2019 metamorphosism.com international St. Valentine’s Day limerick contest

The 2019 metamorphosism.com Valentine’s Day Limerick Contest is now closed and we have a winner!
In the words of entrant KayO:

A blogger named Mig posed the query,
“Are limericks really so scary?
“A prize must be granted!”
His readership chanted
In unison, “Give it to Perry!”

Once again, on the basis of his exceedingly clever entries that spited all my efforts to complicate the process with sudden theme changes, poet Perry Iles takes the prize, which this year is one (1) unit of “4“, the new album by Orp, the ambient noise band I am in along with Horst. Perry, please send me your mailing address via the medium of your choice and I will get your prize in the mail ASAP. Congratulations Perry, and thanks to you and all the other entrants (i.e. KayO) for entering. See you again next year.


Welcome to the 2019 edition of the metamorphosism.com International St. Valentine’s Day Limerick Contest.
Please leave your entries in the comments to this post.
Enter as often as you like.
Please note the following: this year’s contest image, at the top, combines images of H.P. Lovecraft and Johnny Cash. This is because extra points this year will be awarded to entries that mashup two or more genres, such as country-western and horror, inspired by a recent social media meme and even a video of a woman singing ‘Jolene’ with Lovecraftian lyrics (I would post a link but the only link I can find goes to a Facebook post and I’m trying to reduce my FB usage).
Please also note that your entry needn’t state which genres you are mashing, but it should be obvious from the entry.
This year’s themes:
(Tough crowd this year.)
(Also check further down the rules for more specific prompts/themes)
World politics
Popular culture
Obsolete technologies

JEFF BEZOS’ SEXTS (I suggest mashing them up with science fiction and/or horror because I like low-hanging fruit, but genre choice is up to entrants)

plus bonus themes to be added as the contest progresses
All participants, young and old, are encouraged to consult the combined FAQ/rules below BECAUSE THEY CHANGE WHILE THE CONTEST IS GOING ON.
Like every year.
It’s just that way.


  • Does it have to be a limerick? YES. This is strictly enforced, and non-limericks will not be accepted. Google proper limerick form if you are not sure.
  • How do I enter? POST YOUR ENTRY OR ENTRIES in the comments to this post. Click on comment, or whatever is down there, and add a new comment.
  • When is the deadline? THE DEADLINE is 14 February 2018
  • Do you mean 12 midnight on the night of the 13th or midnight on the night of the 14th? And which time zone shall have seisin of jurisdiction? We have had considerably confusion in the past! NINE AM (CENTRAL EUROPEAN TIME) 14 February 2017.
  • Is there a prize? YES THERE IS A PRIZE! I will send you the newest album by ORP, “4“, scheduled to be released February 2019
  • Is there a limit to how often I can enter? NO. Enter as often as you like. The more often you enter, the better your chances.
  • Can entries be bawdy? YES, absolutely. These are limericks, they can be bawdy, gross, you name it. It’s not required, but it is in the nature of the genre. ALSO: this is for St. Valentine’s Day so points awarded for love/romance/sex-related poetry. However, entries offensive to the contest operator will be deleted at his discretion, for offenses including but not limited to racism, and misogyny.
  • Complaints and other negative trolling will be deleted. There is no avenue of appeal. Decisions of the judges are final. Be nice, and have fun, and don’t take this too seriously.
  • Is there anything else I can do to be deleted? Yes. Besides complaints, anything else that is not a limerick will also be deleted, especially anything remotely similar to trolling, nastiness or disagreeing with me. That will get you deleted, and whatever else our technicians here can think up. This is meant to be a fun and light-hearted.

Let’s see, what else? Oh yes.

  • Bonus points are awarded for any of the following (No limit to how many themes you may include, the more the better):
  • Summary, in limerick form, of movies based on Cormac McCarthy novels
    Limerickification of famous poems
    Led Zeppelin songs
    Politics, especially but not limited to the Trump Witch Hunt and Brexit
    Sex, all species (do not combine species)
    Science (especially recent scientific breakthroughs)
    Greek expressions (especially ancient Greek)

    Ways to celebrate Valentine’s Day
    Conspiracy theories
    Jeff Bezos’ sexts (could mash up with science fiction/AI run amok, for example)
    Current events
    Disagreements over theoretical physics
    Being Perry Iles

    (More themes to come, watch this space.)

By entering you grant metamorphosism.com permission to publish your entry electronically on metamorphosism.com, in social media (including but not limited to twitter.com, facebook.com and anything else) as well as in book form, although the latter is REALLY unlikely, and has never happened yet, without compensation (this is a non-profit venture, and any possible, although unlikely, book would be, you know, for charity most likely).

