Limerick Rose (Limerick-Off Monday)
It’s Limerick-Off time, once again. And that means I write a limerick, and you write your own, using the same first line. Then you post your limerick here and, if you’re a Facebook user, on Facebook too.
The best submission will be crowned Limerick Of The Week. (Here’s last week’s Limerick Of The Week Winner.)
How will your poems be judged? By meter, rhyme, cleverness, and humor. (If you’re feeling a bit fuzzy about limerick writing rules, here’s my How To Write A Limerick article.)
I’ll announce the Limerick of the Week Winner next Sunday, right before I post next week’s Limerick-Off. So that gives you a full week to submit your clever, polished verse. Your submission deadline is Saturday at 11:59 p.m. (Eastern Time.)
I hope you’ll join me in writing a limerick with this first line:
A woman was holding a rose…*
or
A woman quite often arose…*
or
A fellow who frequently rows…*
or
A woman reserved sev’ral rows…*
or
A man was involved in some rows…*
*(Please note that minor variations to my first lines are acceptable. However, rhyme words may not be altered, except by using homonyms or homophones.)
Here’s my limerick:
Limerick Rose
By Madeleine Begun Kane
A woman quite often arose
From a difficult yoga-like pose
And, groaning, would claim:
“That position might maim,
But while in it, I manage to doze.”
Please feel free to write your own limerick using the same first line and post it in my comments. And if you’re on Facebook, I hope you’ll join my friends in that same activity on my Facebook Limerick-Off post.
To receive an email alert whenever I post a new Limerick-Off, please email Madkane@MadKane.com Subject: MadKane’s Newsletter. Thanks!
Tags: Competition Limerick, Limerick Challenge, Limerick Contest, Poetry & Prompts, Writing Prompts
Oh, to doze, how lovely, Madeleine. But not I.
A woman who often arose
In a bad mood, then started rows
With her husband quiet,
A man on a diet,
How he lived with her, no one knows.
A woman was holding a rose
The last one not eaten by does
The buck and the fawn
Took naps on the lawn
While the woman replanted the rows
A woman was holding a rose
A little too close to her nose
She sneezed, snuffled, and coughed
Made all the petals fall off
And drift to the ground like red snows
A woman was holding a rose
Bestowed by a cad in the throes
Of lust — her lip curled
His gift with scorn hurled
In the gutter, to rot (decompose).
A nap within an exercise~~whatta tantalizing twofer!
A veg grower sowed sev’ral rows
Of seeds, watered in with the hose
But nothing did thrive
Neither lettuce nor chive
The whole lot got snapped up by the crows.
A gardener’s tending his rows
By weeding around what he grows
He’s also a passion
For Middle Age fashion
So he’s there in his doublet, and hoes
If you are buying a rose
(Or several thereof, I suppose)
There’s the set price you pay.
Why on Valentine’s Day
Does it soar, and you pay through the nose?
A catchphrase most chilling arose
Thomas Harris our collective blood froze
A psychopath — no emotion!
Makes his victim use lotion
Or else she gets doused with the hose.
“That which we call a rose”
(Said Juliet, in most famous prose)
“With new name ’tis meet
‘Twould smell just as sweet.”
(I’ve misquoted, as everyone knows.)
With Viagra his dingus arose,
Stayed stiff, like Pinocchio’s nose,
And, I fear the poor guy,
Watched hours go by,
After 4, called the doc, I suppose.
A fellow who frequently rows
Builds biceps of iron, and it shows
But women’s tastes vary
He may find it contrary
A big turn-off is muscles like those.
Each morning the farmer arose
To the sounds of cawing crows
he was feeling forlorn
about the missing corn
His forehead now has new furrows
With hair now braided in corn rows
The barber hung out with his bros
He started a fad
Business went bad
When patrons gave up their afros
A woman was holding a rose;
She thought it a feminine pose.
Her nose, stuffy as hell,
Alas, she couldn’t tell
To stand far from female ginkgoes!
The football team lined up in rows
To take on their tic tac toe foes
It became a muddle
Right out of the huddle
As they forgot their X’s and O’s
A fellow who frequently rows
Got a hole in a boat wouldn’t close
The water spritzed in
So he reached for the gin
On his toes he’d expose a brilliant red nose.
A woman quite often arose
With a nose that lit up in strange glows
Could it be the red wine
The yellow scotch that was fine
Or drinking gin from a tin in copious flows.
