The Saturday Evening Post » poem

Limerick Laughs Contest Winner and Runners-Up for Jan/Feb 2013

Post Editors — Thu, 09 May 2013 12:00:27 +0000

My Loveliest Annabel Lou,
This love-note is perfect for you—
“Love” is here written,
An arrowed-heart’s splittin’—
But Edgar has bought you one, too.

—Patrick Murtha, Saint Marys, Kansas

Congratulations to Patrick Murtha! For his poem describing the illustration by Dick Sargent, Patrick wins $100—and our gratitude for a job well done.

If you’d like to enter the Limerick Laughs Contest for our upcoming issue, you can submit your limerick via the entry form here.

Of course, Patrick’s limerick wasn’t the only one we liked! Here are some of our favorite runners-up, in no particular order:

Old Cupid had hit his mark true,
But Romeo did not have a clue.
Hand in his pocket,
Heart like a rocket,
This strange thing called love was brand new.

—Randy Imwalle, Hillard, Ohio

The lad’s plagued by a problem quite dire,
Since impressing that girl will require
That he spend from his stash
At least some of the cash
That he’d saved for a brand new bike tire.

—Patrick McKeon, Pennington, New Jersey

Though young, he finds himself smitten.
Perhaps that old love bug has bitten?
He stays out of the way
Before Valentine’s Day,
And ponders some words sweetly written.

—Kathie Rosier, East Aurora, New York

The words in the card are risky.
She might find them much too frisky.
Yes, spells delight;
No, would sure bite.
Stuff like this drives men to whiskey.

—John Dischinger, Spring Valley, California

A romantic card that just couldn’t miss.
He fantasized about their first kiss,
But when push came to shove,
Said, “I may be in love,
But I ain’t wasting a quarter on this!”

—Ken Elinsky, Solon, Ohio

Sweethearts in verse made him pause,
Linger and read them because
Cards showed one’s heart
And reading that part
Made him wonder just what love was.

—Dietre McCormick, Carlisle, Iowa

The young man was thoughtfully weighing
The sentiment this card was conveying.
For he needed to find
Just the right Valentine
To say what he thought needed saying.

—Paul H. Madsen, Columbia Heights, Minnesota

Oh, what a dilemma for Billy!
The mushy cards strike him as silly.
His feelings are true,
So what should he do?
He may pick a card—but will he?

—Elizabeth Silverthorn, Salado, Texas

A Valentine card is a feature
To send to a beautiful creature.
But his mother was firm
That he pass school this term,
So he has to send love to his teacher.

—Ruth Porter, Albany, Oregon

Limerick Laughs Contest Winner and Runners-Up for Jan/Feb 2013 The Saturday Evening Post

Limerick Laughs Contest Winners and Runners-Up

Post Editors — Mon, 17 Dec 2012 14:00:49 +0000

We are pleased to present our Limerick Laughs contest winners and runners-up! Click the images or text below to read our favorite limericks from the most recent issues of The Saturday Evening Post.

If you’d like to enter the Limerick Laughs Contest for our current issue, submit your limerick via the entry form here.

Jan/Feb 2013 Limerick Laughs

Congratulations to Patrick Murtha of Greencastle, Indiana, our January/February 2013 Limerick Laughs Contest Winner!

Nov/Dec 2012 Limerick Laughs

Congratulations to Bette Killion of Greencastle, Indiana, our November/December 2012 Limerick Laughs Contest Winner!

Sept/Oct 2012 Limerick Laughs

Congratulations to James Carpenter of Miami, Florida, our September/October 2012 Limerick Laughs Contest Winner!

July/Aug 2012 Limerick Laughs

Congratulations to Timothy Cannon of Osceola, Iowa, our July/August 2012 Limerick Laughs Contest Winner!

May/June 2012 Limerick Laughs

Congratulations to Julie Polak of Bucyrus, Ohio, our May/June 2012 Limerick Laughs Contest Winner!

March/April 2012 Limerick Laughs

Neal Levin

Jan/Feb 2012 Limerick Laughs

Congratulations to Rita Schilling of Fort Worth, Texas, our January/February 2012 Limerick Laughs Contest Winner!

Nov/Dec 2011 Limerick Laughs

Congratulations to Gayla Baggett of Hendersonville, Tennessee, our November/December 2011 Limerick Laughs Contest Winner!

Sept/Oct 2011 Limerick Laughs

Congratulations to Neal Levin of Bloomfield Hills, Michigan, our September/October 2011 Limerick Laughs Contest Winner!

Limerick Laughs Contest Winners and Runners-Up The Saturday Evening Post

Limerick Laughs

Heather Ray — Wed, 25 Aug 2010 14:30:04 +0000

The Saturday Evening Post will award $100 to the author of the winning limerick for this picture.

Limericks must contain five lines. Entries will not be returned. Enter as many times as you wish.

