Limerick-Off Monday – Rhyme Word: POT 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 POT 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:
A man who liked stirring the pot
Made trouble more often than not.
He needed no kitchen
To heat up some bitchin’
And could cook it up right on the spot.
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: Argument Humor, Competition Limerick, Limerick Challenge, Limerick Contest, Poetry & Prompts, Writing Prompts
A woman who liked licking the pot
Lurked in kitchens longingly and misbegot
She needed no prodding
To set her to nodding
Her tongue licked no matter how hot
a famed baker of cookies used pot
sprinkling liberally more often than not
they laughed far and wide
the comments were snide
when the police caterer ordered a lot
A politician who was born with “the lot”,
Thought the poor were an overpaid lot.
But when caught with his snout
Sucking the public purse out,
The kettle turned and winked at the pot.
Better would be:
A politician from a blue ribbon plot,
Thought the poor were an overpaid lot.
But when caught with his snout
Sucking the public purse out,
The kettle turned and winked at the pot.
it’s a dubious drug I have bought
Since I tried it, I wish I had not
What would anyone need
With some laxative weed?
Now I can’t get myself off the pot.
Said a man with a very large pot,
Will my wife sleep with me? No, she’ll not!
If I just try to mount her
our futile encounter
Turns into just shear tummyrot.
This week’s contest, I’ll give it a shot
Make line 1, 2, or 5 end in “pot”
With line 3 and 4, I’m
Tasked with making them rhyme
But what goes in line 5, I forgot.
She had spent the weekend on his yacht;
Said the hooker, “Good-looking he’s not.
Though he’s no Botticelli,
I don’t mind a belly
As long as there’s cash in the pot.”
Though he smoked marijuana a lot,
It was no longer hitting the spot,
So they gave him a hit
Of some really good shit,
And he finally got off the pot.
“I never inhaled, smoking pot,”
Is a line Bill C said a lot
Still–not healthy–there’s tar
And how ’bout that cigar
It and that blue dress–what a spot!
Wolhuter, a fierce Hottentot,
Cooked my Great-Uncle Alf in his pot.
An Etonian scholar
Was too hard to swaller –
He violently threw up the lot.
(This is based on the following anecdote by David Irving:
… Reminds me of our well-educated Great-Great Uncle Alfred Dolman, who was eaten by a Hottentot cannibal named Wolhuter in the 1800s; Wolhuter was violently sick after this desert meal. I used to tell South African audiences of our great-uncle who “was brought up at Eton in England, and eaten and brought up in South Africa”.)
“Kettle, you’re black,” said the pot.
“So are you,” said the kettle. “Why not?
“I’m willing to bet
“We’re part of a set
“With that sizzling black saucepan. She’s hot.”
They “were so poor, they had no pot
To piss in”, my Mom said a lot,
About guys that I knew;
She wanted me to eschew,
Whether otherwise worthy or not.
Hey, Man! I’m just chillin’ on pot,
I’m mellow, I like this a lot!
But food I am craving,
So hungry, I’m raving!
And everything else, I forgot!
It seems that the world’s gone to pot,
Save the planet- we’ve just got one shot.
World economies bleed
It’s all corporate greed.
The masses will wake up… or not.
“Stay out of it, don’t stir the pot!”
My Mom used to tell me a lot.
“Don’t politically grouse,
Stay home, clean your house!”
To me that was just so much rot!
For Daisy Mae Simon:
“I never inhaled, smoking pot”,
Was a line that Bill used quite a lot.
His other great line
Will perpetually shine –
“If it’s oral, then sex it is not.”
I never did indulge in “pot”
But when I was on my boyfriend’s yacht
He said, “Give it a try
It’s fun to get high”
Man!! that stuff really hit the spot!
We had a great time smoking pot
Then we hopped into bed; he was really hot
He started poking
I thought he was joking
I didn’t know he was the son of Seurat
A woman whose looks went to pot
had injections to hold back the rot
her nose grew so big
a huge purple fig
with lips red baboon arse, so hot!
The angel said: “Lot leave the rot!
they’ll cook in the Dead Sea hot pot.
not one did I find
any good, a wee kind
God roast them! The whole damned lot.”
The fire and brimstone, too hot
Is what drove out the family of Lot
His wife turned and halted
For this she was salted
She smelled the aroma of pot.