A woman reserved several rows
At a game played by tough hockey pros
It was just her bad luck
Got smacked by the puck
With pluck she stuck hose to stop flows from her nose
Each day an old maid nympho arose
To the desires of her sexual woes
She couldn’t get enough
Of attempting to stuff
Her hope chest with French tickle dildos
Rose is a rose is a rose
And that is how that first line goes.
It isn’t “A rose”
As everyone knows.
Or is that too much to suppose?
A woman was holding a rose
And went to strike a pose
She fell on her ass
No longer a lass
as she had a part resembling a hose
A woman was holding a rose
Presented by one of her beaus
His name was Pierre
And charming Gallic flair
Added, shall we say, quelquechose …
A woman was holding a rose,
Did she get it from one of his foes?
And her lack of discretion
Just fed his depression.
What she did for it, only she knows.
In Parliament, members arose
When Ms. Thatcher appeared with no clothes.
Methinks you are gleaning
A crude double meaning
Which that blush in your cheeks doth expose.
A woman is holding a rose,
In her teeth – we all know the pose
The art is velure
What a piece of manure!
So over the mantel it goes
Last week I ate sushi and roes
At a diner that calls itself Joe’s
With economy wine
And I know I’ll be fine
When they take off this tag from my toes.
With fabric, a pale shade of rose,
She sewed up some curtains and throws.
They didn’t look smart
So she took them apart –
It’s sad when she rips what she sews.
“Rose is a rose is a rose
is a rose” is how that saying goes;
Four roses, three A’s
(or 3 each on some days)
As far’s Wikipedia knows.
A rose was arose in the rows
Of tulips in one of those shows
Where flowers compete
But the rose did not meet
The standards that judges impose.
A polar bear quietly rose
From the ice just before her butt froze
And said to her cub
“I’ll go find us some grub,
Stay here and just go with the floes”.
A woman was holding a rose
In her teeth as she danced on her toes
And the toes of her guy
– Not on purpose – so why
Did they end up exchanging those blows?
A woman was holding a rose
a tolken from one of her beaus
she let out a giggle
a seductive wiggle
and jumped right out of her clothes.
A stripper was holding a rose
left over from one of her shows
while shooting some porn
she got pricked by the thorns
she’ll never get herpes from those.
Fair’s fair, and a rose is a rose
And you get what you get, heaven knows.
You only can do
What you can, this is true.
Having said what I said, now I’ll close.
A woman quite often arose
In a suitable amorous pose.
Her husband would greet her,
“Mi hot senorita!
One quickie, then I’ll adios.”
*************************************
A woman quite often arosé
Striking an amorous posé”
José, her esposo
Would never say, “No.” So
She’d start everyday with Olé!”
A garden laid out all in rows
had fencing to ward off its’ foes
Even the rabbit
who exclaimed “dag nabbit”
agreed that the restaurant was closed.
A sad situation arose
but not one that he would have chose
Craig’s poor Batmobile
had just lost a wheel
but still made it out to the shows
The task is to use the word “rose”
in limerick form and not prose
So many have tried
and none of us died
although some came close, heaven knows!
Chris Papa–4-hr “heart”-on~~Tres witty & mirthful…my M.D. will adore…Hee, hee.
~~~~~
Sue Dulley–“Rips what she sews”~~The fashion industry relates; cunning, playful & “sew” shrewd…“Go with the floes”~~gentle, quick-witted & savvy. Both inventive, versatile & sly w/their wordplay.
My friend and I last year had rows,
Sev’ral times we came nearly to blows,
His man Romney, he swore,
Would show Barack the door.
Now my friend sits alone eating crows.
When given the prompt word of “rose”
A fellow was lost in the throes
Of struggling for rhymes
He said, “There are times
It seems I was born to write prose!”
A fellow has planted more rows
Of the illegal substance he grows
When the guy takes a toke
One can tell by the smoke
He has customers led by the nose.
A woman was holding a rose
But she also was holding her nose
Which was scratched by a thorn
And her gloves had been torn
And she had a long run in her hose.
A woman assembled in rows
A dozen well-kitted young beaus.
She measured their length
Their stamina and strength,
Before selecting a couple or so.
A fellow who frequently rows
Proceeds as the river flows
But when he sees a dream
Rowing slowly upstream
He turns and to the winds all caution throws.
A woman was holding a rose
And the prize that it won in the shows.
And no-one suspected
Her success was connected
With the spot where she buried her beaus.
