Limerick-Off Monday – Rhyme Word: SELL or CELL at the end of Line 1 or 2 or 5
It’s Limerick-Off time, once again. And that means I write a limerick, and you write your own, using the same rhyme word. Then you post your limerick as a comment to this post and, if you’re a Facebook user, on Facebook too.
I hope you’ll join me in writing a limerick using either “SELL” or “CELL” at the end of Line 1 or Line 2 or Line 5. (Homonyms or homophones are fine.)
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 10:00 p.m. (Eastern Time.)
Here’s my limerick:
On hearing a rather hard sell,
The shopper said, “Yes it drives well.
But my husband’s emphatic:
Divorce? Automatic…
If I purchase a car in pastel.”
Please feel free to write your own limerick using the same rhyme word 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
In the U.S. it’s ALL the hard sell.
From a pin to a whale. Ain’t it swell?
Politicians and “stuff.”
Hey, enough is enough!
Sometimes I feel I live in Hell.
Dubbya reckoned the deal would be swell
Even though it meant going to hell,
But the Devil just laughed;
“Buy your soul? Don’t be daft –
You don’t even have one to sell.”
Each trimester, her grades fell and fell,
So her favours she offered to sell
To her prof. Nowadays,
He gives her straight “A”s
In the class – and in private as well.
In the tale of the Beauty called Belle,
It’s the bowdlerized version they sell,
For the Beast said he’d rather
Just dine on her father
And eat her for ‘afters’ as well.
He was tunnelling out of his cell,
But his sense of direction was hell;
He came out in the garden
In front of the Warden …
He’s doing a solitary spell.
His painting was certain to sell:
“Birth of Venus”, quite nude, on the shell.
Admiring her belly
And breasts, Botticelli
Said “Now let’s have sex – here’s some gel.”
The lady was trying to sell
Her body; she tried like hell
For an outrageous fee
But I had to agree
It was time for show and tell
Considering that I sell
My body: I’m not doing well
A few pennies a day
Is all they pay
I need a much better clientele
Mother was afraid that one cell
Would make my life a living hell
She advised not to neck
Just say I’m a wreck
And I happen to be unwell
Sad but true:
The actor screamed “Turn off that cell;
Your texting is ignorant as hell!
It’s driving us nuts;
But we have the guts
To bring down this curtain as well!”
In the financial district, they tell
The story of one who did well.
A girl of the night
Had played it just right;
She had a great asset to sell.
HELLO?
Our kid never talks on his cell
But without it, he can’t function well
No talking -he texts
And fast finger pecks
He would shock Alexander Graham Bell
Uh oh. Something just fell
into the toilet. My cell!
Well now it won’t work.
I feel like a jerk.
No more posts on Facebook. Oh, well.
A phone with a really hard shell
When dropped, may not do very well.
Perhaps they could place
It inside a foam case;
The market could use a soft cell.
The Garage Sale
I was trying very hard to sell
A lovely pink and green shell
A gal named Jenny
Gave me a penny
She said it was hers, so “Good bye and farewell”
At the funeral we all said “Farewell”
To our dear friend named Mary Adele
The music was stirring
Until we all were concurring
No one turned off their cell
I was asked to pick up Rochelle
My grand daughter (I call her “Sweet Belle”)
Someone knocked on my Ranger
It looked like a stranger
I couldn’t place her without her cell
Chatting her up via cell
He sent hearts, flowers, as well
As hoping she’d cheat
He presented his meat
“Check this out, just for you, can you tell?”
T’was in lov,e, he swore, that he’d fell
She had another but, well,
He hoped she would wander
For his double-entendre
“Hey baby, all’s well that ends swell” ;-)
after a night raising hell
he found himself thrown in a cell
for drunk and obscene it
appears Mr. Peanut
has really come out of his shell
I got a voice mail on my cell
From my old girlfriend Michelle
I was thrilled by the call
She was the “Belle of the Ball”
And now I’m the “Ball of the Belle”
Sallow Pig Farmer
A pig farmer spoke on his cell
I lost the swell swill down the well
the sow you call Lush
she, gave me a push
and the whole darn lot, went to hell.
Boating
A boat up and down on the swell
believe me, I know what I tell
fast engine or sail
He stands by the rail
and pukes taking selfie on cell.
A popular call-girl named Nell
Has a kinky reply on her cell.
While riding a bone,
She relies on the phone
For straightening out clientele.
You might think that there’s nothing to tell
Of a primitive smidgeon of gel,
Yet this cell had a plan
That would end up as Man
As it fused with a neighboring cell.
The Donald has something to sell;
A concept on which we can dwell:
How a loud billionaire
With Halloween hair
Would keep us from going to hell.
