These are all the limericks which were written in celebration of our 100th anniversary. Thanks to all the members who contributed their time and creativity.
Donna Traylor
Crazy turkey Spring is here
Where's your lady, where oh where?
Prancing, dancing
Female glancing.
Strut your stuff, Tom, show no fear.
For birds she always did quest
Aiming always to be her best
Species to list
Some found, some missed
Sharing her sightings at others request.
Bird song caressing a spring night
Seeking mates before taking flight
Deep forest glade
Dappled sun and shade
Wood thrush singing make my heart light
There once was a birder who counted
All birds both flying and mounted
In museums and parks
Dodos and larks
And his life list he never flaunted.
Seek, find, binoculars raised
Stellar optics all be praised
No more to worry
Birds all a flurry
ID never again to be fazed.
Bird brain tiny and amazing
Worldwide flight there'll be no lazing
Mating ground
Then turn around
A flight around the moons' phasing.
Norma Holmes
Hawk Watcher Extraordinaire
Dedicated to Paul Roberts,
There once was a birder named Paul,
Advantaged by being real tall.
Twas really his sight,
That caught hawks in flight.
We could rely on his accurate call.
Alternate Title:
Birder Extraordinaire
for Paul Roberts, HMANA
There once was a birder named Paul
Advantaged by being real tall.
O’er the heads of the masses,
He looked through his glasses,
To spot birds no matter how small.
Shawn’s List (with a nod to Wally Koenig)
There once was a birder named Shawn,
Who birded from sunset to dawn.
She hoped to see warblers and fowl,
But all that she heard was an owl.
Shawn joined Marie for a walk,
And after they had a good talk,
Shawn turned her habits around.
Now Shawn rises at dawn,
She stifles a yawn,
And birds to the edge of her lawn.
Because of this twist,
She’s pumping her fist,
Amazing herself with her list.
Michele Tomasik
When a liberal young robin confessed
That she loathed her illiberal red breast
A jay changed the hue
From rosy to blue
Making the left winger much less distressed.
Harris Cohen
Boids, boids, boids the Brooklynite said
His companion a birder turned her head
And started to say birds, birds, birds
Is the proper way to say those words
But started to laugh instead.
There once was a birder from Montclair
Who saw a flock of birds in the air
What are they he cried
And when no one replied
Surprised he continued to stare
A young birder in the woods heard some howls
They turned out to come from two barn owls
Then one left a tree
He thought it’s coming at me
And promptly lost control of his bowels
Frank Wood
There once was a bird who sang “Tweet”;/
A colleague joined in for “Tweet” “Tweet”;/
Would you think it absurd/
Were they joined by a third,/
Then successively sang “Tweet” “Tweet” “Tweet”?”
Bill Beren
A phenomenal birder was Sandra
Who always took bins, scope and cam’ra
When she started to search
For rare birds on a perch
On a branch on a tree near Canberra
Claudine Wright
A marvelous thing is a tree
Or a dog, or a bird, or a bee
In nature fantastical
God's creatures are magical
And to think, they're all made just for me!
Bob Markman
Of the birdy who flew from The Mersey,
Across the Atlantic to New Jersey.
Wanted nothing more,
When landing ashore,
Than be photographed by paparazzi.
Let’s rename the Montclair Bird Club today,
To the Montclair Word Club (oh, dismay)
For it’s limericks you seek
Not cute creatures with beaks,
So, it’s not what you see, but what you say.
The image the camera was to capture,
Filled the birder’s heart with much rapture.
Way, way up in the tree
For everyone to see
A proud raptor displaying its stature.
Glenn Eichler
A chocolate bar-loving young grackle
Found a nearly intact Hershey's Krackel.
He grew too fat to fly,
Caught a predator's eye,
Now the grackle's inside of a jackal.
Gene Shahan
There once were some folks from Montclair
Whose noses were kept in the air
They weren’t so aloof
They looked at a roof
Where many birds lined up in pair
With starlings and blue jays galore
And others we come to adore
The Montclair Bird Club
An escape from hubbub
Makes living much less of a bore.
Rafael Rodriguez
Today I am fixing a food plate
Birds and a white deer I contemplate
Fall’s first grip, evening
Nature’s shimmering
I am wondering if they ate.
Beni Fishbein
Watching birds is what I like doing,
My friends think me odd and amusing,
Let them stop and stare,
No, I really don’t care,
What the average Joe thinks of my viewing.
Its head shape is peaked, no it’s flat.
