This word once described her: Poquito.
But this bug, with her massive libido,
Must have slept with a cow,
For her offspring are now
Too huge to be called mere “mosquito.”

Nick sails Valkyrie, peaceful, serene,
With the engine turned off, no machine,
Breaks the stillness, the quiet,
Til he creates a riot,
With his blender, which burns gasoline.

With a sound like a loud chainsaw roar,
Our Lake Union’s not peaceful, no more,
“Margaritas,” I say,
“Over two miles away,”
It’s Saint Nick, giving alms to the pour.

We went out on Flagrante Delicto to watch Duck Dodge (for you non-Seattlites, it’s a very silly sailing race) last night, and were greeted in limerick form by Blender Boy Nick. Here’s a picture of Valkyrie’s crew (don’t ask me how Nick can steer with this many people in the cockpit!).

The theme for last night’s race was “Bastille Day Night,” which inspired these clever sailors to install a guillotine. Now I know where to put one if I ever need one.

Our captain for the evening, buttoned up against the weather in his MG-B. He says that at 30 mph, the rain just goes over his pith helmet, and he cleverly pulls out an umbrella at stoplights.

If your five hundred friends each could count,
As one-tenth of your life, the amount,
Is your age: FIFTY years!
Dump some friends now, poor dears,
Do the math — it’s an old-age “discount.”

In other words, if you only had 490 friends, you’d be 49 again.
(I know, I know, I’d be the first one off the list!)

We bought bottom paint, gooey and thick,
And we hoped that it would do the trick,
It was sold as “deluxe” –
It cost TWO hundred bucks,
‘Cause we didn’t want sea life to stick.

And that should be the end of the story,
But the grasses adhered in all glory,
Yes, it’s worse than I feared,
For her fuzzy green beard,
Means she now needs a depilatory.

Dis’ order’s called O.C.R.D.:
The patient can never be free
From rhymes in her noggin.
Her best bet’s to login,
And share them for all folks to see.

I can’t stop writing limericks…and this hilarious article explains why: OCRD.

My poor brain’s going nuts, it’s frenetic
As I run though the words, alphabetic.
But this thing that I do,
Well, my Dad does it, too,
So my gift — or my curse — is genetic.

Sometimes limericks run around in my head until I write them down. This email from my Dad, which I received first thing this morning, reminds me that I am not alone in my affliction:

Marg’s homonyms are soulfully smooth,
Of this I fully approve;
But her limericks are sweet,
Filled with Her Dancing Feet,
They’re keeping us all in the groove!”

As dear Flutterby hung on her rode,
We both got in our dinghy and rowed,
To our bikes, which we rode,
Down a nice, level road,
Meanwhile, Margaret composed this, Our Ode.

The problem with limericks is that sometimes they chase me down and refuse to leave me alone. This was one of those. “Go ‘way,” I said, but it didn’t. It followed me on my bike for 5 miles. It’s not even a proper rhyme, just a bunch of homonyms.
-30-

We found in our mailbox a letter–
Inside, a surprise! Even better!
A tiny flat boy,
To bring us much joy.
‘Twas Stanley, the Airmail Jet-Setter.

Stay tuned for more photos and stories of Stanley’s visit to Beaufort and environs. He was an excellent boat guest.

Here in Beaufort-by-the-Sea, life is not all about seafood. Pictures and stories from the “first annual” Backstreet Pub “Meatloaf-Off” will be coming soon, along with tips from the winners on how to make great meatloaf.

The best meatloaves arrived on a mission,
Hoping some folks might fail by attrition,
For their fine chefs, you see,
Were all hoping to be
Named the “First” in the first competition.

So this flock of wild turkeys went out,
For a party along Amtrak’s route.
“We will derail this train!”
Thought one bird’s tiny brain,
But they failed — just delayed it, no doubt.

In an unconfirmed rumor, I heard that an Amtrak train in Florida was delayed for hours yesterday when it ran — literally — into a flock of wild turkeys. Given Amtrak’s reputation, it’s hardly a surprise that a bunch of bird brains could cause a major delay on the day before Thanksgiving.

