).



Take note that the weather each winter
Is grey and in need of a tinter
If you slip on the ice
Which isn’t that nice
Your leg’ll get put in a splinter.



Just look at the weather each Spring
It’s an utterly pleasurable thing
It seems to get lotta
Brighter and hotta
With blossom buds blooming their bling.



Observe that the weather each summer
Can be a bit of a bummer
They forecast a drought
But we hardly get out
It just gets crumbier and crumber.



It seems that the weather each fall
Is worse than the autumn before
The more the rain wetters
The colder it getters
I’d rather no weather at all.

(Finally, since some definitions of the limerick say it must be bawdy and involve a member of the higher clergy…)


Did you hear of the bishop of York
Who was heavily into his pork?
Bits of the gristle
Sliced up his pizzle
So now he pokes with a fork.

To hear the poem read aloud click HERE.