Now could there be anything betterer,
For an avid word-junkie competitor?
No crossword or Jumble
Is worth half the tumble
As a limerick contest from Lederer.
So wrote David Bouck, of Poway. Apparently, many of you agreed with David, because 185 limericks streamed into my email box. Judging the twinkle of the humor, the craft of the story building and the dexterity of rhyme and meter, I have selected three champion limericists, each of whom will receive a signed copy of my spanking new book “Monsters Unchained!”:
Samson did three thousand slay
With the jaw of an ass, so they say.
’Tis the weapon again
Of powerful men.
They’re called politicians today!
— Bee De Prez, Pacific Beach
Our city, you’d love if you met her.
In winter, you just need a sweater.
The zoo with its birds,
And Comic-Con nerds —
If only our sports teams were better.
— Scott Gellerman, Rancho Peñasquitos
My yard used to look so pristine
With the lushest lawn you’ve ever seen,
But with days growing hotter
And the shortage of water,
Now brown is my new shade of green.
— K.T. Cameron, El Cajon
Extremely honorable mentions are awarded to:
In this world, there are those who prefer
Friends with whiskers, four legs, and soft fur.
But we make a beeline
Toward anything feline.
‘Twill be, until dogs learn to purr.
— Judy O’Beirne, Coronado
A very smart man, Melvil Dewey,
Knew the placement of books was all screwy,
So he thought up a system
Whereby he could list ’em —
And now we don’t lose any — do we?
— Betty Forsythe Robinson
(retired librarian)
Edgar A. Poe had a cravin’
To converse at midnight with a raven.
But the bird was a bore,
Would just say, “nevermore,”
So Poe tried no mo’ and just gave in.
— Phil Pryde
My limericks are always quite various
Around the same theme, quite gregarious.
To be honest, ’tis true
That the good ones are few,
And the others are never hilarious.
— Jerry W. Koppman
We can never give up the word UP!
We clean up, dress up, fill up our cup.
We make up our mind,
Catch up from behind.
To write up this rhyme cracks me up!
— Helen Read
You can tell when they sell their best feller,
That they’ll then languish long in the cellar.
If the Pads finish last,
’Cause they trade ’em so fast
Oh, give us some hope, A.J. Preller!
— Richie Strell
Awed by my opponent’s ability
And in light of my growing senility,
An attempt to compete
Would just end in defeat.
My fate: Sisyphean futility.
— Alice Unger (age 90)
Your hospital stay may seem penal
With problems digestive and renal.
For the pain in your hip,
Don’t give ’em no lip.
Just say, “Aspirin won’t help, but morphine’ll!”
— Katy Laundrie
There was a young brave of the Sioux
Who should not have married a shrioux.
There was a big fight
On their wedding night —
His wife was a scalp-hunter, tioux.
— Janice Jimenez
Please send your questions and comments about language to richard.lederer@utsandiego.com