“So my plants in the yard won’t get caught
In the cold, dig them up,” my wife thought.
When she brought them inside,
Every one of them died.
You could say that her plants went to pot.
From Phyllis Sterling Smith
In my state you can grow legal pot.
In the US they say you cannot.
It may be my pride
But I’d like to abide
By both laws so I’m put on the spot.
When it’s said that “they piss in one pot”
It means that they’re closer than not.
My Mom’s other dictum,
I won’t call it wisdom.
I should recall more, but cannot.
Mama made minestrone ( a special pot)
We loved how it was always piping hot
Her recipe, unknown
She said, “Leave well enough alone
I’m taking it with me to my plot”
Somehow it’s become my sad lot
To live with a woman who’s not
In the least bit decisive
I yell things derisive
Like, “Shit or get off o’ the pot!”
Little Johnny, a not-too-bright tot
Got some burns ‘cuz the soup was so hot.
Said his father, Big Brent,
“Son, that’s not what I meant
When I sent you to sit on the pot!”
I was driving home with Scott
On the highway near the lot
He was using all his power
But we were going 3 miles an hour
I think he’d been smoking pot
I was cogitating a lot
A limerick to go with pot
I went to my special location
For the ideal permutation
Which always occurs to me on the pot
CORRECTION
I was cogitating a lot
For a limerick that would hit the spot
I went to my special location
To develop the ideal permutation
Which occurred to me on my trusty pot
MAD……so sorry please change “3 miles and hour” to
“3 miles AN hour
from MBK: Done.
Saw my dealer at nine on the dot
Most times the guy sells decent pot.
I examined a baggie,
All seeds, stems, and raggy,
I asked him, “Is that all you got?”
If you are a smoker of pot
Your neurotransmitters are shot
Brain’s wiring burns out
And as it turns out
You won’t have a clear-headed thought.
This substance which people call pot
A sweet-smelling leaf it is not
Smells something like poop
From an old chicken coop
And they think they are such a bigshot!
If we take a ride on your yacht
While it’s loaded with smokers of pot
As fast as a comet
My projectile vomit
Will land on the whole bloody lot.
If chronic pain/ sickness is not
As curable as you had thought
Then I will not mind
If comfort you’ll find
In smoking some joints filled with pot.
My horse gallops fast like a shot
But give him a whiff of that pot
His speed will decline
From thirty to nine
Miles an hour, a weak little trot.
A kettle called ‘black’ by a pot
Told the pot, “You know diddly squat!
Just practice instead
What you preach,” Kettle said,
“‘Cause you’re blacker than any inkspot!”
What the hell did you cook in that pot?!
It smells like it’s trying to rot!
Roadkill’s the word
Or is it a turd?
Some great cooking skills that you’ve got!
What the hell did you cook in that pot?!
It smells like it’s trying to rot
Roadkill’s the word
Or is it a turd?
Some great cooking skills that you’ve got!
I don’t know what happened, but the first time I wrote the limerick that starts off with “What the hell did you…” it wouldn’t print, but there was a comment that popped up saying ‘Duplicate comment detected, it looks as though you’ve already said that!’ (which of course wasn’t true). Then it completely disappeared, so I rewrote it. Now it’s in there twice! Sheesh! Go figure.
Some gal had a pot-belly pot
It looked like a beachball, I thought
It grew and it grew
And that’s when I knew
That pregnant was what she had got.
Don’t worry about it. Sounds like my blog software misbehaved a bit. :)
There once was a dumb astronaut
Who smoked up a bit too much pot
So spaced out and high
He didn’t know why
He was floating in space – he forgot!
Thank you Madkane… for a minute I thought I was losing it. Hey, YOU’RE up early. Must be time to milk the cows and feed the chickens…
LOL! I haven’t been to bed yet. I keep very odd hours. :)
Before I tied the knot
I had a shower at a fancy spot
I got Joseph Cornell collages
antique Tiffany vases, and
My future mother-in-law gave me a pot
The unsavory melting pot
Of Republican hopefuls is not
An agreeable crew,
A Mulligan stew
Of revolting food for thought.
A masochist woman named Dot
Could only rest well on a cot
Said she, “It’s too narrow
And hurts to the marrow —
I LIKE it, believe it or not!”
Her sybarite friend said, “What rot!
How can pain give you pleasure, dear Dot?
You will not cry out, ‘Ouch!’