Last year I tried to sell
My beat-up Chevy; it looked like hell
It didn’t have a hood
So I realized I should
Donate it to the home where unhappy cars dwell
Last night I found my husband’s cell
The message said, “It’s me, Rochelle”
“Last night you were naughty;
And I just love being bawdy”
This man is positively going to hell
The hooker decided to sell
On eBay as “Raunchy Raquel”.
When they pressed “Buy it now”
She’d deliver – and how! –
And she now accepts PayPal as well.
Count Dracula found his red cell
Count was terribly low, so he fell
On a succulent neck.
The girl said, “What the heck!
Count on me for a top-up? Farewell!”
A composer called Henry Purcell …
No, a limerick’s no place to tell
You of music dramatic,
Impassioned, chromatic;
Just listen to “Dido’s Farewell.”
The spermatazoa swam well
Till they reached the ovarian cell.
But the egg said “No way!
I’m not ready today.
Try again in a week – time will tell.”
May I respectfully suggest to those limerick-writers who insert a blank line after the second and fourth lines that this is counter-productive, and interrupts the flow for the reader? May I also delicately suggest that you brush up on the metrical requirements of the limerick? The basic rule is that the meter should be triple, not duple …
duple?
Thanks for the input Brian, but I’ve always liked the separation whrn I write these things.
Dave –
Ah, well, if the writer likes it, who is the reader to complain?
And my remark about duple meter wasn’t directed at you; it’s just that I didn’t want to offend anyone specifically. I’m a gentle soul at heart, but unbelievably vicious when it comes to the rules of limerick-writing.
When Faustus decided to sell
His soul, with the devil to dwell
The face that launched ships
Helen’s kiss on his lips
He knew that he’d end up in Hell.
The call girl had hot skills to sell.
Got guys under her magic spell.
They were mentally charmed
Their misgivings disarmed
And had sex in a fancy hotel.
The time spent in a prison cell
Father Berrigan always spent well
The Plowshare Movement
For mankind’s improvement
In love and sweet peace may we dwell.
Mythology’s hard to dispel.
In fantasy worlds, some folks dwell.
Fundamental beliefs
Irrational motifs.
To them science is a hard sell.
Thanks Brian. When I read these, I sometimes lose the full impact of the piece (I’m old and slow), so that’s why I separate my lines. I didn’t know there was a specific rule regarding that (I’m also an old, slow amateur).
Anyway, I really think your stuff is epic.
BTW -Mad now has a new challenge word – duple
Cheers, Dave
Marie Huana
It’s seed for good weed that I sell
just heat up your home for a spell
stong lightings’ a must
it’s big bucks or bust
and pay off so no one will tell.
An oversexed gal named Michelle
Sans a man, solved her needs very well
But then something transpired
Which left ‘Chelle feeling wired
Dildo needed a brand new C cell.
This is the way I tried to sell
ONE earring, (the other broke and fell)
“Wear your hair
Over one ear”
And everyone will think you look real swell
At the flower convention I heard the ding of my cell
I was “doing business; really quite well
A man noticed my beauty
And said, “Hi Cutie”
I’ll be wearing a rose in my lapel”
Let’s do the Tighten Up…
So Donald Trump started to yell
“Their bad ones are bringing us hell!”
“We’ll show him” they said.
And now we have read
Their worst one is out of his cell.
Revision
This is the way I tried to sell
A single earring; one broke and fell
“Wear your hair
Over one ear”
And everyone will think you look real swell
If at some time you’re trying to sell
Your old “shmatas” that don’t look quite well
Say, with a smile:
“They’re all back in style”
Then grab the money and run like hell
At a certain age it’s hard to sell
Your aging body that once looked quite well
What used to be fun
Feels like it’s come undone
So just say you’re hitting a peculiar dry spell
This one is for Brian Allgar and not intended for the contest (unless you want to consider it, Mad.)
An English composer wrote well,
But some critics don’t think him so swell
They slam him, what’s worse’ll
Pronounce his name PURS-ell,
Most likely he said it “pur-SELL.”
A guest in a solitary cell
Thought the conditions were swell
Catered meals, blankets warm
Shelter out of the storm
And even free treatments with Kwell
So what were you trying to sell?
In your eyes, my heart nearly quells
So suave and debonair
Dear sir, you’re not fair
Yet I don’t want you to curtail ;)
Mad, please delete the above. I got my coaches mixed up.
I think I’ll go take a nap….
Note from Mad Kane: Done.
When WRIting a LIMerick WELL,
Good MEter is NOT hard to TELL.