Culturally sensitive

Man: So, hey, you guys.

Man: So, you guys, have you guys like noticed, the Greeks, Greek women, have you noticed how they make eye contact? Have you noticed how they really hold eye contact?

Man: Like, make eye contact, and hold it?

Man: [Makes corresponding illustrative hand gestures]

Man: Greek women. Holding eye contact. And maybe sort of smiling?

Non-Greek woman 1: [Peers at man over glasses]

Non-Greek woman 2: Dad, dad, dad.

Man: Oh.

Man: Ah.

Colder than it looks

Odin eats the generic Oreos for lunch with the gusto of a starving man who had been sucking bark post-apocalypse and had just found a box of generic Oreos in the back pocket of a mail carrier slaughtered by a rampaging mob back before the zombies killed all the mobs.

Walking is a little complicated. He has to pin a box of Greek salad (getting in the mood for a pre-Easter week in Crete) under one arm, hold the box of cookies in one hand and simultaneously twist cookies apart, eat the halves without frosting, press the frosting-halves together to make whole cookies with double frosting and eat them, without getting hit by a car or spotted by a crow. If his mobile phone rang he’d fall apart.

The day is beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. Colder than it looks, sunny, and Friday before a week of vacation. Family doing well, hobbies doing okay, sort of a general feeling of… despairlessness that is really delicious, in contrast to the cookies which are, seriously, how did our society evolve to such a point, where a grown man eats something like this? And not just any man: Odin, god of the North?


But Odin is without despair. At this very moment, he can feel a new universe pressing in on this one, like a pig at a trough, like a pervert in a subway, like a deaf man in a mosh pit, like a ray of light reflected from a hospital window, like wind on an otherwise still day like those bugs that hop around on the beach like a bird high up like

Culture, III

After my recent concert-going fiasco with Gamma (she has announced she never wants to go to another concert with me) I was relieved last night to see that 1) the bar was open again and 2)there were no bicycle wheels on stage, but rather an ondes martenot, the name of which sounds like a small animal you trap in winter and make jackets out of, but which has a beautiful sound.

I had a  martini while waiting for my wife to arrive. I ordered a gin martini, because sometimes if you just order martini here, you get the vermouth rather than the drink. There is less danger of that at this particular hotel bar, but I wanted to be on the safe side. The waiter asked me if I wanted it with or without ice. I ordered it with ice.  I imagined there would be a few cubes, but they were real generous with the ice. It also came with three olives, and a tray of peanuts, smoked almonds and wasabi almonds. Although I know that bar nuts are a hygenic disaster, I cannot resist them and always polish them off.

My wife had a non-alcoholic drink, and we shared a pair of frankfurters, eating them with our hands.

About the concert – I bought a program this time. The Klangforum Wien performed, I’m really liking this subscription we have and the relatively new music we are seeing, my wife less so although it varies. She liked Toru Takemitsu, for example, and many others. This time, Emilio Pomárico conducted and Marisol Montalvo, an American soprano, sang. Works by André Jolivet, Karol Szymanowski, Nikolai Obukhov and Isang Yun were performed.

Marisol Montalvo, the Klangforum Wien are always great, but Marisol Montalvo was the high point for us. Beautiful, expressive voice, great personality, wonderful. Nikolai Obukhov is a Russian composer with an interesting biography who composed impossible pieces (his main work, “le Livre de Vie” has vanished, he claimed he was robbed, the only surviving part had vocal parts that were impossible for a single person to sing and, oh yeah, called for the construction of a special cathedral to perform it in) but Montalvo managed well.

Despite the martini, I didn’t fall asleep until the final piece, “Pièce concertante” by Isang Yun, who once composed an opera on the floor of his prison cell while being tortured by South Korean intelligence, which had kidnapped him from Germany because they thought he was spying for the North.

PS Thomas Bloch rocked the ondes martenot.

Culture, II

We’ll park at the hotel, he said. It has a nice bar and we can have a drink and eat all their peanuts.

She was Meh about that.

You just have that black leather jacket, I’ll leave my coat in the car, he said. That way we don’t need to check our coats and we can escape faster when the concert is over.

They parked at the hotel. The bar was full of maids with vacuums, and no one else. There was a little sign saying it was closed for rennovations.

He looked at his watch. They had an hour and a half to kill. They walked around in the cold looking for a place to eat. They went all around the Konzerthaus. There was nothing anywhere. There was a restaurant actually in the Konzerthaus, but the menu had illustrations of modern gourmet lumps of foamy stuff so they both shook their heads. They ended up eating sausages at a Würstlstandl across the street from the hotel.

The entire walk, the eating the sausages, all that, apparently took only three minutes because they still had a lot of time to kill.