Up ahead was a big yellow truck
That had come to a stop for a duck,
So I stopped my car, too,
And then out of the blue
Came a WHACK! Duck hit me, just my luck.

The web-footed goof flew right into my front towbar. There was a loud thud, and the car shook with the impact. But when I backed up a few feet, expecting to see a duck carcass, he picked himself up and wobbled away. He was quacking, and I was quaking.

There once was a lady named Clam,
And she said, “To the public, I am
Such a nice quiet pet,
One who likes to just set.
Omigosh! I just laid an egg, Ma’am!”

If this makes no sense to you, go to the Adventures page and read “Cock-a-doodle Who?” You’ll find a photo of Clam there.

Now there once was a pirate of yore,
Who I met as I strolled on the shore.
“You’re a rake, sir!” I cried,
I was held at his side,
And he tickled me ’til I was sore.

I don’t make this stuff up! At the Seafair Pirate Landing on Saturday, I met a good-looking pirate (at least he had no blood on his teeth) who was smooching passing wenches. When I queued up for my fair share, I was captured and tickled, as you can see from the following photos.

Charlie’s sleeping alone in his bed,
When a cat climbs up onto his head,
Charlie says, “That’s not neat,”
“Please move down to my feet,”
And so that’s where she gave birth, instead.

You can see pictures of Charlie, the cat, and the newborn kittens over at “A Buckeye with a cat on his head.”

Here’s a big, buzzy carpenter bee,
And a husband with sting-allergy.
Now each trip on the ladder,
To relieve his bladder,
Is a peril, so it’s up to me.

Right here is a new, bee-free ladder,
90 pounds, though, and that is the matter,
For the lift goes awry,
It just falls from the sky,
And it makes Larry’s barbecue flatter.

Now I wish that my friend, Mrs. Bee,
Had drilled out her nest in a tree,
Then she’d still be alive,
And her children would thrive,
And my ladder would be bee-hole free.

In a funny coincidence, we bought a CD on Friday called “A Buzz, A Buzz.” We had discovered a great new alternative band out of Durham called Bombadil. Seattle friends, go see Bombadil at the Tractor Tavern on July 26th!

My broken toe limerick got some funny responses. One friend, who will remain nameless, said he once dropped his underwear, tried to kick them to the laundry hamper, hit the wall, and broke a toe. He had a hard time explaining why he was wearing steel-toed boots to his office job.

Here’s another funny response, in verse, from Elinor Narcross:

I was going to lunch
And was driving a bunch.
My foot went kerplunk
Caught myself on the trunk.
Got a break in my foot
Requiring a boot.
In the arm, bicep tear
All in all, worse for wear.

In November it occurred
Pre-holidays; my word!
Healing has taken place
And snow has covered space.
Been inside looking out
Sunshine now makes me shout.
If Spring does really arrive,
I’ll want to drive and drive and drive.

(given the line about the trunk, maybe she should switch to a hatchback?)

(photos are at the bottom…)

There once was a doggie named Missy,
She wears glasses, which make her look prissy.
She has more clothes than me,
Over seventy-three
Different outfits! A clothes-horse — or is she?

At a street fair in Fort Pierce, Florida, I photographed a man in a motorized wheelchair with a frilly little dog wearing a dress and sunglasses. Two months later, I ran into them again. “Hi!” I said. “I took your picture last month.” The man in the wheelchair smiled, then, trying to recall the event, asked me, “What was she wearing?”

Missy is a therapy dog, trained by Frank. She has almost 80 different outfits with matching glasses, and she spends her time visiting nursing homes and hospitals. A friend tells me the two are local celebrities. “They’re in all the parades,” she said.

I was down by the water last week,
When I heard a marine mammal speak,
Yes, a dolphin came near,
And he spoke really clear,
But I just cannot translate his squeak.

This really happened to me! I think he was saying something about “Launch that boat and come play with us.” Or maybe, “Where’s the dog food?”

