Mother’s Day Limerick Contest … With Money Prizes (Updated: Prize Money Increase)
My spring limerick contest was such a success, I’ve decided to hold limerick contests regularly. And it’s time for another one.
So here’s my challenge: Write a limerick related to the subject of mothers and post it here in a comment to this post no later than Saturday, May 12, 2007. I’ll announce the winners on Mother’s Day, May 13, 2007.
The first prize will be $25. The second prize will be $10. Both prizes will be paid via PayPal.
So, what exactly is a limerick? It’s a five line poem with an AABBA rhyme scheme and a very specific meter exemplified by these winning entries. (For more information about limericks check out these fine sites: Encyclospeedia Oedilfica and OEDILF.)
I’m looking forward to reading your entries!
UPDATE: The prize money has just doubled, thanks to a matching funds contest sponsorship by Billy Jones a/k/a Billy The Blogging Poet. Thanks to Billy’s generosity, there now will be $50 in first prize money and $20 in second prize money. Very cool, Billy!
UPDATE 2: This contest is now over, and the winners list and winning entries are posted here. Thanks for your wonderful entries, and stay tuned — another limerick contest is coming soon.
Tags: Limerick Contest, Moms Humor, Mother's Day Limericks, Mothering Day, Mothers & Fathers Humor, Parenting Humor, Writing Contests
“It’s the hospital here, please come fast!”
There we sat, with our thoughts from the past.
At the side of her bed
Nothing more could be said.
One short breath … then one more … then her last.
At 7 AM on Saturday 29th July 2006 I got a phone call from the hospital. At 11:30 my Mum died peacefully; my sister and I were sitting with her.
I love you Mom, I really truly do.
As I serve you some hot steaming stew.
You’re the very best,
I hope you like the dress,
Now would you like to see my tattoo?
When the mother’s a working strip-teaser,
A bikini cut’s certain to please her.
Soon she’ll dance down the bar
Showing nary a scar—
In places the clientele caesar.
My dear mother spends most of the year
On the phone. “It’s attached to her ear!”
My Dad says, finding fault.
Mom replys, “I could halt;
Betty wouldn’t stop listening, Dear.”
If I am only allowed one limerick, this is my preferred effort, Madeleine. Thanks for the invite.
My good friend, Frank Gould, a nonagenarian and published author says if it isn’t BAWDY, it’s not a limerick! So, here’s a couple I wrote with Frank’s advice in mind:
The terrorist hadn’t a qualm
About mailing someone a bomb.
His handwriting sucked
Now his family’s fucked
‘Cause he just sent one off to his mom!
or:
A hillbilly went to her mother
For permission to sleep with her brother
Through a white lightnin’ fog
Maw winked at the dog
Sayin’, “If this’uns no good, try t’other.”
Thanks for listenin’.
Zig
There once was a man from Nantucket
who bought for his mother a bucket.
He filled it with flowers
to share happy hours
but then the jerk came back and tuck it.
Mothers Day Limerick Contest(x-posted at my home Blog)
Ode To Martha
There was a blue Mom in Connecticut
Who preached about homemaking etiquette
She spent time in jail
For a fraudulent sale
Or was it her “liberal” epithet?
I think that what Martha Stewart did was wrong BUT, given the fact that many Republic party scoundrels have received a much different treatment by the Republic controlled DoJ, this may have been as much a political witch hunt as it was justice served.
The message was touted as “Don’t do insider trading”… But there was a secondary message of “ESPECIALLY if you are a liberal!”
Given what we know about the politicization of the DoJ under Alberto “GONEzo” Gozales, and previously under Ashcroft as well, this may be more apparent now.
(BTW: Thank you to skippy for pointing to this contest!)
I sent this to my Mom on her birthday back in Feb.:
Here’s hoping your day’s going great
And a big birthday cake you have ate
For eighty-six years
You’ve surpass-ed your peers
And my love for you ne’er will abate
My mother-in-law is The Best
She puts all nasty MIL myths to rest
We both love to cook
And have shared many a good book -
This Mother’s Day I’m doubly blessed.
When your mother has had facelifts four
And hair plugs, eye tucks and more
Though you don’t want to criticize
She can be hard to recognize -
Is that Mom or Michael Jackson at the door?
Okay, it was late last night and I’ve cleaned them up a bit. Here’s me, awake:
Miss O’Donnell, while playing the bard,
Wrote, “How dare you call ME full of lard?”
The talk shows all jumped
When they heard Mr. Trump
Got, from Rosie, a Mutha’s Day card!
