Lo, the old Archimedean screw|
Is still being used in Peru,
And they use it in Spain
To elevate grain,
And in Egypt, to irrigate snoo.
A clever old gourmet named Sam
Used tubers for sweetening lamb.
He at times, lacking those,
Substituted his toes,
Declaring: "I yam what I am."
Though on takeoffs a pilot named Irving
Delighted in swooping and swerving,
Going faster than sound,
While still on the ground,
His passengers found it unnerving.
Near a shiny light beer can was Dwight,
Slyly dropping his trousers one night
In a bar in Rangoon,
Pantomiming the tune:
"By the Moon of the Silvery Light."
An unfortunate groom was Walter,
Left standing alone at the altar,
The source of the rift
His pre-nuptial gift:
A bridle and bit and a halter.
There was an old pirate named Charlie
Who tooled about on a Harley.
He was tough as ten men
And meaner than sin,
And even his parrot was snarly.
A limericker woke from his snooze,
Got into his best running shoes,
And worked up a sweat
With a butterfly net
As he tried to recapture the muse.
A nutty old banker named Fender,
On a pyromaniacal bender,
Torching money with glee,
Felt the judge would agree
He was just burning legal tinder.
Young Rodney McRich of Cape Cod,
Who fancies himself a Greek god,
Because of poor hearing
When someone said, "There's that geek, Rod."
A man with a bomb in bologna
Was detained as an obvious phony
When he claimed to be Herman,
A businessman, German,
Who lived in the town of Cologne.
The President's squirrel, no klutz,
Loved his job, with no ifs and no buts,
For the White House, of course,
Is the principal source
Of prime academia nuts.
A wizard, the moment he smelled her,
Fell in love with the witch Esmerelder
And, obsessed with the notion,
Tried to copy her potion,
But his formula failed and repelled her.
Two Aggies were digging a ditch,|
When the one called the other a snitch,
And they started to fuss,
But were too dumb to cuss,
So this limerick's encountered a hitch.
A servant employed in Lahore
Cursed his parents' affinity for
Gable's Gone With the Wind,
For this never will end:
"Rhett, butler, will show you the door."
An entrepreneur stuck with oodles
Of cans holding tofu and noodles
Scored a marketing coup
When he labeled them: New!
Yummy Gourmet Delight for Toy Poodles.
An aspiring young demon named Mel
Thought his future looked perfectly swell
When he heard Satan say,
"We've a role you can play;
Break a leg, son, and go give 'em Hell."
An old Nashville cowpoke named Frye,
Finding faces in clouds rolling by,
Noted T. H. H. Caine,
E. A. Poe and M. Twain,
And wrote Ghost Writers in the Sky.
At the circus a writer named Meeks
Was impressed by the fat lady's cheeks,
And announced his intentions
To describe her dimensions,
Though he thought it might take him three weeks.
If you go to Tibet, where you think
You'll discover that old Missing Link,
Do beware; don't forget he
Might well be a Yeti
With furry big feet that may stink.
Although Fermat's Last Theorem beguiles,
It appears to be suited to styles
Of diligent toilers
Like Gausses and Eulers,
So it yielded to Andrew J.'s wiles.
Are gentlemen living in Siam
As astonished to learn as I am
That a guy named FitzGerald
Wrote the poem we herald
As The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam?
A young lady who worked as a diver
Held her breath a long time for a fiver,
And she doubled it when
She was offered a ten,
But at twenty we had to revive her.
When Brutus, that jolly old teaser,
Told a joke to a regal old geezer,
In the shade of an arch
On the ides of March,
"Tee hee, Brute," said Caesar.
A lady who thought that her girdle
Was the reason that she was infertile
Left it off, and The Pill,
And gave birth to a Bill
And a Jane and a John and a Myrtle.
That young fellow who painted our town|
Chose colors that brought him renown:
For the ears of the slew
Of our gossips, a blue;
For the noses of sycophants, brown.
Said the old herpetologist, Smith,
In the lisp he's obliged to speak with,
"Thinth the time I wore diaperth
I've fanthied my viperth;
I love how they twitht and they hith."
A stubborn old butcher named Burke,
Who became quite annoyed by a clerk
And her constant reminders:
"Don't sit on meat grinders,"
Got a little behind in his work.
Every year an old lady named Fannister
Gives her neighbors an axle-grease cannister
On the morning of Easter
And, after they've greased 'er,
They measure her time down the bannister.
The wife of the neighborhood minister
Thinks sliding on Easter is sinister,
So she did it in Winter;
She slid, hit a splinter
And found it had slightly diminished 'er.
Although watching TV is no plus,
At the people who do it, don't fuss.
We should never berate a
Complete couch potato,
Especially net nerds like us.
Because often, from sodas he'd slurp,
Einstein would be ill but just burp,
He determined the place
Of a warp in time-space
And went back to observe Wyatt urp.
An unfortunate lady named Lindgren
Was annoyed by a dyslexic penguin
Who endeavored to sing
Begin the Beguine
But sang Beguine the Beginguin.
Our lesson tonight
Considers the plight
Of the dyslexic poet named Chad
Who writes limericks abysmally bad.
He can't get it right.