We just passed a small town: Osino
On 80, which goes straight through Reno.
Does it seem strange to you
That Nevada has two
Of these places, that rhyme with casino?

We’re stuck in the library here,
The problem is liquid, I fear.
It’s raining like cats
And dogs. We’ve no hats,
So we’ll just have to read ’til it’s clear.

The room filled with much merry sound,
Three sisters who mooned as they clowned,
The game was revamped,
We laughed and we stamped,
As ping-pong was played in the round.

We discovered a fun way to play ping-pong at Highlands pub in Eugene. Four people play round-robin, each one hitting the ball once and then rushing around the table to the other side. The results were a few collisions and some hilarious video footage. Do not try this in a pub with dartboards!

Squid are creatures that live in the deep,
Not a sound as they swim and they creep.
I was shocked to the core,
When I heard my squid roar,
‘Twas a miracle, wrought by my Peep.

Barry, who I sometimes call “Peep,” wrote about this event in his usual understated fashion in his recent blog entry.

Here’s a fabulous response from our friend Pat, who lives in NC:

A wagon that roars and squirts ink
(Not oil, of that let’s not think)
will ferry you back to your boat
and shlep all the stuff it will will float.
Please stop by so we can see you and wink!

If only we’d gone out of town,
And cut a fresh Christmas tree down.
This grocery store tree,
Once looked fine to me.
But now, tell me, why is it brown?

Strange names around here are in vogue,
Calibogue is not “Calibog,”
And “Falcon” I get,
But “Rougue” makes me fret,
Should it be “rouge” as red, or just “rogue?”

We had our test sail aboard the Falcon Rougue yesterday, and we’re still in the dark about how the name is pronounced. Is “rougue” a clever play on the red hull, or just a misspelling? Either way, it doesn’t quite rhyme with the place we sailed — Calibogue Sound is sometimes (by golf freaks) pronounced Cal-i-BOGEY.

While driving around, by and by,
We spotted some doors 8 feet high.
Not sure what’s the reason –
Are stairs out of season?
Or maybe these Newfies can fly!

This limerick illustrates one of my favorite travel mysteries. Why do people in Newfoundland have front doors many feet in the air? I asked a number of local residents, and they just scratched their heads. Then one fellow, who was particularly fast on his feet, said with a grin, “We call those ‘Mother-in-law doors’.”

Everything mentioned in the following rhymes is absolutely TRUE. Burning Man really is that weird, and that inspirational. At least, it inspires crazy Burning Man limericks!

Are these fellows really our males?
They’re wearing pink wigs and cat’s tails,
And crazy orange shirts,
With bright sequined skirts,
At Burning Man, weirdness prevails.

In fishnets and boots with high heels,
I jump on my spiffy pink wheels,
My seashell bikini,
Might score a martini,
Because of the skin it reveals.

A huge pterodactyl walked by,
He towered 12 feet in the sky,
And Dave’s disco ball,
Which held us in thrall,
On Barry’s bike, then caught his eye.

The dust storm came out of the blue,
I knew then just what I should do,
“There’s room here, to hide,”
I pulled him inside,
A handicapped toilet for two.

They blew up the derrick last night,
The mushroom cloud: What a cool sight!
And over the sound,
Of “techno” all ’round,
I heard, “Holy sh*t, that was bright!”

I went out yesterday on a lovely little 1947 Chris Craft to celebrate the “Opening Day of Boating Season.” Given the limerick below, it’s appropriate that the boat’s name is “Flagrante Delicto.”

There’s a poem that starts out “Hooray,”
And the word that rhymes with it is “May,”
If you know what I mean,
Then I won’t be obscene,
Outdoor boating is what starts today.

My essay last year about Beltane and other early-May holidays even used “Hooray, Hooray, the first of May” as a title…but I never published the rest of the poem.

Dedicated to a dedicated reader:

The good fellow Tara calls “Dad,”
Said, “Room service here is so bad,
“I asked for a steak,
“They gave me an ache!”
A good time by all was not had.

I always joke about the fact that there are only two people reading this website. This limerick is dedicated to one of them, and the postscript is here so the other one will get the joke!

