My prose has grown weak (syntaxative?
)

My wordplay and structure (intraxative?
)

Oh lord, I do fear, 

that its verbal die-rear

Though it may be I'm merely dyslaxative

So I'm taking a bit of a blogging breather today and waiting for the restorative effects of enforced literary lethargy to help me through this dry spell.  But that doesn't mean it's a day off for you dear reader.  In fact, this may be your lucky day, because I have found a few distinguished ringers to fill in for me --and if the first guy here is a bit too old fashioned and stuffy for your taste, I'm confident that once you scroll down a bit, you'll find something more amenable to your populist preferences.  But the Bard starts it off with one of his biggest hits--it's an oldie that never gets moldy for me...and if you already know it, go to next item which is a gem of compression. 
( BTW: Shakespeare was nothing if not popular in his day) 

Take it away Will....

All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players,

They have their exits and entrances,

And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,

Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.

Then, the whining schoolboy with his satchel

And shining morning face, creeping like snail

Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,

Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad

Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,

Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,

Jealous in honour, sudden, and quick in quarrel,

Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice

In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd,

With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,

Full of wise saws, and modern instances,

And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts

Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,

With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side,

His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide,

For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,

Turning again towards childish treble, pipes

And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,

That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness and mere oblivion,

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.            

Robert Conquest solved the problem of how to compress the above classic into contemporary language with the brevity required by the Twittering hordes...and thus reduced the Bard's 28 line soliloquy into a five line limerick.

Seven ages: first puking and mewling,

Then very pissed off with your schooling,

Then fucks and then fights,

Then judging chaps’ rights,

Then sitting in slippers, then drooling.

 Conquest also conquered the task of summarizing  the Bolshevik “experiment” in five lines too: 

There once was a Bolshie called Lenin

Who did one or two million men in.

That’s a lot to have done in

But where he did one in

That old Bolshie Stalin did ten in!

And now jumping from 1600 to 1849...I offer you...

And do not think, my boy, that because I, impulsively broke forth in jubillations over Shakspeare, that, therefore, I am of the number of the snobs who burn their tuns of rancid fat at his shrine. No, I would stand afar off & alone, & burn some pure Palm oil, the product of some overtopping trunk. 

Herman: Born 193 years ago last month. 

— I would to God Shakspeare had lived later, & promenaded in Broadway. Not that I might have had the pleasure of leaving my card for him at the Astor, or made merry with him over a bowl of the fine Duyckinck punch; but that the muzzle which all men wore on their soul in the Elizebethan day, might not have intercepted Shakspers full articulations. For I hold it a verity, that even Shakspeare, was not a frank man to the uttermost. And, indeed, who in this intolerant universe is, or can be? But the Declaration of Independence makes a difference.
--Herman Melville 

Many a month ago, I asked a few colleagues to submit a (preferably “blue”) limerick for potential publication by a distinguished blogger of ill repute. 
MORAL OF THE STORY:  BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU ASK FOR.

I’ll share two with you (some are so extreme i actually fear that Google might shut me down if i posted them)  without attribution in order to protect the guilty.

A hot blooded lady named Lil

Used a dynamite stick for a thrill

They found her vagina

In North Carolina

And one of her tits in Brazil

It may not be social like whole sex,

So perhaps we should just call it sole sex.

It requires no dating

Or wishing or waiting

or involvement of condoms or Kotex

And I leave you with this by way of explanation for my indulgence in the inelegant.

Give me limericks bout parts anatomical

done with wit that is most economical.

for the good ones I've seen

So seldom are clean -

And the clean ones so seldom are comical.