September/October 2016 Limerick Laughs Winner and Runners-Up
“Interference!” was the referee’s call
When the pup deflected the ball.
“The game can’t go on
Till that mongrel is gone.
We’re not playing fetch after all.”
Congratulations to Karen Meissner of Bothell, Washington! For her outstanding limerick, she wins $25 and our gratitude for this funny and entertaining poem describing Dog on the Field (above) by Lonie Bee. You can enter the Limerick Laughs Contest for our next issue of The Saturday Evening Post through our online entry form.
Karen’s limerick wasn’t the only one we liked. In no particular order, here are some of our other favorite contest entries:
There once was a young mutt named Prince
Who easily vaulted the fence
And catching the ball
Was no trouble at all
But the man in the stripes took offense!—Harold Long, Cathedral City, California
The home team was taking a whipping,
When a dog from nowhere came ripping
The play was a fumble,
The ref took a tumble,
And the dog was ejected for clipping.—Dennis Reaves, Oxford, Alabama
Sometimes there is no one at all
To whom I can throw the football.
But one day there was:
The game ended because
It’s my dog who would come when I call.—“Sue Do Nyhm,” Grenada, Mississippi
When Fido first made his appearance,
The ref’s incline granted him clearance.
For ball-chasing, though,
The ref whistled, “Whoa!”
And benched him for Pooch Interference.—S.E. Reynolds, Winger, Minnesota
The home team was gaining some traction
Till the mascot got into the action.
The ref made the call,
“No biting the ball!”
And he tagged the pup with an infraction.—Lisa Timpf, Simcoe, Ontario, Canada
This dog could be a receiver.
Of that I am a believer.
The ref made a call.
The dog got the ball,
Cause he is a pure-bred retriever.—Angie Gyetvai, Oldcastle, Ontario, Canada
His dignity had definitely flown,
For as he ran through
Most everyone knew
That the pup was the ref’s very own.—Lyn Tutor, Magee, Mississippi
This dog is the new substitute
He’s not very big, but he’s cute
As he darts to and fro
He’s stealing the show
With a long run and ref in pursuit.—Chet Cutshall, Willowick, Ohio
In the rulebook that referees wield
Is the penalty for ref-tripping revealed?
It’s most likely not known —
Throw a flag or a bone
For an illegal beagle downfield?—Ross Steacy, St. Johns, Arizona
July/August 2016 Limerick Laughs Winner and Runners-Up
It feels like a hundred and three!
And we’re both just as parched as can be.
We’re panting and moaning,
Perspiring and groaning…
So why are we drinking hot tea?
Congratulations to Guy Pietrobono of Washingtonville, New York! For his outstanding limerick, he wins $25 and our gratitude for this funny and entertaining poem describing Billboard Painters (above) by Stevan Dohanos. You can enter the Limerick Laughs Contest for our next issue of The Saturday Evening Post through our online entry form.
Guy’s limerick wasn’t the only one we liked. In nor particular order, here are some of our other favorite contest entries:
When the heat is uncompromising
And the work is ever-perspiring.
With the drink that you pour,
It is hard to ignore
That there’s truth in some advertising.—S. Pavelich, Grand Blanc, Michigan
Two painters named Willy and Fred,
Rode up in a truck that was red.
Old Fred should have learnt
That his head would get burnt
If his hat was not up on his head.—Tom Glatting, Chillicothe, Ohio
“Imagine us both in the shade
Sipping GALLONS of pink lemonade …”
“Imagine instead
That we’re working here, Fred,
‘Cause on Friday I’d like to get paid!”—Guy Pietrobono, Washingtonville, New York
I’m thinkin’ that drinkin’ this potion
Might make me go weak with emotion.
Up here on this deck,
It’s hotter than heck.
A refill? You’ll have my devotion.—Rebekah Hoeft, Redford, Michigan
The sign was for selling AC.
One painter explained it to me:
AC really cools
By transferring joules.
And a jewel of a painter was he.—Phillip T. Ross, Indianapolis, Indiana
Think back, now, to winter’s big chill,
And the snowball you rolled down the hill.