It HAS a nice BOUNCE,
ConFORMS to the COUNTS
And is EAsy to PRATtle and SELL.
Nicely put, Dave Johnson, but I think some people have an innate problem…
An embryo starts as one cell
Therein gene for rhythm must dwell
Or no matter how gallant
Your efforts, the talent
You lack makes your rhymes sound like hell.
Once a preacher approached me to sell
Me on doctrines of heaven and hell
But this carrot and stick
Makes his god seem a dick
And it’s all such a tall tale to tell.
I find some of these limericks swell
But for others, the quality fell
With problems of scansion
This topic’s expansion
Could hurt some and be a hard sell.
If you say it boils down to the cell
For the gift to write limericks well
Then the verse, if frenetic
Is a curse that’s genetic
Unavoidable? Who can foretell?
Phil, this is for you. Yes, I’m going to be that guy.
If your verse’s advice you would sell
Then be certain you know how to spell
I’d say most of it’s fine
But a fix I’ll assign
For it’s “gallant”; you’re missing an L.
Through a tunnel he dug in his cell,
El Chapo descended to hell
and offered the devil
a low-lying midlevel
position within his cartel.
I remember a hooker named Belle
Who would gladly show off what she’d sell.
Wearing barely no clothes,
She’d strike up a pose,
And promise to quell what might swell.
And back at you, D.R. —
Were I French, then my method of spell-
ing that word would be perfectly swell
But you’re right, Dave, “galant”
Looked a little bit gaunt
And besides that it didn’t scan well.
I emailed Mad and asked her to beef it up for me.
And yes, I realize I didn’t use ‘cell/sell’ above but it isn’t intended for the competition, anyway.
from Phyllis Sterling Smith,
The best speculators who dwell
In fine houses (that’s how you can tell).
It’s bull or it’s bear;
They don’t really care.
They know when to buy, when to sell.
from Phyllis Sterling Smith,
These fish are beginning to smell.
Just wrinkle your nose; you can tell
That these fish have gotten
A little bit rotten
Which makes them much harder to sell.
from Phyllis, Otto and Kristin F Smith
Before the ubiquitous cell,
If one had a story to tell,
One just gave a shout
And yelled the thing out
At a five bar or more decibel.
At my yard sale I will try to sell
An real”elephant tusk shell”
Also some “eight- tracks”
And great grandmas gimcracks
I think I don’t have a chance in hell
Big Ed and a buddy named Mel
Went cruising around for a spell.
They tried to enlist
A vice cop for a tryst;
Instead, they’ll be sharing a cell.
We went to a party from hell;
‘Cause everyone there had a cell.
Though the music was loud,
This zombie-faced crowd
Behaved as if under a spell.
Their screens were all shining and bright;
A cauldron of flickering light.
We wanted to dance;
There wasn’t a chance
When the DJ fled into the night.
Shiny vending machines used to sell
Lucky Strike, Chesterfield, and Pall Mall
And they were ubiquitous
With products iniquitous
Now when might we hear their death knell?
(And why wasn’t that brand pronounced Paul Maul?)
A prisoner confined to his cell
Had made up a quite sticky gel
For greasing the lock
Of the door (not his C***k)
To abscond from that place nearest Hell.
By the seashore, seashells she’ll sell
I think today it’s a “showy” shell
Most of the shells she sells
Are surely “showy” shells
I’ll buy my brand new shell today
When she gets off her God Damn cell
In the distance I heard a knell
It must be where the nuns have their cell
Then I saw something maim
At Notre Dame
I thought that something rang a bell
The Donald believes he can sell
Himself as the Chief, “Do Pray Tell!”
But his immigrant smear
Caused a corp’rate Bronx cheer.
So to much of his fortune, “Farewell.”
A prisoner confined to his cell
Had made up a quite sticky gel
To loosen the door
But it dripped on the floor
And so he slipped over and fell.
A woman was trying to sell
Her apples down by yonder well
When a lad shot an arrow
Into her barrow
And she said “You are not William Tell”
REVISION!
By the seashore, seashells she’ll sell
Today she’ll sell “showy” shells
The shells she sells
Are surely swell
I buy one when she gets off her cell
Second Revision
By the seashore, seashells she’ll sell
Today it’s surely real swell
The shells she sells
Look like egg shells
I buy one when she gets off her cell
Quite often, it’s too hard to tell;
What the hell are they trying to sell?
One big, glossy ad
Has a tuxedo’d cad
Lying flat in a vat full of gel.
If you’re a senior and have lost your cell
Here’s a trick that works very well
Have a friend call you
So you can answer to
The phone in your hand….(we won’t tell)
If you’re a senior and have a cell
Try very hard not to yell
If you’ve won a cruise
Then you may choose
To tell the caller to go to hell
The Donald believes he can sell
Himself as the Chief, “Do Pray Tell!”