The Sep/Oct 2010 Limerick Laughs winner will be announced in the Jan/Feb 2011 issue. Entries must be postmarked by October 6, 2010.

Send entries on a postcard to:
Limerick Laughs
The Saturday Evening Post
1100 Waterway Blvd.
Indianapolis, IN 46202

We extend our congratulations and $100 to Mary Ann Pendleton, Waxhaw, North Carolina, for the May/Jun 2010 winning entry.

One day after golf he came home,
Found his wife putting balls all alone.
With her putter lined up,
The ball rolled in the cup,
And all he could do then was groan.

Honorable mentions go to:

As Lou stood there perplexed and in awe,
His cigar fell as he dropped his jaw.
Since Mabel’s putt was on line
He moaned, “It’s better than mine,”
And he wasn’t sure he liked what he saw.
—Jan Streilein from Aiken, South Carolina

She said at home she’d be quite content,
So off to play golf with his pals he went.
When he left his spouse
To “putter around the house,”
This is not what he thought she meant!
—Jane Grau from Charlottesville, Virginia

Limerick Laughs The Saturday Evening Post

Song for New Year’s Day, 1949

Post Editors — Sat, 26 Dec 2009 14:00:41 +0000

A twelvemonth more and we’ll know the riddle
Of what the century had for its middle,
And whether we’re having a boom or a bump
As the Nineteen-hundreds slide “over the hump.”

—The Saturday Evening Post, January 1, 1949

Song for New Year’s Day, 1949 The Saturday Evening Post

God-Fearing Mrs. Bates

Abigail Cresson — Sat, 28 Nov 2009 14:00:01 +0000

Old Mrs. Bates is always
Peeping through her curtain,
Peering up and down the street,
Making very certain
Of the wicked goings on
Of all of her neighbors
To and from their roisterers,
To and from their labors—
Her nose is keen for gossip
As a pointer’s for a pheasant—
And all she knows about them is
Remarkably unpleasant.
With hand before her pursed-up lips,
Whispering, she goes
From one house to another
To hint of what she knows.

God-fearing, righteous Mrs. Bates,
How she does revel in
The fact that she is living
In a world so filled with sin!

February 11, 1950, The Saturday Evening Post

God-Fearing Mrs. Bates The Saturday Evening Post

Thanksgiving … 1950

Edna St. Vincent Millay — Sat, 21 Nov 2009 14:00:33 +0000

Hard, hard it is, this anxious autumn,
To lift the heavy mind from its dark forebodings;
To sit at the bright feast, and with ruddy cheer
Give thanks for the harvest of a troubled year.

The clouds move and shift, withdraw to new positions on the hills;
The sky above us is a thinning haze—a patch of blue appears—
We yearn toward the blue sky as toward the healing of all our ills;
But the storm has not gone over; the clouds come back;
The blue sky turns black;
And the muttering thunder suddenly crashes close, and once again
Flashes of lightening startle the rattling windowpane;
Then once more pours and splashes down the cold, discouraging rain.

Ah, but is it right to feast in a time so solemn?
Should we not, rather, feast—and give the day to prayer?

Prayer, yes; but fasting, no.
Soldier and citizen alike, we are a marching column,
And how long the march may be, and over what terrain
We do not know;
Nor how much hardship, and hunger, how much of pain
We may be called upon to endure. And fortitude
Takes muscle; and needs food.

Never more dear than in a thoughtful hour like this
Are the faces about the table: each stands out
More sharply than before, and is looked at with a longer glance.
And smiles are deep, from behind the eyes, and somewhat quizzical,
Lest they go too far in tenderness.

God bless the harvest of this haggard year;
Pity our hearts, that did so long for Peace;
Deal with us kindly: there are many here
Who love their fellow man (and may their tribe increase).
But cunning and guile persist; ferocity empowers
The lifted arm of the aggressor: the times are bad.
Let us give thanks for the courage that was always ours;
And pray for the wisdom which we never had.

This is nothing new—that we should be attacked
While we are napping: is it not always so?—
And, dazed and unprepared, start up to act,
Rubbing our eyes, not knowing where to go?

Yet the trained hand does not forget its skill;
Nor can we lay precision and speed aside:
Strength we have, and courage; an acetylene will;
A timorous vigilance; but a brave pride.

From the apprehensive present, from a future packed
With unknown dangers, monstrous, terrible and new—
Let us turn for comfort to this simple fact:
We have been in trouble before . . . and we came through.

Thanksgiving … 1950 The Saturday Evening Post

Mid-November

Geraldine Ross — Sat, 14 Nov 2009 14:00:40 +0000

I greeted the new day happily,
But the sky was a gray that scowled at me,
And the wind was a voice that turned away,
A sigh that hoped that I couldn’t stay.
I saw a cloud with ragged edge,
And a rumpled tree and a rusty hedge
And drifts of leaves, and I almost wept
At the cluttered scene, at the world unswept,
At a season tired and old and grieving,
Grumbling, “Excuse me, I was just leaving!”