A woman who reserved sev’ral rows
So that no one would tread on her toes.
But a guy she fancied
Made her heart bleed
When to get alongside the aisle he chose.
A woman quite often arose,
And being one of the yoga pros,
Begins the day with exercise,
While still in bed she lies,
Starts touching to her knees, her nose.
I submitted three limericks, but they don’t figure in the list above. Why? What am I doing wrong?
Sorry, two have since appeared!
The gentleman always arose
For old ladies, young chicks and hoes.
A man well-mannered,
He got the dames hammered.
Then he talked them out of their clothes.
From “The Vacuum,” the cosmos arose,
As every good physicist knows.
I’d explain in this verse,
But the form is too terse.
The Big Bang requires Big Prose.
There once was a girl named Rose Rose
In “The Cider House Rules” and it shows
How John Irving plays games
With his characters’ names
Which must mean something deep, I suppose.
A wine taster once wore a rose
In his jacket lapel, ‘neath his nose
But the rose couldn’t stay,
It obscured the bouquet
Of those pinots grigios and merlots.
That sounds like me doing yoga!
A woman was holding a rose,
that she held up to her nose.
She was unaware there was a bee
That was looking for honey,
And it bit her nose as she smelled the rose.
One morning, a woman named Rose
Discovered her jeans wouldn’t close;
“God couldn’t provide
Me with beauty,” she cried,
“Nor with fragrance — it’s ROSE HIPS he chose.”
A woman was poked by a rose,
and sent into orgasmic throes.
If one little prick,
can do such a trick,
there’s hope for me too, I suppose.
THE INEVITABLE DICK JOKE (sigh)
My belovèd is much like a rose.
For her beautiful face, you’ll suppose,
Or her delicate scent?
No. That’s not what I meant:
She just can’t get enough of my hose…
Rose planted her roses in rows
Her garden to fully enclose.
Rose’s rosey rows rose,
And now nobody knows
When she goes through the rows with her beaux.
I brought my wife one perfect rose…
She gave me a punch in the nose.
And the rose? Where she stuck it,
it hurts to unpluck it
(I must tell my mistress — SHE KNOWS!).
OK, that last line was an identity rather than a rhyme. Back to the drawing board.
TAKE 2:
I brought my wife one perfect rose…
My advances she greeted with blows.
And the rose? Where she stuck it,
it hurts to unpluck it
(I must tell my mistress — SHE KNOWS!).
A rogue Irishman got in rows,
Sipping beer in between all the blows.
If he spilled it look out
For his punch packed some clout.
“Saints preserve us, beers wasted on toes!”
A lawyer gets in all sorts of rows.
It’s his job and with each his fee grows.
“Oh you fell? Then we’ll sue!
Get the monies we’re due.
Half for you, half for me.” His greed shows.
“A proboscis, or rather large nose
Is an asset sir, everyone knows.”
Said the elephant gray
To the man who would pay.
“Fifty quid and we’ll move ALL of those.”
He offered his girlfriend a rose,
And dropped to one knee to propose.
But the whole thing went wrong
When he burst into song —
Please, leave that sort of thing to the pros.
A pimp lined his hoes up in rows.
On the left side the blondes got all bows.
Brunettes right, they got bells
‘Til a jealous blonde yells,
“Bells are more fun, now switch, we want those!”
The time has now come, I suppose,
To winnow the “rows” from the “rows”.
If you stand in a /RO/
You’ll get into the show;
In a /RAU/, you’ll get punched in the nose.
Ms. Lee called herself Gypsy Rose,
But that’s not the first stage-name she chose.
Still, it’s shorter and pithier
Than “Gypsy Forsythia”,
Or “Gypsy Nasturtium”, Lord knows.
ha – dozing off while in a yoga position…doesn’t sound bad to me at all…smiles
A woman was holding a rose
between her lip and her nose
A thorn made a gash
She then got a rash
‘ least her mustache there no longer grows.
As one body the audience rose
To applaud this year’s new Broadway shows.
For these wild crowd salutes,
Top award: Kinky Boots,
Which just shows us that Anything Goes!
A woman quite often arose
In wrath at her sisters and bros.
They arranged her blind dates
With prospective soul mates.
So her life was all butt-ins and beaux.
