In Competition No. 2995 you were invited to submit ribald limericks as they might have been written by a well-known poet.
William Baring-Gould, who wrote a history of the genre, noted that when a limerick appears, sex is not far behind And the writer Norman Douglas considered limericks to be ‘jovial things… a yea-saying to life in a world that has grown grey’.
The cheering winners of what was a hugely popular comp are rewarded with £8 each.
Though most of my loves are Platonicer,
It was always quite different with Monica.
If I’ve got a hard ’un
Down there in the garden,
We do it behind the Japonica.
John Whitworth/Philip Larkin
Although candy is dandy, what’s finer
And much quicker is liquor, so wine her.
Is a peck on the cheek
All the boon that you seek?
Tut! The odds say your goal’s her vaginer.
Max Gutmann/Ogden Nash
Daddy, won’t you get out of my head?
(Oh I bet you were beastly in bed!)
You were fascist and vile
And I think of you while
Being thoroughly rogered by Ted.
George Simmers/Sylvia Plath
When I met her, my married half-sister
Looked like me in a gown, so I kissed her.
If I see my reflection,
I get an erection,
And that’s why I couldn’t resist her.
He would tickle the Feathers — of Hope —
Should he slather my Breasts with rich Soap —
And the shape of my Sole —
O, such loud Barcarole —
Singing Bind Me, Securely — with Rope.
D.A. Prince/Emily Dickinson
A wildly priapic young fellow
Sported trousers of daffodil-yellow
Which at parties he’d doff
To insanely jerk off,
After which he’d feel placid and mellow.
Basil Ransome-Davies/William Wordsworth
I will tell you the truth about love.
Before tentative push comes to shove
I’ll be happy to find
That it’s you I’m behind
Or below or beside or above.
Martin Parker/W.H. Auden
Ophelia said ‘Let’s have some grub,
’Cos I’m starving.’ ‘Of course, tiger-cub,’
Replied Hamlet, ‘But first,
Thou must deal with my wurst.
Move thy hand like this … Ay, there’s the rub!’
Derek Robinson/William Shakespeare
On the naturist beach, he loves staring
At flesh that the ladies are baring.
He even makes passes
At girls who wear glasses,
Provided that’s all that they’re wearing.
Sylvia Smith/Dorothy Parker
Love’s an art that can turn to disaster.
From no date should you run away faster
Than a Star Wars fanboy
Who calls his favourite toy
His ‘light sabre’ or ‘Jedi Master’.
Francis Harry/Elizabeth Bishop
A nightingale’s warbling is canny;
An urn’ll outlive your old Granny:
I’m crazy for Psyche,
But really me likey
A handful of beautiful Fanny.
Bill Greenwell/John Keats
The vicar was tempted to flee
When the Bishop’s wife said after tea,
‘Oh Reverend Morgan
Do show me your organ!
It’s something I’m dying to see.’
Alan Millard/John Betjeman
Fae the crypt in the hert o’ St Giles
Cam’ a scream heard by folks roon fur miles
Says a wiley auld Hen
‘Dis the Deacon no’ ken
That oor Minister suffers fae piles?’
John Samson/Robert Burns
There was an old poet named Lear,
Whose sex life was, verbally, queer.
He pobbled his dong
In a luminous thong,
Turning green in Gromboolian beer!
P.C. Parrish/Edward Lear
I am large, I contain multitudes.
I engirth them in all attitudes.
Their flesh is divine,
And a blessing to mine.
We’re all mystical, hankering nudes.
A.G. Atkinson/Walt Whitman
Bloody men are like buses? Well, test
That big claim and you won’t be impressed.
Contradicting that boast,
You’ll discover that most
Are like little French compacts at best.
Noam D. Plum/Wendy Cope
My darling, please turn out the light.
Don’t worry, I swear I won’t bite…
…unless you say, ‘Do, sir!
…It’s that which I choose, sir!
I pray, don’t go gentle tonight!’
Robert Schechter/Dylan Thomas
Are you — Nobody — sir? So am I!
I can see how you — reach for the Sky
With your Grail seeking Lance.
If you’re — up for Romance,
No Body than mine is more — spry.
Chris O’Carroll/Emily Dickinson
No. 2998: lost in translation
You are invited to submit a set of instructions for an everyday device that have been badly translated into English. Please email up to 150 words to firstname.lastname@example.org by midday on 10 May.
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