Mr. Bush, as he swung in a palm,
Got a Mother’s Day card from Salaam
Who sat up in terror
When he realized his error –
Musta mailed his mother the bomb!
Letter M is for Money she’d spend,
While the O is for Objects she’d mend.
Now, the T is for Treat
And the H is “How Sweet!”
And the E is for … Drat! That’s the End.
On Mother’s Day, I have a hunch
That the single stemmed rose, or the bunch
Will have not reached the vase
Before some young voice has
Piped up, “Mum, wotcha making for lunch?”
My Mother - she gives me a stitch
With laughing! She doesn’t know which
Part is super-ironic
(It’s quite the best tonic!)
When she’s calling me - “son of a bitch”.
Mother’s Day - a card company ploy,
Or a once-a-year day of real joy?
Three-six-five they’d make hay
If your son had his way.
(Lots of love from this real Mummy’s boy).
Hear now! I would like to record
That my Mum must deserve a reward
For sweet harmony at home
And for half my genome!
She sure strikes an umbilical chord.
My mommy is loving and caring,
Only sometimes a bit overbearing:
“Make your bed! Clean your room!
Mow the lawn! Don’t presume
You can play all day long! And stop swearing!”
When you’re shrunk by one shrink or another,
‘Cause you’re pissed at your sister or brother,
Does your tongue tend to trip
In a Freudian slip—
Saying one thing while meaning your mother?
Long ago, I adored my dear Mother
Who cared for us, me and my brother.
The part fell to me:
I am Mum to you three–
Now it’s your turn, my girl, you’re another.
The aromas of flowers in the air
Evince memories of motherly care.
Important lessons she taught;
Constantly stressed, “Don’t get caught!
You must always have clean underwear.”
Mater is a force to be admired
Especially when things are dire
A fixer through and through
To her family she stays true
Always there when yer in the mire
(Say it aloud and it works. Sorry I am a lyricist…)
A mother is patient and kind,
Forgiving, forbearing, refined;
But mind if she cracks,
When stressed to the max,
‘Cos she’ll wallop your sorry behind.
As a baby I loved my dear mother
‘Till she gave me my sweet little brother.
But hang on there mum
What’s that lump in your tum,
O.M.G. is she baking another?
There once was a lady in Brum
Who had moles on her big hairy bum.
I haven’t a clue
How everyone knew,
I’m just glad that she wasn’t my Mum.
Brum: Birmingham
Hairy bum: Cockney rhyming slang for Mum
A woman, as lover and wife,
Is known as his ‘Trouble and Strife’,
But his mother’s eternally
(Unfairly, infernally!)
Perfect–she’s cherished for life.
Trouble and Strife: Cockney rhyming slang for wife
Hi
Just got this info from BobfromThirsk, our Oedilf-ing buddy.
I think Jessie Frankovitch’s MOMMY one is the best so far.
I’ll work on one too.
Watch this space.
Val
Hi Mad,
Here we go:
Serious one:
Though my mom has been dead for nine years,
As I waken each day she appears,
And remains by my side
As protector and guide,
So she shares all my laughter and tears.
[In loving memory of Rose Lazar (1906-1998)]
Silly ones:
Ask the fellows who work at the zoo.
In the spring, all the kangaroos screw.
Then about a month later,
They’re mater and pater.
The roos enjoy Mothers Day too!
My mom fell in love with Brad Pitt,
And she thought about sex—wouldn’t quit;
So my dad bought viag-
ra, and went on a jag,
Ruffled all of her feathers a bit.
When it’s Mothers Day down on the farm,
All the cows and the sows show alarm,
As the bulls and the hogs
Will record in their blogs
All their plans to wharm-barm-thank-you-marm.
Mothers’ Trilogy
There once was a fellow named Bruce,
Whose motives were often abstruse.
He would plead and would beg
Just to sit on your egg—
Like a regular old Mother Goose.
And then there were Ken, Len, and Ben,
Who were different from most other men.
They would wheedle and beg
Just to sit on your egg
Like a regular old mother hen.
Then lastly, a fellow named Chuck,
Not a regular old mother duck.
He assured Mallard Myrtle
Her eggs would be fertile.
Amok, he proceeded to … (stuck?)
Sheila Blume
You can run to your mom when you’re ill
Or when broke and behind on a bill
But don’t ever try it
When you’re after quiet
A mother’s love never keeps still.
There was a young mom name of Sheila,
Who wasn’t a copa or deala.
The kids put to bed,
She emptied her head,
And filled it back up with tequila.
I’ve never been one to complain;
But in fact it’s a royal pain,
To hear from your mother,
“Just be like your brother,
And not just some damn hooligain!”
