Limerick Writing Contest With Money Prizes … and the Topic Is…
If you’ve followed my previous limerick contests, you know that it’s just about time for another one.
So here’s my challenge: Write a money-related limerick (earning it, spending it, saving it, investing it, winning it, wasting it, being taxed on it, etc.) and post it here in a comment to this post, no later than Wednesday, June 27, 2007. (You may enter as many limericks as you’d like.) I’ll announce the winners on Thursday, June 28, 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: This contest is now closed, and the names of the winners and their winning entries are here. Thanks so much for your many excellent submissions.
Tags: Financial Limericks, Financial Verse, Limerick Contest, Money Limericks, Money Poems, Money Poetry, Money Verse, Writing Contests
Afghani, centavo, and xu;
Guarani, and ekpwele, and sou;
Cruzado, halala,
Ngultrum, tambala,
Likuta, rupiah, ecu!
Can the money you’ve got be called loot?
Here’s a test: did a guy in a suit
Grunt “Da big guy sez T’anks”?
Did you “find” it in banks?
Did a lady say, “Take it, don’t shoot”?
There once was a fellow named Bob,
Who was rich and wasn’t a slob.
Then one drunk night,
He started a fight,
And was robbed by the mob.
In her change, there was one coin too few.
Sue felt cheated, and rather than stew,
She’d become the employer
Of an ornery lawyer,
For Sue sought to sue for a sou.
My boss doesn’t know how to write code.
Yet upon me a poor review she bestowed.
How she can rate
Work she can’t create
Is a mystery that’s about to make my head explode.
My inbox is stuffed to the gills
Each month with insufferable ills.
Here’s a plan I’ve divined:
Every mailbox I find
Gets a sign with this line: “Post no bills.”
Will’s caught up in his tightfisted ways.
He’s a miser—the guy never pays!
If you hand him the bill,
He turns violently ill.
Parsimonious Me! (His catchphrase…?)
Though my husband is rich, he’s so cheap!
He’s so chintzy with money, I weep.
Tried to get him to spend
But he simply won’t bend—
Arms too short? Or his pockets too deep?
They say money can speak if you know
How to treat it. I gave it a go:
“Your ancestors went
On my booze and my rent.”
The reply was “Goodbeye” — not “Hello”.
The more of my money I bet,
The more in return I shall net!
But, of course, should I lose,
I’ll be singing the blues
As each bet, I regret, becomes debt.
The practice of living austerely:
Contented surviving with merely
The simplest of things,
Not the grandeur of kings.
In the case of ascetics, severely.
See that grove, Heliconian mountains-y,
Where the nine Muses play at the fount; and see,
With her daybooks and pen,
There sits Muse number ten:
Hypersomnia, Muse of accountancy.
Our figures, all wobbly, are dipping.
Our outfits are visibly slipping,
Some straining and weak;
Your company we seek
To remove them, for cash — asset-stripping.
I’m a boughtling: I’m free from the hold
Of my captors, on payment of gold
By a stranger who says
He’s my lost uncle Les…
I’ve been bought, but I’m frankly not sold.
There’s a dieting guru called Valerie
Who garners the healthiest salary.
Her food range (extensive)
Is so darn expensive,
It works out as £10 per calorie.
The stock exchange boasts a stockade
(Posts and rail is the way that it’s made);
Kept within, cunning bears
Sell their yet-to-buy shares.
See the balustrade; see balus trade.
Boric acid-dressed lint is boracic —
Antiseptic ‘Elastoplast Classic’.
When physically skint,
Cockneys used b’racic lint;
Now, financially skint, they use “brassic”.
It’s a diamond, dear — don’t look away.
I think pear-shaped is just so passé.
As my buck spends his money
On “cute little Bunny”,
This twelve carat carrot’s my pay.
When I winked at a brassy-skinned lass,
She spoke brassily, hand on her ass:
“Baby, this costs a lot.
How much brass have you got?” —
I was brassed off: the girl was a brass!
This accrued lunch expense is so high…
Do you think that your limit’s the sky?
To the counters of beans
All your bean-feasting means
It’s a fine time to bid you goodbye.
[…] Kane has a limerick contest going on over at his blog. The prize for winning the whole shebang is $25 and there are other prizes too. This is third one and its theme is money. If you have a urge tolyrical why not pop over there and give it a shot. I will no doubt try my hand atit. […]
Money is supposed to be the root of all evil
I have to admit that is quite unbelievable
I think its all quite healthy
To work on being wealthy
Cause money is isn’t of the devil
Greed is a good thing
It doesn’t have to be bling
Sod the miserable anti-capitalists
Or carrying and sharing corporatists
My wife needs another golden ring
Were a kiss on the lips legal tender,
I’d be a natural lender.
I’d charge no tax
On fresh minted smacks
To banks of the opposite gender.