A goalie beleagured at soccer
Took a twenty-pound shot from his locker,
And some thread, and an awl,
Sewed the shot in the ball,
And was hailed as a consummate blocker.
No penguins reside in Rangoon,
Though the zoo has a flippered raccoon
And a guy in Toledo
Can provide a tuxedo
That will fit their fish-eating baboon.
When Picasso was tender in years
He considered some other careers
While reading reportage
Of imminent shortage
Of models with eyes in their ears.
As Bostonians say, in "Calcutta"|
Lives a man with a terrible stutter.
When he asks for the bread,
They will pass him instead:
Beer, broccoli, beans, and the butter.
A silly old gardener named Pottem
Complained of a frostbitten bottom.
When it rained on his plants
He remembered his pants,
But whenever it snowed he forgot 'em.
When a devious fellow named Fleagle
Proceeded to marry his beagle,
He replied to the preacher,
"Yes, I do take this creature,"
While the dog said: "You're sure this is legal?"
Said an old lady pickling figs
To another one nickeling wigs:
"Aren't we fickle
To nickel and pickle
When we could have been tickling pigs?"
An impetuous maiden named Marion,
Took a rabbit, a bear
And a pig to the fair,
And posed as a veterinarian.
From an ancient Egyptian papyrus,
A professor translated a virus.
It was rather terrific
For an old hieroglyphic:
His computer was cursed by Osiris.
There is an old hermit named Dave,
Who keeps a dead mower in his cave.
Since he can't cut the grass,
Now it's up to his ass.
(His donkey, you censors; behave!)
There once was a young man from Kent,
Whose fishing rod hummed as it bent.
Alarmed by the humming,
Instead of it coming,
His fish got away, and it went.
Every day, hermits Larry and Linc
Would debate what a hermit should think.
They'd agree at the start:
"We undoubtedly are, for we stink."
There is a snowman in Tibet. He
Is locally known as the Yeti.
He's a marvel at swimmin',
For abominable snowwomen
All reside on the wide Serengeti.
A wicked old fellow named Jones
Would ring people up on their phones
And suggest with a grin:
"Let us take off our skin
And converse on our phones in our bones."
There was a young lady named Marian,
Who purchased a gun,
Put her hair in a bun,
And became a Montana librarian.
A poet named Heinrich Himmerlich|
Finally published a limerick.
His maniacal chortle
Proclaimed: "I'm immortal!"
But alas, his renown was ephemeric.
A man whose studies were Zodiacal,
Of an intensity almost maniacal,
Would so often stare
at Ursa the bear.
...The major of which is kodiakal.
A classicist somewhat lupine,
Married a latinist he thought divine,
At any rate,
They would conjugate,
Till she said, "I must decline."
There was an old lady from Limerick,
Whose poetry was supernumeric.
Her fame was so wide
By the time she died,
The service they gave her was Homeric.
There was an old lady from Limerick
Who did something that rhymed with Limerick.
Because of her age
She thought it was sage
To have rosemaried and thymed in Limerick.
A lawyer once had the capacity
For tenacious perspicacity.
But his love of mendacity
Belied his veracity
Whenever he practiced loquacity.
There was a young lady of Diss,
Who said, "Now I think skating bliss!"
This no more will she state,
For a wheel off her skate
!siht ekil gnihtemos pu hsinif reh edaM
They came across trillions of miles
According to secret X-Files.
Now the good folks at SETI
Want us to get ready
And welcome them back with big smiles.
While repairing my new LNA
An alien had something to say.
I was not off long
And then he was gone
And he hasn't been heard to this day.
We cannot know where in the sky
A signal is lurking, or why.
We will search even though
The chances are low.
The payoff is well worth a try.
I gaze at the star sprinkled sky |
and ask, "Is there one such as I
in an alien place
staring off into space,
searching with strange wistful sigh?"
Whilst scanning one night into space
I espied an echoey trace.
My microwave MMIC's
Thus silenced the cynics,
Who may yet see an alien race.
The Mars rock amazed all the nations.
The scientists cheered with elation.
Others shared the good news
Still looking for clues...
And listening at their SETI stations.
The intelligent beings are out there
From Vega, Deneb, or Altair.
It's only a matter
Of hearing their chatter
Though translation is too much to bear.
In life Isaac often would say,
That fine limericks are ribald and gay.
So when chasing ETs,
At least pause, please, and tease
Sexy aliens who happen your way.
A creature some lightyears away,
sent off a few signals one day.
at SETI they read,
the signals, but dread,
they said: "Ghi-re dfi ga yt zay!"
They say there was life upon mars,
'ere dinasours stuck in the tars
but it couldn't think -
just sat in the drink
so we'll have to keep searching the stars.
Because of an obvious dearth
Of intelligent life here on Earth
Make deep budget cuts
In projects that have any worth.
When SETI discovers a planet
With civilized humans to man it
It's too late to say
"Let's call Isaac A."
You'll have to inform his wife Janet.
A small rock once fell through the sky
It carried a message from high
I come from the stars
I'm your father from Mars
So, give me a hug and say Hi!
The question we ask every night
As we look past the pale moon light
Can there be anyone
who lives far from the Sun?
Or is solitude our final plight?