It’s time for another limerick-off. Feel free to write your own limerick, using the same first line, and post it in my comments and on Facebook.
Commuter Woes (Limerick)
By Madeleine Begun Kane
There once was a fellow named Wayne
Who commuted each day on the train.
The fare was a crime.
It was rarely on time,
Yet was faster than taking a plane.
We’re back from a wonderful vacation in Las Vegas. So I thought I’d celebrate our thirteen hour return-flight delay with a limerick:
Ode To JetBlue
By Madeleine Begun Kane
Dear JetBlue, you’re just great when you fly.
But your canceling rate — my oh my!
Fully half of my flights
Never tried to reach heights.
A mere drizzle? Your schedule’s awry.
Tripped Up By Traveling
By Madeleine Begun Kane
It’s outrageous, a rip-off, a gyp
What we paid for that terrible trip.
And to make matters worse,
I lost baggage and purse.
I believe they went down with the ship.
Note: This was inspired by two prompts: rip and outrageous. And speaking of poetry prompts, there’s still plenty of time to participate in my latest limerick and haiku prompt, whose theme is temper.
Today’s limerick and haiku theme is time. First, my limerick:
No Time To Say Hello, Goodbye…
By Madeleine Begun Kane
I’m late and I can’t miss this train!
It’s arrived, and I’m here, yet in vain:
I must climb down these stairs,
But some guys, broad as bears,
Have me blocked—all my plans down the drain.
And now it’s time for my time-related haiku:
Time passes too fast.
I’d surely bitch about it,
If I just had time.
And now it’s your turn. Your assignment, should you choose to accept it, is to write a limerick or haiku (or both) about time. When you’ve posted your verse, please return here and add a direct link to your themed poetry.
(If you need some tips on limerick or haiku writing, I link to some helpful sites here.)
Years ago I wrote a humorous joint travel contract for the Philadelphia Inquirer. I’ve been meaning to post it on this blog, but I keep forgetting. And Sunday Scribblings’ post about fellow travelers has prompted me to finally do it:
Revel With A Clause
By Madeleine Begun Kane
Your closest friends keep badgering you to join them on a trip. You’re running out of excuses and may be forced to go along. Can friendship survive seven days of constant contact? Will you loathe each other by the time you return?
Joint vacations can be a challenge to any relationship. But with patience, a sense of humor and the help of this agreement, you can take that trip and keep your friendship intact.
AGREEMENT entered into this __________, 20__ by two close couples who would like to remain friends.
WHEREAS, Couples A and B are about to embark on a shared vacation;
WHEREAS, Couple B would rather stay home, but has agreed to give this trip a try;
WHEREAS, Couples want to work out ground rules so their friendship won’t self-destruct.
NOW, THEREFORE, Couples agree to the following vacation terms:
1. The trip shall commence on a date determined after consulting Couples’ children, employers, and baby-sitters. It shall not involve backpacks or a tent.
2. Once a date has been chosen, Couples shall enter into vacation spot negotiations. The following factors shall be duly considered in the course of site selection:
(a.) Wife A burns if she glances out a window.
(b.) Wife B loves to sprawl out on the beach.
(c.) Husband A considers himself an art aficionado.
(d.) Husband B admires prints of large-eyed tots. … (Revel With A Clause is continued here.)
It’s hard to believe, but snow globes (even tiny ones) are a carry-on baggage no-no. I’m not kidding — an airline luggage inspector actually seized our miniscule Vegas memento. Why? It seems that bomb-makers can do something really, really scary with the fraction-of-an-ounce of water contained in an eight-dollar snow globe.
And that brings me to my latest haiku:
Seizing your snow globe
For being an airline threat
Doesn’t hold water.
(You can find more of my travel and vacation humor here, and more container haiku here.)
Charge! (Limerick)
By Madeleine Begun Kane
“A charge account’s wrong to its core,”
Said the dad, who paid cash at each store.
Then a flight was near barred
By the lack of a card,
Until “Here,” said his teen, “I have four.”