Clarence is currently having a spot of bother at a hospital in Columbus, Ohio. I hope he gets well soon, so he can outrun the nurses. I bet I know who will be driving his getaway car…

Said the famous explorer, de Gama,
To his proud but befuddled old mama,
“I’ve got spices galore,
Precious jewels, silk, and more,
But I wanted to find Grand Bahama.”

Vasco de Gama was the Portuguese sailor who discovered, in 1497, a sailing route from Lisbon to India. The goodies he brought back made him famous and made Portugal’s King Manuel wealthy.

The Bahamas had actually already been discovered by then, by a much more famous sailor, Christopher Columbus.

I’m tired of this snuffling and sneezing,
Bronchitis and head colds with wheezing,
I don’t like to suffer,
I wish I were tougher,
But bring on some spring, ’cause I’m freezing!

In honor of Punxsutawney Phil, who did not see his shadow on February 2nd. That means spring should come early this year, and I, for one, am ready!

A little Thanksgiving limerick to celebrate the annual pardon of two turkeys by the president:

I just heard that two turkeys’ demise
Was avoided, to their great surprise.
The big turkey in power,
In the eleventh hour,
Gave them pardon, along with the pies.

I try to keep my limericks clean, but this one just came to me, unbidden, on June 13th. Four days later, I found myself surrounded by naked men and accompanying a parade float made up of bells (see “Wiggling and jiggling in the Fremont parade.”). All I can say is, I may be prescient. Watch this space for other clairvoyant limericks.

There once was a guy with a thing
Who just wanted to make a bell ring.
But the sound was all wrong,
The bell, it went “dong,”
And ya know, bells are s’posed to go “ding.”

On the very first Thursday in May,
The government says we should pray.
But for those with no creed,
It’s a conflict, indeed,
So instead, let’s just oompah all day.

This year, May 4th is both the National Day of Prayer and National Tuba Day.

A bikini-clad Kiwi named Nelly
Decided to wrestle in jelly
“It’s Easter, I know,
But I just have to go,
If I win, I might be on the telly!”

For more on semi-nude jelly wrestling, see Candy is dandy, under Adventures.

The ape that is called the baboon
Is hairy, and sings out of tune.
He’s not very tall
His legs are quite small,
But his arms, they could reach to the moon.

This one has been submitted to the Omnificient English Dictionary in Limerick Form, the OEDILF.

There once was a guy, Frankenstein
Who insisted his software was fine.
“I’m not really a freak,
Just the neighborhood geek,
And the girls really fall for my line.”
***
Barry’s currently building himself a new computer. Because all our computers have had names beginning with “F,” he’s calling this one “Frankenstein.”

There once was a poet named Joyce,
Who had an effeminate voice.
Since he was a man,
The monniker, “Stan,”
Would have been a more suitable choice.

Joyce Kilmer, who died in 1918, was the author of the famous poem, “Trees.” Some consider his verse inspired, others call it sappy (no pun intended), and still others quote it in the context of … golf ???

There once was a girl with a pen
Who wrote a few lines now and then
But at night in her bed
She would cower in dread
From that terrible limerick yen.
—
Refers to the fact that most of my limerick inspiration comes when I can’t sleep, and instead of counting sheep (bah, bah, bah), I count lines of anapestic meter (bah-BAH-bah-bah-BAH-bah-bah-BAH). See Confessions of Limerick Junkie for more on this.

A fellow named Scuppers, a Bear
Decided to take Barbara’s dare
So with nothing to grab
He leapt onto a crab
And rode off, looking quite debonair

Here’s a photo of Scuppers, before he disappeared over the horizon:

Although my friends think me a flake
On New Year’s, a swim I do take
And now, I have found
That dear Puget Sound
Is colder, by far, than the lake!

A snowfall out here is a treat,
And the neighbors who live on this street
Saw the man with the beard
And his wife, who is weird
Run around in it, in their bare feet.

Folks in Seattle can see snow-capped mountains year ’round. But actual snow on the ground in Seattle is rare and exciting.