CJ Jackson’s been cursing his luck
Since the nickname was coined (some say struck).
‘Cause he knew what she meant
When she said, “50 Cent?
He’s not half of that rapper Young Buck!”
Curtis James Jackson III (b. 1976) is the rapper 50 Cent.
Nashville rapper David Brown (b. 1981) performs with the group G-Unit under the moniker Young Buck.
Take your clown cash
and stick it up your ass.
What I need from you now
is affordable gas.
There was an old millionaire, Beade,
Who decided his fortune to cede
To an orphanage fund.
But his goodness, quite stunned,
Was confronted, and lost to his greed.
We asked parsimonious yentas
To float us some cash, which they lent us.
But the loan was no fun:
It amounted to one
Lithuanian penny, a centas.
A young champion of billiards and snookers
Won a lot, to the awe of onlookers.
He met two prostitutes,
Who turned out to be brutes:
Now he ain’t got the money, but who cares…
Neither lender nor borrower be,
Since the best things in life are all free.
Could you really get by
Blithely buying that lie?
We should blow all your money and see.
A drunk who was drowning his sorrow
Had requested some cash he could borrow,
And polite as can be,
Bowed and thanked both of me,
And avouched he’d repay us tomorrow.
Alas for that old Scottish nanny,
Hiding cash in each nook and each cranny.
When she died, in the end,
And her ghost couldn’t spend
What she’d cached, that seemed rather un-canny
The bottoms you’re selling have sludge—
It’s a fact you were careful to fudge.
Now you’re shocked that your buyer
Implied you’re a liar
For giving the truth just a nudge.
This borough is thoroughly dumb,
So tomorrow, I’ll borrow a sum.
I’ll have finally moved
Once my loan’s been approved,
But the number is making me numb.
The price of your prize, when appraised,
As you might have surmised, has been raised.
So, now you’re apprised
That the price was revised.
Don’t look so surprised, or amazed.
I have loaded my washing machine
Full of lucre too filthy to clean
Without water and soap;
Now I hope against hope
That the bleach will not eat all my green.
An antelope, down on his luck,
Saw a coin shining bright in the muck;
But the old silver dollar
Was pointless to swaller,
So the buck, stuck for luck, passed the buck.
In order to bury the hatchet
And amend the wrongs to Bob Cratchit,
Scrooge increased his pay
via his Roth IRA:
Ebeneezer elected to match it.
Monthly we watch old Bernake
To see if he makes Wall Street happy
To keep things at bay
The rates they will stay
But my mortgage will be really crappy
There was an old man called Dave,
Who’d saved and saved and saved,
Sure enough, he died,
But his money survived,
And he went, very poor, to the grave.
If you want to make oodles of cash
Be an “artist” to add to your stash.
A pickled cow’s head
Or a foul unmade bed –
They’re valuable these bits of trash!
[…] The Poetess Laureate of the blogging world, Mad Kane, is having another limerick-writing contest, complete with a small cash prize. This time the topic is Money. You can read more about it (and make your own entry) at this post. […]
Ron Paul’s Nonfractionally Reserved Limerick
(Or “War’s Just A Side Issue To Me”):
There once was an Act which made Legal
The Tender which displayed an Eagle
In the seal on Reverse,
Which did prompt quite a curse
From those who thought Gold should be Regal.
The following limerick was written by Chris Doyle. I’m posting it here at his request:
A Switzerland bank says I’ll earn
All the interest with little concern
That the Feds can acquire
The date of my wire,
So soon I’ll have money to Bern.
For the “Year-Off-Before-Grad-Schooler”
It’s a real trick to save up for school,
I work hard, so I’m sure that I’m cool.
But my co-workers drink,
so I know that I’ll sink,
Buyin’ drinks. BUT you’re right, I’ve had a few.
[…] So, have you entered my latest limerick writing contest yet? The one over at my other (non-political humor) blog? The deadline is June 27, the topic is money, and I’m even awarding a couple of small cash prizes. Technorati Tags: Stem Cell Research, Bush Veto, Health Research, Science, Scientific Research Share and Enjoy:These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages. […]
In Cabaret once it was found:
Call ’em dollar, yen, euro, or pound,
It’s the stuff we all need
Satisfying one’s greed:
Money makes this mad world go around.
To the greenback they’re pegged, these Bz-
$s used to buy butter and bread.
In a country that’s been
Ruled by Great Britain’s Queen,
Dollar notes will display a crowned head!
(bee ZED dol-lar) The BZD, or Belize Dollar, is the
currency in Belize (the former British Honduras).
Bucks will buy you the world, my dear honey.
In that show, here we go, play it funny!
Lookin’ good’s not enough,
For a gal biz is tough,
If they pay: in the buff play for money!
A WOMAN LOVES HER MONEY.
MORE THANSHE DOES HER HONEY.
SO GUYS WATCH OUT!!!!!!!!