This heat wave won’t last,
It soon will be past,
And then you’ll miss summer, you will!—Grace Bates, Ft. Wayne, Indiana
It’s hotter than what it reads there,
And that big fan ain’t blowin’ cool air.
It sure would be nice
To sit on the ice
And pretend to be Big Papa Bear!—Dolores M. Sahelian, Mission Viejo, California
Of all the unfortunate luck,
Hot weather had actually struck.
Poor Robert and Casey!
If only the AC
Was working inside their own truck.—Neal Levin, Bloomfield Hills, Michigan
Outdoor work that is done in the sun
Isn’t close to a job you’d call fun.
When the heat is so cruel,
Try to keep yourself cool
So not you, but the sign, is well done.—Thomas Eveslage, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
May/June 2016 Limerick Laughs Winner and Runners-up
The boy really never was sicker,
’Cause Grampa was not one to bicker.
When he begged for a puff:
“Take 10 since you’re tough!
And here, taste my hundred-proof liquor!”
Congratulations to Rebekah Hoeft of Redford, Michigan! For her outstanding limerick, she wins $25 and our gratitude for this funny and entertaining poem describing Harold Anderson’s Sick of Smoking (above). If you’d like to enter the Limerick Laughs Contest for our next issue of The Saturday Evening Post, submit your limerick through our online entry form.
Rebekah’s limerick wasn’t the only one we liked. In nor particular order, here are some of our other favorite contest entries:
A lit pipe, a boy, and his pup
Were out in “the bush,” hiding up.
Boy took a deep toke
Of that tobacco smoke
And fell down as his dinner came up.
—William Fountain, Carlsbad, California
This young lad with an early desire
To try out Granddad’s burley ‘n’ briar
Took only one puff
And deemed it enough
To cause him to surely expire!
—Clarice Piantedosi, Attleboro, Massachusetts
“Little Boy Blue,” just thirteen,
Part man and part boy — in between —
Thought just for a joke
He’d puff on pipe smoke,
And now he is “Little Boy Green!”
—Cheryl Burney, Royal Oak Michigan
Doctors have charged me a fee,
Saying naps will revitalize me.
It’s advice that seems sound,
So henceforth I’ll be found
Every afternoon — prone to agree.
—Paul Richards, Peoria, Illinois
‘What happened to my buddy Luke?’
Thought trusty ol’ pal, Marmaduke.
‘I want to get close,
But something smells gross.
Not the smoke — my pal reeks of puke.’
—Edward Perley, Downingtown, Pennsylvania
After consulting his dog “Lucky Charm,”
He surmised, ‘what the heck could it harm?’
The laddie got ripe
After puffing his pipe,
And he tripped without leaving the farm.
—C.T. Carney, Knoxville, Tennessee
Oh, what I would give to redo
My last couple moments or two?
For sure no more smoking,
And I am not joking,
Because down here, I don’t like the view.
—Norma Wilt, Cincinnati, Ohio
Here lies a naughty young snipe
Who decided to swipe daddy’s pipe.
Off to smoke it he went;
Now he doth repent,
And the tears from his cheeks he doth wipe.
—Brandi King, Riverdale, Michigan
I hadn’t tried smoking as yet.
Some puffs would be great — I would bet!
But then things spun around,
And I fell on the ground!
So next time — an e-cigarette!
—Brian Federico, Clyde, New York
March/April 2016 Limerick Laughs Winner and Runners-up
You can tell by my clothes that it’s true;
Miniature golf is what I pursue.
Have a look at the prize;
You can tell by its size:
The trophy is miniature, too.
Congratulations to Alfred Cross of Sacramento, California! For his winning limerick, Alfred wins $25 and our gratitude for his witty and entertaining poem describing George Brehm’s Golf Trophy (above). If you’d like to enter the Limerick Laughs Contest for our next issue of The Saturday Evening Post, submit your limerick through our online entry form.
Alfred’s limerick wasn’t the only one we liked. Here are some of our other favorite contest entries, in no particular order:
I’m proud as punch of my prize.
It’s so bright, it dazzles the eyes.
