“For dinner tonight,” warbled Jake,
“We shall feast on the gifts of the lake!”
But his sweetheart, Lenore,
Heard such fables before
And snuck off to the store to buy steak.
Congratulations to Gennadiy Gurariy of Milwaukee, Wisconsin, who won $25 for his limerick describing Coby Whitmore’s Fishing Season, from the cover of our June 3, 1950, issue.
If you’d like to enter the Limerick Laughs Contest for our upcoming issue, submit your limerick via our online entry form.
Here are some more great limerick entries from this contest, in no particular order:
He’s learned how to lure and to hook
a bass or a trout in the brook.
But he’ll soon go berserk
When he finds they don’t work
’Cause the fish haven’t read the same book!
—Jennifer Smith, Wilmington, Delaware
They’d been married for less than a year,
But already it seemed very clear
That the love of his life
Wasn’t truly his wife,
But a box full of old fishing gear.
—Ken Morgan, Chapel Hill, North Carolina
For her, ’twas a painful admission,
That once she had given permission
For him to buy flies
And head off with the guys,
She’d take a back seat to his fishin’.
—James Johnston, Poland, Ohio
The angler perused his collection
As she glowered with waning affection.
Had he looked in her eyes,
His tackle and flies
Would have gotten no further inspection.
—Paxton Grant, Hightown, Virginia
When she wants Joe out of the house,
she will trap him just like a mouse.
She just has to buy
a new fishing fly,
and next week she won’t see her spouse.
—James Coplen, Greenwood, Indiana
Of all of the fish in the sea,
Just why did he have to catch me?
He lured me with bait —
A ring that looked great.
And now he ignores me, you see.
—Rudy Landesman, New York City, New York
Woolly buggers work well out in lakes.
In rivers there’s no room for fakes.
Trout like my hoppers.
And sometimes my droppers,
Though my wife tries to lure me with cakes.
—Marcia McGreevy Lewis, Seattle, Washington
I’m not going to bait you or pout,
But suggest we lay out a new route.
Just a sweet rendezvous,
Heaven knows what we’ll do.
But I doubt that you’ll think about trout.
—Skip Russell, Venice, Florida
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