Its scapulars blue, no they’re black.
Its tail, is it long?
Maybe I’m wrong.
Darn it! Which bird is it, this one or that?!
Why, oh, why do I like to go birding?
Waking at 4 is so disconcerting!
I’d rather sleep in,
Losing sleep is a sin,
But few things are so damn diverting!
Chris Papa
The hummingbirds sure buzz around,
At our feeder and flowers are found,
When two show, it's tight,
There's always a fight,
Though we've never seen anyone downed!
Adriana OToole
You make writing limericks sound easy
But instead it makes me feel queasy
A word here and there
Just out of the air,
It leaves me breathless and wheezy.
David Kanegis
Aplomado, kestrel, merlin,
Gyrfalcon, prairie, peregrine.
Look up high, look across,
There's the voice of my boss,
"Yes, dear, dinnertime, I'll come in.”
Sandy Sorkin
Patient Jonah long sought e-mail
The corresponder’s Holy Grail
His screen was blurry
He started to worry
For Wi-Fi’s dreadful inside a whale
Some of the birds found in the holler
Deal with a certain amount of squalor
But down in the mouth
They tend to head south
To find jobs and to earn a dollar
Backyard bunny has a warren
Much too small to put a car in
But one assumes
With all fifteen rooms
The idea of parking is foreign
Birders pursue the unseen owls
Perhaps confused by hidden cows
For oft times a moo
Is confused with a who
But rarely from overhead boughs
We know Icarus’ long sad tale
Culminates in an epic fail
His wing choice was wax
No carbon fiber tax
He’d have done much better with sail
Edgar’s chatty big black bird
Is the darkest ever heard
But mere quotation
Is never oration
If he only knows one word
The rooster thought he might endow
Every chicken they’d allow
Singing from the heart
He would warble Mozart
And follow with a cocky bow
Robins encounter feisty worms
Ready to rumble on their berms
In the grim crunch
All creepers are lunch
With no hope of surrender terms
The birds in Montclair are just fine
No matter where they choose to dine
Parking is trying
That’s why they are flying
With carafes and small jugs of wine
Edgar’s beautiful big black bird
Only utters a single word
But a pallid bust
Is required I trust
If you’re intent on being heard
My countenance you may agree
Featherless with no goatee
A Turkey Vulture
Is devoid of culture
Searching for rodent debris
Who gave the birds their Latin names?
Scholars playing their old-world games
Strange nomenclature
Is just not our nature
No matter its noble aims
Ancient Mariner at a loss
Made the sea gods very cross
A prophetic curse
As we’re told in verse
To answer for the albatross
Atop the mountain perched the Roc
Many below gazed up in shock
They looked on eBird
It’s not listed we heard
Still pleased it was not in a flock
Phoenix and Griffin are quite rough
But we could use some novel stuff
Really not regal
One explosive Eagle
Will do the job oddly enough.
We know Icarus’ long sad tale
Culminates in an epic fail
His wing choice was wax
No carbon fiber tax
He’d have done much better with sail
Awoke to birds throughout the house
Annoying me and my spouse
In an ironic twist
Santa got my eBird list
Now we must find homes for grouse
Rick Wright
There was a young birder named Avril,
Who journeyed to old Cape Canaveral
In search of the scrub jay.
But it was their off day.
The disappointment was fully bilateral.
There was a retriever named Gellert,
When it came to dead ducks a real expert.
He was startled to find
All the birds were alive,
So he dropped out of the local rare bird alert.
A Florida birder named Karen
Discovered a very rare heron.
But along came a ‘gator—
It was goodbye, rare wader.
And for good measure the beast swallowed Karen.
He was tired, my fat nephew Edward.
As I sent him upstairs and then bedward,
He let out a burp
And a familiar loud chirp.
That glutton had eaten a redbird.
Pretty girl at the seawatch, I sat down beside her,
And unpacked my scope as I carefully eyed her.
Hey, look, there’s a scoter,
I helpfully told her.
She snorted and said, That’s an eider.
The front door was stuck, so I pushed it.
The bird on the step—well, I smooshed it.
My eyes opened wide
When I opened my guide:
The bird I had killed was a bushtit.
Out birding one fine afternoon,
I saw what I guessed was a loon.
But I had to rethink
When the bird was all pink
And its bill was shaped just like a spoon.
Want more? Oh, thanks, just a smidgeon.
I expected a nice breast of pigeon,
But there on the fork
Was a filet of wood stork,
Sautéed in the fat of a wigeon.