It’s true that it’s small,
I wouldn’t have won it at all
But a squirrel kept improving my lies.—Jean H. Brydge, Lyndhurst, Virginia
According to gossip and chatter
(Although it should not really matter):
This tournament winner
Could be a bit thinner;
The trophy could be a bit fatter.—Neal Levin, Bloomfield Hills, Michigan
It’s amazing that I could compete
Against flat bellies that I could beat.
When bent over my putt,
Because of my gut,
I could not get a glimpse of my feet.—Donald Giffels, Venice, Florida
As onlookers judging surmise,
Fulfillment’s not measured by size.
Though some may poke fun
At the trophy I won,
I’m pleased as can be with my prize.—Michelle Gordon, Airway Heights, Washington
A golfer when trimmer and taller
Was sometimes a big trophy hauler.
Now being more portly,
He finds in his sport, he
Takes prizes proportionately smaller.—William Dow, Manchester, Connecticut
He huffs and he puffs ’round the links.
He’s quite unaware that he stinks.
His drives are too short,
And I’m sad to report:
When putting, his ball never sinks.—Rebekah Hoeft, Redford, Michigan
I’m smiling to hide all my woe,
For I don’t want the artist to know.
I can’t tell him at all
That the cup is so small
Because it’s for high score, not low!—Lonnie Barham, Warwick, Rhode Island
He still can’t believe he’s the winner.
He claims that he’s still a beginner.
He won this award,
Which he truly adored,
But he’d rather be treated to dinner.—Neal Levin, Bloomfield Hills, Michigan
My trophy may seem to be tiny,
And my cheeks and my nose may look shiny,
But a water-hole ace
Brought a smile to my face
That matches the breadth of my heinie.—David Keller, Dublin, Ohio
January/February 2016 Limerick Laughs Winner and Runners-Up
This girl has a radiant smile,
And it seems she has savvy and style.
This was Valentine’s Day.
No one sent gifts her way,
So she bought them and selfied the pile.
Congratulations to contest winner Deborah Dickinson-Deacon of Amherst, New York! For her limerick describing F. Sands Brunner’s illustration, Valentine’s Gifts (above), Deborah wins $25 and our gratitude for an entertaining poem. If you’d like to enter the Limerick Laughs Contest for our next issue of The Saturday Evening Post, submit your limerick through our online entry form.
Deborah’s limerick wasn’t the only one we liked. Here are some of our other favorite contest entries, in no particular order:
For me? Well, I’m just pleased as punch.
The problem: I don’t have a hunch
Who the gift could be from.
Let’s hope not that bum —
Fred Bruner — who stuck me with lunch.—L.J. Williams, Topeka, Kansas
Valentine gifts are such fun,
No matter how often they come.
I will save them and then
I’ll thank the young men
Just as soon as I know who they’re from.—Alfred W. Cross, Sacramento, California
Although she’s aglow with her heart,
It really would give her a start
To know that her flower
And mini card shower
Were a last-minute thought at Walmart.—Kevin Rorabaugh, Ellis, Kansas
Such Valentine gifts make me weep —
A card with a message that’s deep,
Some candy — what’s more,
There’re posies galore.
So where is the jewelry, you creep?—Betty Lyons, Newton Falls, Ohio
This Valentine babe — such a cutie —
Blushed at chocolates and violets as booty.
If she’d known modern taste
To maintain a tight waist
She might have requested tofutti.—Mia Berman, New York City, New York
His girl was utter perfection,
So he sent her a lovely confection.
She blushed chin to locks
When she opened the box
‘Cause he sent her the “lover’s selection.”—J. Janes, Marinette, Wisconsin
Perusing the many entreaties
That came from her various sweeties,
The candy she tried
Came with one downside:
The risk of type two diabetes.—Patrick McKeon, Pennington, New Jersey
I’ve waited all year for this day,
And I’ve only got one thing to say:
While candy is nice,
It just won’t suffice;
I’d rather go roll in the hay!—Michelle Gordon, Airway Heights, Washington
This sweet lass had suitors of three.
There was Harry and Masters and me,
Yet I thought she was mine,
This dear sweet valentine,
Till she ran off with someone named Lee?—Patricia Brinton, Burnsville, Minnesota