Limerick Slate (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 11:00 p.m. (Eastern Time.)
I hope you’ll join me in writing a limerick with this first line:
Her eyes were the color of slate…*
or
I’m forgetful — my mind’s a blank slate…*
or
The roofer was working with slate…*
or
Let’s start over, I’m begging — clean slate…*
*(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 Slate
By Madeleine Begun Kane
Let’s start over, I’m begging — clean slate.
I’ll make sure that our next date is great.
Last night’s dinner, it’s true
Was no winner, dear Sue.
But I vow to step up to the plate.
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
…
A History Lesson in Five Lines
Gerry Ford said to Nixon, “Clean slate.”
Though the Dems had cried out, “We can’t wait
To see Dick in the dock,
Then caged up with a lock.”
Was Ford right? It’s still up for debate.
Fred Bortz With Agnew on Tricky Dick’s slate,
The country would first have to wait
For Crook 2 to resign.
Then the boss was in line
To receive his appropriate fate.
But then Gerry Ford cleared the slate,
Leaving us in a dubious state.
But there’s one thing for sure,
When a pol is impure,
Then the scandal will end with a “gate.”
With Agnew on Tricky Dick’s slate,
The country would first have to wait
For Crook 2 to resign.
Then the boss was in line
To receive his appropriate fate.
But then Gerry Ford cleared the slate,
Leaving us in a dubious state.
But there’s one thing for sure,
When a pol is impure,
Then the scandal will end with a “gate.”
Her eyes were the color of slate,
Which made it easy to attract a mate.
She didn’t even have to try,
The men they would simply fly
Like insects fighting over food on a plate.
His teeth are the colour of slate;
He walks with a simian gait;
He has a huge belly
That shakes like a jelly –
That’s why he prefers a blind date.
The ice was the colour of slate
As the girl did a figure-of-eight.
I had climbed up a tree
So I watched her for free;
People tell me I’m just a cheap skate.
His skin was the colour of slate;
The doctor advised him to wait
Till a cure could be found,
But he’s now undergound –
Both the cure and the patient are late.
“Just put all my drinks on the slate”
I told Joe the bartender, “I’m late.”
But he wasn’t so pally
And showed me the tally,
The price of a small Balkan state.
The kid scribbled pictures on slate;
The critics all said they were great!
People queued up to see ’em
In Kansas Museum
And called them “the art of the State”.
If you look for prez you can slate
For dishonesty, Nixon would rate.
He deceived us aplenty,
Resigned, and then twenty
Years later was lying in state.
Nixon resigned in ’74 and died in ’94.
With an Aussie tour topping his slate,
William tended to matters of state.
He could not have foretold
What the world would behold
On his trip — the “down under” of Kate.
Her eyes were the colour of slate …
I was hoping for sex with my date.
But after we’d wined
And we’d dined, she declined
My suggestion to conjugate.
I’m reluctant to knock or to slate
Other parents, but frankly I hate
All those babies that squeal;
When I hear them, I feel
A strange yearning for Herod the Great.
He fell and his face hit the slate,
‘Cause he’d drunk at a staggering rate,
But the meth and some coke
Caused his death with a stroke.
Seems that his was a horrible fête.
Einstein did all the sums on a slate,
And his findings he had to relate:
“As I’m sure you’ll agree,
EM² = C,
And the meaning of this is … oh, wait!”
Let’s start over, I’m begging—clean slate.
Flip and shake like an Etch A Sketch, Kate.
“I like your new plan,
And I think I can
To a tabula rasa relate.”
What Fred and Chris forgot to tell us:
… But Bill was the fellow they slate
For those cravings that no one could sate.
“Acute indigestion?”
Was Monica’s question.
“It must have been something I ate.”
Just being helpful …
Although I’m reluctant to slate
Other writers, I’m driven to state
That a falsified rhyme
Or a metrical crime
Is the death of your limerick, mate.
I’m forgetful — my mind’s a blank slate
But poetry can carry weight
Now – what was I writing?
For what am I fighting?
Please prize me, before it’s too late.
Her eyes were the color of slate.
Though their charm invited a fete
T’was her dance in a thong
That thrilled the great throng
As she twerked to a feverish state.
Her eyes were the color of slate
In a mate a lust they’d create.
So she’d lead them along
Then sing a sad song
And leave the poor mate at the gate.
Her eyes were the color of slate
Her best feature there is no debate.
They dance when she smiles
Enhance all her wiles
As she conquers poor mate after mate.
When the maid’s on all fours scrubbing slate
She will sometimes invite me to ‘date’.
While such unfriendly flooring
Seems no place for whoring,
The knee pads we use are first rate.
A Creationist studying slate
Used each of its layers to date
From the first protozoa
To the deluge of Noah.
I did not give his theories much weight.
The conclusion he drew from the slate,
That the age of the tectonic plate
Was a mere six millennia,
Did not match what many a
Geological paper would state.
Of his viewpoint, I’ll say that it’s late
In the evidence game that you state
We should chuck Evolution
And endorse devolution
To God’s biblical words, “I create.”
Her eyes were the color of slate
Some say gray’s full of enmity, hate.
But the black-and-white stages
That come at our ages?
These contacts build fires in my mate.
I’m forgetful. My mind’s a blank slate.
Can’t remember a name or a date.
Unfortunate, true,
If it happened to you
You’ve forgotten the name of your mate!
The sea was the color of slate
When we spied her afloat on a crate.
Once aboard our small ship
She began a slow strip,
So we drew to see who she’d first mate.
Her eyes are the color of slate
and her ears were fuzzy and great
Ain’t talkin’ no guppy
I just got a puppy
So cute she has sealed my fate
Her eyes were the color of slate,
Black pools with starred jewels that relate
A depth I could swim in
Like no other women.