PLEASE DON’T YOU SHOUT.
IF SHE DOES SOMETHING FUNNY.
Her face was grizzled and mannish,
Her hands were leathered and tannish.
“Well, if you say so…”
and gave her a peso.
Then she told me my future in Spanish.
I once had a coin and a dollar
Then the government started to hollar
Pay some taxes you dolt
So I started to bolt
Now i am wearing a collar
My grandpa he printed his money
Grandma didn’t think it so funny
‘Til the day lighting stuck
and it changed Grandpa’s luck
Blew the still and the press, then turned sunny
As she stretched her long legs on the beach,
All the lads thought her balance a peach,
But not one had the nerve
To touch _her_ forward curve,
And her asset was quite out of reach.
If despite all appeals arbitrational
Your relations are still confrontational,
You can vent all your spite
In the memoirs you write,
Gaining fortune from schisms sensational.
This coin, first of bronze then of copper,
Was called as by the Romans, quite proper,
But when you had two
Only asses would do
For a well-dressed Pompeian clothes shopper.
(pom-PAY-uhn) It is known that during the first century CE an as could only purchase half a pound of bread flour or a litre of cheap wine (or, according to Pompeian graffiti, a cheap prostitute).
Mint a million! More mullah my man.
Only ore offers gold when you pan;
Nick a nickel, rob bureau,
Embezzle some Euro-
You yield yearly Yen in Japan.
A musician of good working class,
I’m a miser, but let’s let that pass.
There’s no need to be frugal
As I play on my bugal,
‘Cos they say, “Where there’s muck there is brass.”
The account balance looks rather bare
‘Cause the tax man’s already been there.
Looks like revenue’s tricks
Would have left us with nix.
(It’s a good job we hid some elsewhere).
I’ve got coins in my pockets, so jingly,
And I love them in bunches and singly,
And I like to canoodle
Big bundles of boodle
And credit cards make me go tingly.
There was a loose lady called Leeza
Who married a wealthy old geezer.
After zipping him down,
She would zap about town
Zip-zapping his Amex and Visa.
Isn’t chrematophobia funny?
Would you wish this complaint on your honey
And rejoice if your nearest
Recoiled from the merest
Suggestion of spending your money?
I’ll accept all your change without qualms
As I stand here extending my palms.
You don’t want to sound dumb,
So don’t call me a bum:
I’m an almsman. You got any alms?
Let me tell you, it’s not what you know.
I work hard, but I’ve reached a plateau.
I’ve a dozen degrees,
Which astounds the trustees—
Would you like that for here or to go?
JUST CALL ME SCROOGE
I come from a long line, all Yankee,
And never commit hanky-panky
‘Cause that can cost money.
You won’t get it, honey…
‘Drather bank 5% than your thank ‘ee!
This green stuff I’m giving my Honey
Isn’t cabbage or beans, it is money.
She has asked for so much–
To buy jewelry and such–
That my wallet is empty. Not funny!
As I ogled the brand new red garter,
I decided to try on some barter:
“Will you take for that hosiery
My grandmother’s rosary?”
“You’re joking, that’s such a non-starter!”
There once was a filthy rich hooker
Who did it each time for the lucre.
But the price of her cash
Was a nasty old rash …
So to hospital quick now they took her.
“Being rich = happy”. Not I!
My disposable income’s run dry.
Some say that great wealth
Is just bad for your health
Maybe so, but I’d give it a try!
A cautionary tale …….
Money don’t grow on trees – it’s retrieval
Is an urge, that to man, is primeval.
But while beetling around
Don’t create hollow ground
Or you’ll find it’s the route of all weevil.
Charles F. Kane said, “It’s money, not pride,
That you’ve got to amass by your side.
Neither lovers nor friends
Should be your life’s ends!”,
Stammered “Rosebud”, and then the fool died.
For those few who don’t know the best film ever made: Charles Foster Kane, played by Orson Welles, is the hero/anti-hero in “Citizen Kane”.
The happiest man in our town
had courted the lavish Miss Brown
for only a day
(and spent a month’s pay),
when his grin rumpled into a frown.
My credit card spending is vast –
Not sure how much longer I’ll last.
To help pay these bills
Leave me lots in your wills.
I need cash in a flash, please die fast!
“No pre-nup,” you said, “would be fine.”
But dear ex, you are bang out of line.
You take what I earn,
Think I’ve money to burn.
But my money, dear honey, is mine.
A miserly fellow from Ghent
Kept accounts to the last Euro-cent;
In bed, he did better:
He weighed his French letter
Each time, to know how much he’d spent.
You can’t take it with you, I hear,
Though some corpses keep their cash near.
But you’d have to be brave
To dig up a grave
In case vampires lurk near it. No fear!
