The Day of Nonsense: Celebrating the Limerick

May 12th marks a peculiar spot on the literary calendar. It is the birthday of Edward Lear, the Victorian artist and writer who took the absurd and made it respectable. While he didn’t invent the five-line verse known as the limerick, he certainly branded it, turning nonsense into a precise, rhythmic art form.

Edward Lear's Owl and the Pussycat illustrated by L. Leslie Brooke

The limerick is a deceptive little thing. It looks simple—just five lines packed into a tight stanza—but it demands a strict musicality. The rhythm, anapestic and bouncy, feels like a skipping stone hitting the water: da-DUM da-da-DUM da-da-DUM. You have three beats in the first, second, and fifth lines, while the middle two hurry along with just two.

It is a structure built for comedy. The brevity forces the poet to be punchy. You set the scene, introduce a character (usually from a specific town), and then twist the narrative into a knot before the final rhyme snaps everything shut.

James A. Tweedie, a poet featured by the Society of Classical Poets, offers a masterclass in this compressed storytelling. In his collection Laughing Matters, he plays with the classic geographic trope:

There once was a woman of Perth
Whose eating expanded her girth.
_Till sooner than later
_Her waistline equator
Took on the same shape as the earth.

Notice how the logic spirals out of control. The domestic image of eating transforms into a planetary scale within seconds. That is the engine of a good limerick: the rapid escalation from the mundane to the ridiculous.

Writing one creates a unique friction in the brain. You wrestle with the rhyme scheme—AABBA—trying to fit a narrative into a corset of syllables. It isn’t enough to just rhyme; the story has to land with a distinct thud at the end. A jungle explorer meeting a tiger isn’t funny on its own, but force it into this meter, and the panic becomes rhythmic, the escape inevitable.

This day serves as an open invitation. It asks us to put down serious prose and pick up the tools of wit. Whether it involves a man from Peru, a lady from France, or a cat sailing with an owl, the goal remains the same: to find the joy in perfectly structured nonsense.