Celtophilia

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The 1st Annual Celtophilia Limerick Contest is now closed to submissions. Thanks a ton to everyone who submitted, and good luck in the voting. All of the entries are listed below, and at the bottom of the post you will find the ballot. You may select up to five entries, but can only submit your votes once, so make sure you’ve selected the entries you really like! Oh, and make sure you tell everyone you know to come over to read the selections and vote as well! Voting will close @ 12:00pm on June 30th, so after that, it will be too late!

So, without further ado, and in no particular order….

(1)
When viviparous lizards are seen,
And when mint scrubs munition dumps clean,
Then Saint Patrick will smile
Amid tears a long while,
For the Emerald Isle will be green.
– Carol June Hooker

(2)
Celtic women with fiddles afire
Fanned the flames of my emerald desire.
So bewitched for a while,
I dreamed dreams of the Isle
And succumbed to the bow and the lyre.
– Lorin Birch

(3)
Celtophilia, Marc, left me scarred
When my lassie left me in the yard.
Sweet Annie said, “Hon,
I’ll be getting my gun
(He’s a Brobdingnagian Bard).”
– Mark Mironer

(4)
Were you taught to play pipes by your mom,
And the fiddle you play with aplomb?
Sing your lyrics in brogue,
You old Irish rogue?
Better type: “celtophilia.com”
– Mark Mironer

(5)
In a gown of rough linen you’re dressed
And your bodice shows most of your breast.
Go ahead, take a tilt
At the man in the kilt
Playing pipes at the Renaissance Fest.
– Mark Mironer

(6)
It was Clannad that first made me listen.
‘Twas Enya I’ve dreamed since of kissin’.
But the greatest of all?
Karen Matheson’s call.
Capercaillie can make my eyes glisten.
– Doug Harris

(7)
There is no-one that matches a Celt
When what the song needs is a belt.
We look with derision
On most Eurovision …
A judgement that’s really heartfelt.
– Doug Harris

(8)
Albannach just send me to hell!
(They don’t play the bagpipes too well).
You should try a wee skirl
From Northumbria’s girl
On the pipes of sweet Kathryn Tickell.
– Doug Harris

(9)
So how does it hold all the aces —
The music of Celts in far places?
Is it voices or beat,
Or the package complete?
No! - The smile that it puts on our faces.
– Doug Harris

(10)
The worth of Marc’s album’s impugned.
Could his autoharp not have been tuned?
A hairball the size
Of the Blarney Stone lies
On the bar where my cat has just swooned.
– Jane Auerbach

(11)
Wicked Pete, I have often opined,
shouldn’t write after we have all dined.
With “Shalom and Farewell”
I could feel my heart kvell*
But “The ‘P’ Song” is HARDLY refined!
– Rosemary Quench

(12)
The members of Three Quarter Ale
Are sweet innocent and PALE
except Wicked Pete
who has stinky feet
and who’s songs about pee miserably FAIL
– Shannon Smith

(13)
“I’m just after a visit you see,
And back in an hour I’ll be.”
But she never came back
For there’s just too much craic
In the bright timeless land of the Sídhe.
– Lisa Christian

(14)
“Let’s adopt a new kid,” the star said.
“Yeah, a girl with hair curly and red.
No one’s got one of those;
She’ll go great with my clothes—
Just make sure that she’s not underfed.”

“If she’s skinny she’ll make me look fat;
I can’t take any chances with that.
How ’bout Irish? They’re cool,
Man, my friends’ll just drool!
So, what’s next? Oh, I need a new hat…”
– Lisa Christian

(15)
Colonel Angus has gained much renown
As the most cunning linguist in town.
He won’t boast, bray or brag,
But his tongue sure can wag;
Knows his subjects in, out, up and down!
– Lisa Christian

(16)
The lady who said “I’m well sated”
Caught her breath while her eager beaus waited.
She said to her men,
“We can do it again,
But let’s wait ’til you’re all re-inflated.”
– Lisa Christian

(17)
To Scotland: that’s where my heart leads
For the music on which my soul feeds—
The ceolmor of the Highlands,
Coaxed out by Bill Weilands
As he fingers the bag and the reeds.
– Lisa Christian

(18)
A young Irish piper called Mick,
Loved Guinness and thought up a trick.
He’d fill up the spout
Of his pipes with some stout
And when thirsty he’d take a quick lick.
– Richard English

(19)
While the piper his pibroch abuses,
And each Pogue for a faggot enthuses,
Enya practices daily
To sing at a ceilidh
But dancing? She Flatley refuses.
– Jim Delaney

(20)
All welcome, there’s food on the griddle,
And singing, don’t fidget and twiddle.
Let the music begin;
Free the Celtic within,
With a bodhran, a flute and a fiddle.
– Bob Hogg

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This entry was posted on Sunday, June 22nd, 2008 at 11:10 am and is filed under Featured, Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.