Author’s Note: This limerick is loosely based on personal experience. My now 92 year old father used to strongly disapprove of charge accounts. But one day, many years ago, he had to book an emergency plane trip over the phone and was stymied by his lack of a charge card. Fortunately, I had a charge account, even though I was an unemployed college student. So I proudly saved the day, and my father became an immediate charge card convert.
(You can find more of my money humor and verse here.)
Surmounting Marriage
By Madeleine Begun Kane
Before agreeing to marry my husband Mark, I asked him the usual questions:
Mark told the appropriate fibs, I pretended to believe him, and several months later we wed. But soon after the wedding, I realized I’d forgotten to ask the most important question of all: When you see a mountain, do you get an irresistible urge to do something stupid? (Surmounting Marriage is continued here.)
A weekend trip is a splendid way to replenish your energy and deplete your bank account. In theory, such journeys should be preceded by thorough research, careful planning, and intense negotiations with your mate. Sounds a lot like work, right? Which is why so many vacations go something like this:
(1). Become increasingly exhausted and overwrought. Bicker with spouse over nonsense. Make up, bicker some more, and decide you both need a vacation. Agree to plan a trip for just the two of you real soon. Fall asleep fantasizing about a work/child/pressure-free orgy of self-indulgence.
(2). Repeat Step (1) many times during the next few months. Repeat it several times more … leaving out the sleep part. (How To Plan A Trip is continued here.)
Planning a vacation can often be a daunting challenge. Especially when one spouse likes to rough it and the other prefers luxuries like toilets, showers, and cable TV. So what’s a couple to do? Well, they can take separate trips. Or they can negotiate and sign on the dotted line.
AGREEMENT, entered into this _________, 20__ by Husband and Wife.
WHEREAS, Husband’s ideal vacation requires hiking boots, compasses, sleeping bags, and knapsacks and doesn’t cost a dime;
WHEREAS, Wife’s ideal vacation requires a five star resort;
WHEREAS, Husband is a spontaneous kind of guy who likes to pick his trips by throwing a coin onto a trail map; … (Taking A Vacation On The Contract Plan is continued here.)
Tubing — the masochistic act of hurtling down a fall-fraught river while clinging to an inner tube. Somehow my husband Mark talked me, a devout wimp, into trying it.
Why did I go along for the rocky river ride? Perhaps I was dazed by the beauty of the Catskill Mountains’ Esopus River. Perhaps the brave (or foolish) teens who plunged heedlessly into the Esopus shamed me into it. Or maybe I was feeling guilty for being a perennial naysayer. Whatever the reason, one summer day I broke my first rule of survival: If they advise helmets, avoid it.
Before risking the river we signed a paper saying our survivors couldn’t sue. Then Mark paced while I interrogated the clerk about safety. Jagged rock protection was high on her (and my) list. Sneakers for the feet, a helmeted head, and plywood in the tube to protect the tush.
After a short, steep bus ride up river, the driver said “Just throw your tubes into the river and get in.” He pointed towards what looked suspiciously like waterfalls.
Foolish me, I’d assumed there’d be an attendant to provide advice, guidance, and moral support. And to hold the damn tube in place long enough for me to lower myself onto it and grab its pathetic excuse for handles. At the very least, they could have posted a sign saying, “Start your death ride here.” … (Tubing Blues is continued here.)
If your husband ever invites you to join him on a business trip, be sure to ask him these questions:
1. Will you ever get to see him while he is not — technically — asleep?
2. What will he do, if you accidentally lock yourself out of your hotel room in the middle of the night while you are not — technically — dressed?
Unfortunately, I didn’t think to ask these questions when my husband Mark invited me to join him for a six-week Boston business trip. So I had to learn the answers the hard way. …
Mad Kane (Madeleine Begun Kane) is a writer, musician, and "recovering lawyer." She won the Robert Benchley Society Award For Humor and enjoys writing limericks, song parodies, and current events haiku.
You can email her at madkane@madkane.com, visit her political humor blog, or stop by her home page.
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