My dear sainted mother, that witch,
Lived not by the sword but the switch.
If I had a dollop
Of gold for each wallop
By now I’d be awkwardly rich.
The world’s first mother was Eve,
Who had but one pet peeve.
Adam gave her nary a look,
His nose always in a book,
So out of spite, the apple she did thieve.
(This is my first limerick ever, so I don’t know if it really follows all the rules. I just did a post on Eve, and thought it would be fun to do a limerick about her.)
There was young man, last name Rex
First name Oedipus, remembered for sex.
His relations with mother
Were unlike any other
Some might even call them “Complex”.
Wire hangars she said to disdain
But I went and used them again
Now my life’s on TV
And it’s easy to see
Mommy Dearest is effing insane.
I see that a fair number of my readers made it over here. Nice work, everybody! Ok, I guess I’ll take a shot:
Me mum didn’t raise any dummy
but after 5,000 years in her tummy
it felt less like a womb
and more like a tomb
but she’s still the world’s greatest mummy!
For your Mother’s Day gift, we are going
To the lake, with a rowboat for rowing.
Picnic lunches are packed,
Water bottles are sacked,
So let’s head out the door…NO! It’s snowing!
Hello, Florist! Please send this bouquet
To my Mom, second Sunday in May:
Mix muguets, purple lilacs,
And shiny green Smilax
For Mothers’ Day…yes, I will pay!!
Thanks so much for everyone’s delightful entries And please keep them coming! I’ll be accepting mother related limericks through Saturday, May 12, 2007.
Oh … and in response to a reader question — yes, you can write about your mother-in-law too.
My mother is great, all agree.
But a bit too attentive is she.
If her family was bigger,
They could share all her vigor.
It’s a shame she gave birth to but three.
Madeleine, I think you’ll agree that this Limerick is a very accurate description of your Mother-In-Law. Since I’m Mark, the “Husband” I must assume that I am out of the running for one of those most lucrative prizes you are offerring, but if you approve of this feable attempt at a Limerick I’ll most gladly accept any “Services Rendered” in lieu of monetary compensation.
Sounds like fun! Here is mine: (BTW, can we submit multiples??)
Oh! My Mother she’s a dear
Each time I cried she sheds a tear!
Still she nags all through my life
Now she can even nag my wife!
But with Mom, I have no fear!
Calvin, yes, you can submit as many limericks as you like.
And hubby Mark, if you don’t behave yourself, I may have to show your mother your limerick. :)
Mom gets lovelier as she grows older.
When we tell her, she laughs; we get bolder.
Then she turns it around,
Saying beauty is found
In the eye of the loving beholder.
My mother-in-law is such a boar
Her cooking I tell you is filled with gore
But truth be told, I’m rather bold
Her daughter has a heart of gold
So we’ll have to bear with her more!
From Mom’s viewpoint, this outfit’s a hit
In Dad’s eye, the style’s obviously unfit
Designed for the underfed
Not for middle-age spread
But, for happiness’ sake, let’s buy it!
I’m wishing that you were still here
even though you’d be holding a beer
all the crap we went through
just to keep peace with you
would be nothing if you were still near.
Here’s a limerick of childhood memories with Mom.
Small young women and child holding hands,
Looking for lightning bugs nighttime bands.
Flashing yellow light.
Acrobatic flight.
Many delightful musical strands!
Yo Mom - here’s my props for your share
in developing the phrase, “It’s not fair!”
Even your magnet on the ‘fridge
says, “Would YOU jump off a bridge,
just ’cause everyone else does it, you swear.”
My mother once gave me a pair
Of combs to hold back my hair.
They held it in place
Out of my face during the race
So I took first place at the fair!
Time when toilets aren’t flushed and noses are casually dug
Dog hairs on the couch and jelly beans decorate the rug
Dad even has his smelly belly button hanging out
Just things that happen everytime mother ain’t about
That’s precisely when we are desperately seeking someone else to bug!
For Mother’s Day, I sent Mom an iris
which was blighted by some fungus or a virus.
I didn’t know its disposition
when I bought her that rendition,
but next year I’ll send something more desirous.
…and a nice one…
This limerick is my dedication
to my mom, who’s been my inspiration
for expressing creativity
as joyful proclivity -
to Mom - with my deepest appreciation.
OK then, here goes -
Some girls in their quite early teens
find changes affecting their genes,
so, guided by ma,
they buy their first bra
to prevent ‘em from spilling the beans.
Can I do another?
The mother who lived in a shoe
said, “Bloody hell, what’ll I do?
Cor blimey, oh crikey,
a size ninety Nike -
oh Lord, just imagine the pooh!”