Funny Poems About Bridge
Always the comedian, during a recent game of cards Simon cracked a joke about the hand he’d been dealt that made us all laugh. So, feeling inspired to write some poems about bridge, I put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard to be more accurate) and put his witticism into a little limerick for you to enjoy!
A keen Bridge player from Chard
Found losing so terribly hard
Imagine how she felt
When she saw she’d been dealt
Three jokers and a bridge scoring card?
Okay, it’s not on a par with Edward Lear or Spike Milligan but it was fun to write and gave the others in the office a laugh!
Poems About Bridge from our Readers
The first of our poems about bridge is by James Bartholomew and features his grandson Jamie and his grandson’s friend, Jamie Monkey. Jamie has just turned four and was nearly two when this poem was written. James Bartholomew has written several other poems about the adventures of Jamie and Jamie’s Monkey.
Jamie’s Grand Slam by James Bartholomew
When Jamie plays he loves to run about,
He loves to sing and dance and jump and shout,
He loves to bring out all his toys,
Especially to make a noise.
An energetic boy there is no doubt.
He rode his bike at speed into the fridge,
And skidding left the carpet with a ridge.
His Nonna looked on with concern,
“Why can’t he peaceful pastimes learn?
I know, I’ll teach him how to play at Bridge.”
Now Jamie monkey, he already knew,
He’d taken Bridge instruction at the zoo
He said “Why don’t you partner me?
We’ll beat the oldies, wait and see.”
Said Jamie “That’s exactly what we’ll do.”
When focused on a task he’s oh so nice,
And Nonna didn’t have to say things twice.
He concentrated very hard
To learn the points for every card.
He picked up Acol bidding in a trice
Now silence falls upon the Kilburn flat,
Except when he’s asleep, it’s seldom that.
But while they’re playing no one talks,
They even use a bidding box,
And each has thirteen cards they’re staring at.
“One heart” – “one spade” – “two diamonds” – “three no trumps.”
Now Granpaw smiles, “They’ve overbid, the chumps.”
The Jamies take the crucial tricks,
They even win one with a six,
And Granpaw has a bad attack of grumps.
A tournament of Bridge at Billingsgate.
The Jamies went along to just spectate.
An international event,
The competition comes from Ghent.
The London captain’s in a dreadful state.
Her two best players’ car has broken down,
They’re stranded on the other side of town.
She has to find another pair,
And sees the Jamies sitting there,
A smile of recognition lifts her frown.
It’s Jamie’s teacher captaining the side.
They haven’t got the choice to run and hide.
She knows the Jamies both can play,
Is confident they’ll save the day,
And no one can complain she hasn’t tried.
They take their seats, the cards are dealt around.
Wee Jamie views his hand, it’s looking sound.
He counts his points, he’s got eighteen.
A fit with partner now will mean
The chance to see the trophy London bound.
His spades are strong, the bidding has begun,
But is it game or slam that might be won?
Bids “Four no trumps,” the gen he sought,
How many aces have you got?
And Jamie monkey only had the one.
Then Jamie bid a reckless seventh spade,
It looks as if the contract can’t be made.
He first drew trumps and, feeling pressed,
Successfully two clubs finessed.
Then three top hearts and all his spades he played.
Their grand slam brought the Jamies worldwide fame.
Top players called and begged to have a game.
Wee Jamie said “Yes, if you like,
But first I must play on my bike,
Then run and kick my ball. I’m still the same.”
The following poem was written by Patsy Mortimore, a founder member of the Ewhurst Bridge Club about 38 years ago, who meet every Friday:
I was playing bridge one night
When at the table out of sight
There cried a Blackwood, woebegone,
“Oh where have all the heart cards gone?”
I knew just where those cards might be
For in my hand all I could see
Were Ace, King, Queen, Jack and ten
All top hearts, and so just then,
I told the Blackwood,” never fear
Your hearts are sitting just right here”
He cheered up, for I never kid
He was needed, as a slam I bid.
And a limerick by Tom from Orpington Bridge:
Bridge is a hard game to learn.
With just 52 cards to turn
But billions of hands
And myriad plans
No wonder I oft crash and burn.
What a talented bunch we all are!
May Day Fun
If you fancy writing poems about bridge or limerick of your own to add to this page, we’d be delighted! And, we’re giving away a free bridge pen to everyone who contributes*! Please type your entry into the ‘Leave a Reply’ box below and we’ll email you privately for the details of where to send your free pen.
*Here’s a little bit of small print which won’t apply to anyone thinking of submitting their poem, but needs to be stated anyway: to protect you from spam and any offensive or abusive material, we moderate all comments that are left on this blog. The offer of a free bridge pen is only open to those whose contribution is approved. Offer only available while stocks last.