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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, Became self-endearing 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. |
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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, Antidisestablishmentarian, 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. Paraphrasing Descartes, 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, A disestablishmentarian, Who purchased a gun, Put her hair in a bun, And became a Montana librarian. |
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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 Congressional nuts 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? |