A woman was holding a rose
A surprise for one of her beaus
But she got the surprise
When her beau did arise
From a nooner with her cousin’s toes
A woman quite often arose
From bed with her throat shut tight close
And gasping would shout
What is this all about
As her husband smiled in a feigned doze
A fellow who frequently rows
Shouted, I like sound of bellows
Since I can’t get hands on one
Might as well have some good fun
Cleaning my ears and the air as I blows
A woman reserved sev’ral rows
For friends at her kids dancing shows
Was quite red in the face
Guarding all of this space
She slunk out before house lights arose
A man was involved in some rows
Involving some pink and white bows
Police were called to the scene
He maintained he had been
Trying a line of optional clothes
O limerick muse, wherefore art thou?
A strange situation arose
To my friends here, the question I’ll pose:
I wrote lim’ricks a lot
But of late, i got squat.
Where they went to , ain’t nobody knows.
A woman reserved several rows
At the ballet -(one of Moscows)
But during “Nutcracker”
Someone called “You’re a wacker
You really must keep on your toes”
Daphne was Queen of the Rhos
Pledged only to be Apollo’s
she offered her Phi
he wanted her Chi
Had an Omicron like nobody knows
A fireman holding his “rose”
Was working in weather that froze
He made a big goof
And slipped off the roof
Saying “Damn it I’ve laddered my hose”.
Barb Streisand’s song “Second Hand Rose”
Is great inspiration for those
Who humbly aspire
To “Thriftiest Buyer”
Forgoing those Fashion Week shows.
A farmer once witnessed some rows
With loud mooing from quite a few cows.
They’d line up in rows
In a bellicose pose
Not quite snout-to-nose with the sows.
Fifteen years since I married my “rose”-
Nineteen since I thought to propose.
The engagement was long-
But we’re still going strong.
I love you and hope that it shows!
–For Kristi, the woman I married July 18, 1998
A woman quite often arose
from a night of uneasy repose.
But, up to the task,
she now wears a mask
which allows her to breathe through her nose.
From the peculiar charm that’s Heathrow’s
Through that “green, pleasant land” our Sue goes –
The place of her birth!
We will miss the sweet mirth
Of her verse till her trip’s at a close.
In her garden, some flowers arose.
Seeds were sowed in straight lines, so she knows
By growing nice and straight
She’s able to create
A nice flowering garden in rose.
Magnificently, he arose,
He’s a Greek god right down to his toes…
His serpent allures;
To say he endures
Is to liken the phoenix to crows.
I look up — in his teeth there’s a rose;
What he holds in his hand damn near glows;
Let me die by this stake…
Crap, that’s Ralph: “You awake?
I don’t know where this old flashlight goes.”
Willie spotted the gal and arose.
She was wearing the sexiest clothes.
Willie’s in the man’s pants.
When she ogled askance,
She could see him stand up, I suppose.
The man’s passion had suddenly rose
As his girl got a grip on his hose
When she hit the right spot
He went off like a shot
Prematurely, but that’s how it goes…
His girlfriend then suddenly rose
Quite miffed with his early dispose
She moved ‘round the bed
And positioned his head
So that he’d have to breathe through his nose…
At last from the bed they both rose
Their bods sporting satisfied glows
And thus is the moral:
You must practice your oral
For emergencies just such as those
A fellow was holding a rose
And a ring and some well-rehearsed prose,
Which is how to romance ‘er
And garner the answer
You want when you dare to propose.
A woman is holding a rose
As her sense of anxiety grows –
A suspenseful technique
They use ev’ry week
On all of those Bachelorette shows.
“However you call it, a rose
Is equally sweet to the nose” –
So Juliet viewed
The poisonous feud
Of her family and poor Romeo’s.
Over Egypt a ruler arose
Who didn’t know Joe and his bros,
And nurtured a dream
Of a pyramid scheme
Until he was foiled by Mose’.
Quite often the columns and rows
Of a spreadsheet will tend to enclose
A critical cell
That doesn’t Excel
As much as the name would suppose.
That lady named Tokyo Rose
Tormented our poor GI Joes,
Who, during the action,
Would have the distraction
Of wishing her out of her clothes.
Thanks so much everyone for another fun week of limericks. This Limerick-Off is officially over. And the winner is…
Congratulations to the Limerick of the Week Winner, the Facebook Friends’ Choice Award Winner, the Limerick Saga Award Winner, and the Honorable Mention Winners: Limerick of the Week 118.
But you can still have lots of limerick fun because a new Limerick-Off has just begun: Limericks By The Pound.