The maxim of “Beg, steal or borrow”
can lead only to pain and to sorrow;
an example of this
is Ben Abu Aziss –
they’re chopping his hands off tomorrow.
An upwardly-mobile young Sikh
had ideas that were rather unique –
for the adverts and blurb on
the top of his turban
he earned fifteen rupees a week.
A treasure-trove hunter called Pyne
dredged things up from the banks of the Tyne,
and though it would have been great
to find Pieces-of-Eight,
he only found wellies sized nine.
When the man from the lottery said
that there’d been a mistake, and instead
of ten million for life
I’d won shares in his wife,
I was glad of the bag on my head.
An Indian playboy, Sam Pahri,
bought himself a new Dino Ferrari –
though he could only afford
a second-hand Ford
this was better for picking up sari.
In an Edinburgh loo sat Bart,
depressed at having to part
with a solitary penny,
especially when he
had only managed a f…
Old billionaire tycoon Ed
told the relatives round his deathbed,
“I believe Mother Earth
believes in re-birth,
so I’m taking it with me,” he said.
If she’d a cent for all of the hollers
she got when wearing low collars,
she’d (ten, carry two,
plus twelve) then you
know she’d owe eighty-eight dollars.
They say my decisions are rash
when I buy losing stocks in a crash;
But the market I’ve found
is prone to rebound
So I smile while I count up my cash.
There once was a man who loved money
so I thought it would be funny
to ask him in haste
why money had a face
and why he didn’t have any
In a mood sired by hope of great wealth
He tried hiding the state of his health.
When at last he retired,
His wife calmly inquired,
“Have you nothing to show for your stealth?”
As his bank account wasted away,
He began to float checks and to pay
Tons of interest on debt
That he came to regret
When retirement he had to delay.
In my chair I discovered a coin
Where the cushion and seat used to join.
It was covered with dust
Had a small bit of rust
And the words “From the Fair in Des Moines.”
In the hope that he might win some money
He wrote limericks both sad and funny.
But the best he could do
Didn’t raise a Wa Hoo!
Or make any eye wet or nose runny.
On winning the 649
we thought that our life was sublime
until creditors vexed us
and governments taxed us
till our fortune shrank back to a dime.
“Money talks,” you confide. “Great,” says I,
“It can tell me the best things to buy,
The best shares to invest in,
But I feel like protestin’
‘Cos it often just whispers, ‘Goodbye.'”
I hate work but I have finances,
What I owe makes me sick, just at glances.
Since it gives me the chills,
Just to open my bills,
I’ll throw them out, and take my chances.
Pet shop employee Frank Mitty
was told that he’d just have to quit; he
never quite thought
he might ever get caught
with his hand buried deep in the kitty.
I once had a wife who wasted,
Pintos and Rice she never tasted.
She would spend all my cash,
But one lucky day in her mercedes she did crash,
Now in my money am I basted.
There once was a man who loved money
and invested his wages in Honey –
his sweet sticky spends
paid big dividends
that the man and his honey named Sonny.
Hilaire Belloc was tired of Rhyme
(Though his poems were really sublime).
And with Love he was through,
The sole Pleasure he knew–
Remained Money–per Guinea or Dime.
Inspired by my favourite poem by my favourite poet:
I’m tired of Love;
I’m still more tired of Rhyme;
But Money gives me Pleasure
All the Time.
[…] The response to my money-related limerick writing contest exceeded my wildest hopes and set a new record – 94 limericks were submitted. And the overall quality of the entries was very impressive — so impressive, that I’ve decided to expand the prize money pool enough to award an extra prize. […]
This contest is now closed and the winners are announced here. Thanks so much for all of your clever and creative entries!
there was an audacious scholar
who traced the origins of the pursuit of the dollar
his american dream
fell apart at the seam
for his studies only kept him in squalor
There once was a man of a shire
whom everyone thought as a liar
he tried to save the day
but the people turned him away
and the bank burned down in a fire.
The Shoemaker pippin
was causually sippin-wine he had with his meal
drinking way to much
he insulted the Dutch
and in the morning he felt like a heel.
This one I wrote for my baby boy!
Baby boy Jaidyn
who nursed on my maiden, gently fell asleep
when he woke from his rest
he demanded her breast
and from there we didn’t hear a peep
There once was a king to be
whom talked with an old willow tree
it showed him the way
to live for today
and now the kings mind is free!
The lonley flower in bloom
who finally emerged from his tomb
took one look around
then snatched from the ground
sadly meeting his doom.
A goose on the loose
was caught in a knuse
we found him out riding one day
thankful for us
he put up no fuss
and we ate him thanksgiving day
President Kennedy while riding in his car
was being watch by a man from afar
what happend was a stunner
was there only one gunner?
who ended that presidential star
This is one I wrote just for fun cause I knoe it is to late.
My sister sat in the car
She looked into a window of a bar
saw are mom think
take a drink
was it that hard!