But him immigrant smear
Caused a corporate Bronx cheer.
So to much of his fortune, “Farewell”
At the “assisted living” we all have a cell
Although no one really can work it well
Sadie, who’s 81
Asked if I would call her son
I said, “Who do you think I am: Alfred Nobel?”
The lady really knows how to sell
Herself in the job we all know well
“My name is June, and
You’ll go to the moon”
Boy, this gal knows how to propel
NOW THIS ONE IS FUNNIER
At the assisted living we all have a cell
Although no one can really work it well
Sadie who’s 91
Asked for help calling her son
Bee said, “Who do you think I am: Albert Einstein Nobel?”
The king said to himself, “What the shell?’
His favorite egg, he heard, fell.
He found it lying shattered,
But what truly mattered –
No pieces were large ‘nough to sell
from Phyllis Sterling Smith
For my sins I was sentenced to Hell,
A very hot place, let me tell,
But lovely with fire,
The sort to inspire,
And I caught some good shots on my cell.
Brian Allgar has come forth to tell
Us all of the best way to sell
Our limerick rhymes.
It’s a sign of the times
That some of us still can’t get the meter right – Hell!
A nude fellow sat down on his cell,
Sucked it up and he started to yell.
But then came a ring
From the embedded thing
And a voice that demanded – “Expel!”
As he passed through the hot gates of Hell,
The sounds within started to swell.
The pain in his ears
Nearly drove him to tears
From the ringing that came from each cell.
Oh the’re so very sure what will sell:
Any sexy slim thing who can yell.
But then, Ahhh … SURPRISE!
As her sales reached the skies,
That hardly svelte singer, Adele.
We remember Howard Cosell
For his bombast and yellow lapel.
With Gifford and Don,
His mike is still on
For upbraiding the poor NFL.
We seniors have been given a cell
But we don’t grasp it too well
Bessie, age 91
Asked for help in calling her son
Bea said, “I’m not Alfred Einstein Nobel!”
They threw me into a cell
I was surely feeling like hell
But then I was able
To see “The Sopranos” on cable
So I dreamed I was in a hotel
By the seashore, her shells surely sell,
And her business is doing so well
That her Yiddische Mama
Declares with much drama
“Oy, Shirley, you’re making me kvell!”
Victor Hugo knew how to tell
A story that cast a spell
The man was tragically maim
In Paris at Notre Dame
But unparalleled in ringing a bell
I just can’t use my phone very well
Cuz the damn thing is smaller than hell.
It might look kinda quaint,
But these fat fingers ain’t
Made for cell phones the size of one cell!
Looking back, I’m embarrassed to tell
That I once I had a farm in the Dell.
With too much time to kill,
I succumbed to Farmville;
I belong in my own padded cell.
At my barber shop, Nair’s what I sell
To my head shaving male clientele.
They, at first, called me crazy,
Plain rotten and lazy,
But they’ve taken to this Nair-doo well.
“The whole gold digging life’s a hard sell,
But for me it works out pretty well.
Some don’t like ‘old guy love,’
But when push comes to shove
And I bid them farewell, I fair well!”
If awards for my writing they’d sell,
I’d have many awards now to tell
All about to you souls;
Tales for whom Nobel doles,
As I’d certainly toll for Nobel.
Our bordellos to Mexicans sell
Discount packages. Our clientele
Of Hispanic background
Get the best deals around,
Cuz we know how to treat a Manuel.
The man had a story to sell.
Folks wondered why he had to yell.
“When you’ve got genitalia
The size of a whale, ya
Prefer the whole world hears ya tell!”
A devil’s an angel that fell
And currently living in hell
His only one fetish
To grant you a big wish
If you’ve got a soul you can sell.
A prisoner sat in his cell
Called the guard just by ringing a bell
So when the doors parted
The prisoner farted
And asked, “What’s that horrible smell?”
At poker, you’d better play well
Or it might mean your house you must sell
For the pot can’t be bought
Betting more than you’ve got
When the whole table’s on to your tell.
A person who carries his cell
in cinemas better to well
to set to vibrate
or their handheld estate
will be condemned to sticky seat hell.
Somebody rang the doorbell
When answered, there stood a bombshell
A sweet blond airhead
Big boobs, and she said.
“Um, I have a vacuum to sell.”
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 and the Honorable Mention Winners: Limerick of the Week 222.
But you can still have lots of limerick fun because a new Limerick-Off has just begun: Limerick-Off: Rate or Irate.