Time was being weird that evening.

Very weird.

They went into the Konzerthaus to warm up. We can watch people. But they were the first guests, of course, no one comes to a concert more than an hour early. But the bar was open. What would you like? he asked the girl.

Red Bull, she said.

No little sandwich thing, he asked.

I had a sausage, she said.

A beer and a Red Bull, please, he said to the man at the bar.

The man opened a small bottle of Ottakringer Pils for him, and put it on the counter with a glass. What was the second thing you wanted? A sandwich?

A Red Bull, he said.

A what? the bartender said.

See, it wasn’t the volume of the man’s speech. The concert hall lobby was full of that background hiss you get in large, nearly empty rooms when people are setting things up and doors are opening and closing, but it wasn’t loud. It was the man’s pronunciation. He had been saying “Red Bull” with an American English pronunciation.

Rrret Boool, the man said.

Ah, said the bartender, and gave him a can, and a glass.

He and the girl killed time with their beer and energy drink.

An old man entered and walked across the lobby extremely slowly.

See, he has to come early in order to get to his seat on time, the man said. Unlike us he has a good excuse.

They finished their drinks and hit the restroom.

Eventually it was time to take their seats. Like, the earliest possible time. Just for a change of scenery.

The ticket taker told them the hall wasn’t open yet. They could go to the other bar on the other side if they wanted. So they went over there and stood around for a while.

What is it we’re seeing, anyway, the girl asked.

Something modern I think, said the man. He normally bought a program, but this time he wanted to see how he responded with no preconceived notions of this thing.

More time passed, then they took their seats without any great mishap.

There was a lot of stuff on the stage. A grand piano, and note stands and chairs. A double bass and a harp and a bicycle wheel sans tire. A few balloons. A plate of glass, a turntable and some wires and some tubes with mouthpieces.

Musicians came out. A tall skinny conductor with thick red hair came out. They began to play. They played and played. The conductor conducted with extreme precision. The musicians played with great precision. The cellist pressed the balloon to the fingerboard while he bowed, instead of fingering the strings. Other musicians blew into the tubes, or swang them about their heads, or both. An arpeggio was played on the bicycle wheel. Sounds were made on the turntable, and scraping sounds on the plate of glass, and on the wires.

Time did more of its weird thing, slowing down and speeding up, but mostly slowing down.

The man and the girl changed position now and then, trying to get comfortable. The man drifted in and out of sleep. The music played the whole while, behind his dreams and his hypnopompic visions, there in the Mozartsaal of the Konzerthaus too.

Everybody clapped when the song was over. The composer took the stage and got applause, and the guys on the mixing board. The conductor and musicians left the stage and the roadies moved stuff around.

A second piece was played, then a third piece.

The best composition involved a unique instrument that looked like a busted up electric motor attached to the top of a kettledrum. The man found it quite enjoyable. The composer of that one was female. She got a lot of applause.

The lights came on and people got up.

Is it over, said the girl.

The man looked at his watch. About an hour had gone by since the concert started.

It may be over, or it may be intermission. Would you like to hang around and see, or shall we leave.

The girl gave him a neutral look.

I  vote we leave, my ass hurts, said the man.

They got another Rret Bool on their way out.

Which one did you like the best, said the man.

Oh, my god, said the girl.

That first piece was neat, with the bicycle wheel, wasn’t it? asked the man.

The girl looked at him. With her new darker hair, and all the mascara, and that leather jacket, he imagined a certain resemblance to how the scary-looking hacker woman in those Swedish movies, you know, The Girl Who Burned The Concert Hall and so on, may have looked at the age of 13.

That second piece, Hallo Tinitus, said the girl.

The man agreed it would be a fitting title.

I did like the third one a lot, with that invention thing they  played with electric fans and stuff, though, he said.


I spent the first song trying to decide if the conductor was a man or a woman, said the girl.

I spent the first song trying to decide if he had a hunchback or not, said the man.

They drove home.

Later the man checked the program online, out of curiosity. They had left in the intermission after all.

But it was okay. His tailbone had really hurt.


Why do I even have to go? she said.

We have a subscription, he said. So we have two tickets to tonight’s concert and your mother is out of town. So you get to go. Yay!

She looked out the window.

We can get a drink at the hotel bar first, or go get something to eat or something, he said.

Have you ever been to the Konzerthaus already, he asked. It’s pretty awesome. Last time we went, we saw the president of Austria. He sat through the whole concert, too. Didn’t just show up and escape in the intermission or something.

Yeah, remember, that’s where I fell asleep, she said.

Oh, he said. I was going to ask you to keep me awake.

We can lean on each other, he said.