The heavens sent her. It is fate…
Our class blackboard was a clean slate
Until that day that I showed up late
When asked why the delay
All I really could say
Was nothing there ending debate
The teacher said son that’s just great
Quietness has thus sealed your fate
Go write one hundred times
“I’m not one of those mimes”
Silence couldn’t be harder to translate
Chalk dragging has a way to grate
It’s a sound that’s too easy to hate
So next time on the blocks
I’ll think out of the box
Not acting like I’m stuck in a crate
I’m forgetful — my mind’s a blank slate.
It’s regretful of me to tempt fate
By trying to write
A limerick tonight
That ends with a line that is funny.
When fracking smashed thru the slate
Much landscape began to deflate
It not really a quake
So just ignore that shake
Sign here to buy this hole real estate
The clean up hitter was next on the slate
Became nervous to approach home plate
The ump noticed he’s up
When checking for a cup
A curve ball or a batter who’s straight
Mad Kane keeps providing a slate
Of first rhymes we employ to create
Works of art, so to speak,
That get “likes” every week.
(For this limerick I seek about 8.)
Her eyes were the color of slate,
And her head was as hard, I must state,
But her heart was quite soft;
I would glimpse this quite oft,
‘Cause ’twas kept by the bed on a plate.
OMG, my mind’s a blank slate
I’m nauseous and six weeks late
I’ve just peed on a stick
I’m going to be sick!
That thin blue line has sealed my fate
Her eyes were the color of slate,
her breasts would increase my heart rate,
and now that I think,
of the part that was pink,
this last line will just have to wait.
Her eyes were the color of slate,
And with them she withered her date.
As he tried to erect
He heard her interject
“You’ve come up with too little too late.”
I’m forgetful – my mind’s a blank slate.
I don’t know when this state will abate.
While I hope for a sign
To find a fifth lin,
II quess I’ll just rhyme here and wait
Her eyes were the color of slate
And her oral endurance? First-rate.
Half a dozen and two
Guys collapsed while she blew.
It all proved that she sure could fell eight.
“Let’s start over, I’m begging—clean slate?”
“I’m not sure,” said the longliner’s mate,
“We’re not here to have fun;
We’ve got work to be done,
So you choose: either fish or cut bait!”
At this pub that’s named Squeaky’s Clean Slate,
The gruff bartender said: “Let’s go, mate!”
Even though I was shaky,
I replied: “You best make me.”
Thus began our erotic first date.
Yes, I know my B-rhymes aren’t pure, but I hope you find this clever enough to move past that.
I’m forgetful – my mind’s a blank slate
My memory’s lapsing of late
It’s dementia I dread
I’d sooner be dead
And reunited with my soulmate
A fossil between layers of slate..
Of a fish exposed in the cracked plate,
Such well preserved bones,
Right there in the stones!
It’s probably Devonian, Late.
I’m aging —my mind’s a blank slate.
My hair loss reveals a bald pate.
I’m so ready to squeal
Over lost sex appeal.
My only gain, lately, is weight.
(Oh, gees, I hope I’m not late.
I guess I made you all wait.
I’m new here, you see —
My excuse has to be:
My poem failed to pro-create.)
Her eyes are the color of slate
And her abs form a granite-hard grate.
She rebuffs my advances
With cold, flinty glances.
She’s a rock that I just can’t ablate.
I’m forgetful – my mind’s a blank slate
I fear I’ve reached that depressing state
When dementia takes hold
How I hate being old
Just lead me the way to heaven’s gate
A new poetry form, the limeronnet (or the sonnerick) is a 14-line limerick with sonnet-like rhyme pattern. Here’s the second ever written:
“Noir scene”
Her eyes were the color of slate.
She spoke with an oracle’s weight.
The candles burned low;
I thought I should go.
This wasn’t my kind of a date,
all this talk of an exigent fate
and an imminent blow—
but how could she know
that just at a quarter past eight
a thug with a murderous gait
approached me to throw
a punch from below
that knocked me clean out on my plate.
When I woke it was horribly late.
The roofer was working with slate
Aed slipped as he shifted his weight.
.Said he, on the ground,
“I think that I,ve found
That I’m good but I’m clearly not great.”
Let’s start over, I’m begging — clean slate?
These blind dates just never end great.
My pic, which you saw,
On the web had one flaw,
But trust me, I am losing weight.
Descartes loved his blank slate
To existence he tried to relate
He cogitoed ergo sum
To while away his gloom
The horse before Descartes was sensate
He created a tabular Rasa
While roaming about the casa
I think there for I am
Made him happy as a clam
I am I if only in my calabasa
I’m forgetful, My mind’s a Blank slate
And its true that I often am late
Cause I got so fat
At dinner I sat
And could not remember I ate
I’m a victim of auto correct
It vexes me like a blank check
“tablula rasa” should be read
in the verse above my head
All I can say is gosh, darn, and heck
Sorry. Corrected version.
I”m forgetful – my mind’s a blank slate
I don’t know when this state will abate.
While I hope for a sign
To find a fifth line,
I guess I”ll just rhyme here and wait.
I write for the e-zine named Slate
On how humans, um, interrelate.
With regard to this topic
Some claim I’m myopic,
Since I’ve never been on a date.
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, and the Honorable Mention Winners: Limerick of the Week 167.
But you can still have lots of limerick fun because a new Limerick-Off has just begun: Limerick Rite.
Just ignore me. I’m working on almost no sleep the past two nights.
Some liberals lean so far from right
There’s no sense of balance in sight.
Pubs so far from left
They develop a cleft
In their cheeks ’cause their ass is to tight!