November 15, 1958, The Saturday Evening Post

Mid-November The Saturday Evening Post

November Night

Adelaide Love — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 14:00:07 +0000

The wind goes keening through the dark,
Disconsolate for what is lost—
The rose, the leaf, the lyric stream
Now songless under ice and frost.

The moon, behind a sable film
Of cloud, this night looks doubly pale,
A widow who has hid her face
Behind a mourning veil.

The Saturday Evening Post, November 21, 1959

November Night The Saturday Evening Post

Warning on Halloween

Gladys McKee — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 14:00:01 +0000

Whoever rings my doorbell
Might as well roam;
I won’t be there with cookies,
I won’t be home
Counting out new pennies
To thin ghosts and stout,
Polishing apples.
I’ll be out!
If you see a small ghost
Strolling up the street,
Somewhat uncertain in
His too-big sheet,
Not knowing whether
To run or to stand,
That’s the first member
Of a new ghost band.
And if you see a worried witch
Trying hard to be
Good ghost company
For a spoon of three,
That’s me!

October 26, 1946, The Saturday Evening Post

Warning on Halloween The Saturday Evening Post

The Color Chart

Lucille Schulberg — Sat, 10 Oct 2009 14:00:13 +0000

The color of yellow
When the sun is young
Is butter
Melting on the tongue.

The blue of sky
Leaning heavy on land
Is velvet
Folded in the hand.

A catapult of brasses
In my ear
Is red
In the autumn of the year.

—October 17, 1959, The Saturday Evening Post

The Color Chart The Saturday Evening Post

Western Hills

Elizabeth-Ellen Long — Sat, 03 Oct 2009 14:00:57 +0000

A hill, out West, grows lanky and lean,
No soft grass on it, no flabby green,
Sun-tanned, wind-wrinkled, leather-skinned land,
Tough and wiry as an old cow hand.

In lonely silence it rides the range,
Day in and day out, without a change,
Watching over sagebrush, keeping stray
Live-oak trees from wandering away.

From dawn to dark, always astraddle
The gaunt-ribbed desert’s dusty saddle,
Rides the sky’s blue range, rides far and wide
With only its shadow at its side.

November 1, 1952, The Saturday Evening Post

Western Hills The Saturday Evening Post

Fall

Allen E. Woodall — Sat, 26 Sep 2009 14:00:09 +0000

Now is the drifting time when the leaves blossom,
The sun of chrysanthemum in the soft blue sky.
Slow dawn and hasty sunset seal the heavens.
And a sleepy moon is there as the day goes by.

Published by The Saturday Evening Post, September 19, 1953

Fall The Saturday Evening Post

Song upon Maturity

Esther Wood — Sat, 12 Sep 2009 14:00:53 +0000

Oh, now I need no longer fear
Ingratitude, the jealous smile;
For I have known the face of lies
This bitter while.

Familiarity has brought
An end to everything I fear.
I am more moved by honesty
Than by a sneer.

So having skirted sand and swamp
And having tasted briny sea,
I walk the firmer pathways of
Maturity.

And past the little hills of hate,
Beyond the little fence of fright,
I see so infinite a view
They kept from sight.

Published in The Saturday Evening Post, September 12, 1953.

Song upon Maturity The Saturday Evening Post

Jet-Age Reverie

Lawrence A. Perkins — Sat, 05 Sep 2009 14:00:20 +0000

When last the circling sun went down
You sat in silence by my side
To watch the crimson colors drown
In night’s advancing westward tide.

But you have flown so very far
That morning here is afternoon
Across the ocean where you are,
And night will follow far too soon.

And still I watch, as evening dies,
The cloudracks in the afterglow.
I, at nightfall, where they rise;
You, at dawning, where they go.

Jet-Age Reverie The Saturday Evening Post

Watching Water

Edward Shenton — Sat, 29 Aug 2009 14:00:20 +0000

The emerald surf cascades in churning cream;
The sea beyond is silent: in a dream
Part colored by the moving wave and sky,
And part by shadowed cloud and burning sun,
And part by where the buried centuries lie.
The amber channels stained by sea-silt run
Out from the coves, and whisper at the edge
Of salt-grass meadows and the hemlock’s root,
And thickets bearing bursting purple fruit
Of beach plum and blueberry; where the sedge,
Stiff and sharp in brittle sword blades, stands
By pools and lakes and long-deserted strands.
Rivers flow unerring to the sea,
And harbors hold the tide within the hills;
The orbit moon reveals the rippled sand,
And in its mould the liquid silver spills:
Then draws the ocean back upon the shore,
To hide again the fecund fertile spoor.

This is the water where our lives began:
I sit and watch the crucible of man.

Watching Water The Saturday Evening Post