If you’ll lie on a couch
Or a hammock while smoking some pot.”
Here’s the acrostic limerick you ordered, Mad.
Cindy said I should add to the pot
Unique flavors – I gave it a shot
My familiar taste
Is not one she would waste
Now you’ve guessed it – it’s just what you thought.
Hey, David, I’m fumin’
You beat me to ‘cumin’
I’ll try one on basil
For Mad’leine’s appraisal
But not in a trice
For I’m not good at spice
And Mad, should you pan us
Stick these up your anise.
I smell something coming from that pot.
My God, did you let the food rot.
I doubt if it’ll be eaten,
Even if you put something sweet in.
Because that food really stinks a lot.
After my comment caustic, here comes my acrostic:
Before you put spice in the pot
Add beef stock but not a whole lot
Sprinkle flour for a roux
In goes salt, pepper too
Lick the spoon, say, “Good gravy!” (Or not.)
You may also need a basal thermometer…
A Cambodian Commie had shot
Folks whose politics weren’t what he sought
The man was neurotic
As well as despotic
No polls were held under Pol Pot.
There once was a little tot
Who watched his mom cook things that were hot
The meals that she cooked
Tasted like gobbledygook
And every day he ran to the pot
Your friends have inferred you will not
Take a drug which will make your brain rot
There’s no reason to pout
When they’re leaving “u” out
You can leave them alone with their pot.
…see what I did there?
When you’ve lost the health battles you’ve fought
medical cannabis hits the spot.
Though you remain ill
it can be a thrill
to say your health’s going to pot.
In 2016 if you need pot
someone running might take what you got
like ol’ Chris Christie
who got real pissy
and took on a two year old tot.
Medical Marijuana
Is there any rule that says you can’t use the same rhyme sound for all five lines?
If so, I am about to break it.
I got caught wildly stirring the pot
Quite a lot. Yes the ranting got hot.
No one bought what I thought.
Though I fought every plot:
“That’s just rot!” “You’re a sot!” “No I’m not!”
I told my husband, Scott
That I resent Helen a alot
“What’s wrong with my mother?”
“If it’s not one thing or another”
SHE’S ALWAYS IN MY POT!
correction
I told my husband, Scott
That I resent Helen alot
“What’s wrong with my mother?”
“If it’s not one thing IT’S ANOTHER”
She’s ALWAYS in my pot!!!
Phyllis Sterling Smith wrote:
Bernie Sanders? I like him. He’s hot
As he stirs the political pot.
Clinton’s heart is too cold,
Trump has way too much gold,
Bernie runs on the wealth he has not.
If you’re cheating with Scott
Because you think he’s OH SO HOT!
Don’t go to the Holiday Inn
He’ll know where you’ve been
You’ll see your neighbors there more often than not.
The poker game had a huge pot
Which they fought for and nobody got
While that hooker made faces
Her mate got 5 Aces
Just a pair who had cheated a lot.
I can prove that your stomach is not
What you all along always have thought
Instead, your big belly
Is really some jelly
Held hostage inside of a pot.
Everything for the soup he had bought
So the cook turned the stove on to hot
He had the ingredients
But in his expedience
He found he’d forgotten a pot.
CORRECTION
If you want to cheat with Scott
Because you think he’s OH, SO HOT
Don’t go to the Holiday Inn
Hubby will know where you’ve been
You’ll see your neighbors smoking pot
Mad please eliminate the word “there” in the last line of the previous limerick
Also, after much”cogitation”I think I have this one just right:
I cogitated a lot
To find a rhyme that would hit the spot
I went to my special location
To find the right permutation
Which occurred to me while on the pot
Not an entry — just some humor on one meaning of pot …
Miss Karenina grew some hydrangea
Quite tall so’s to hide plants of ganja
For this sweet little Anna miss
Enjoyed smoking cannabis
And cooking up brownies to manja.
Morning brilliance, I admit I have not
Mine comes from strong caffeine shots
Awakened luster, please hasten
Forget the cup, time’s a wastin’
I’ll just stick a straw in the pot!
Janie Gouge
Heartsong
@LoveCallsYou
i LIKE reading LIM’ricks a LOT
eSPEcially WHEN they’ve a PLOT
But THOSE that don’t SCAN
ought be THROWN in the CAN
(also KNOWN as the PORcelain POT.)
Some of you ‘poets’ have no clue as to rhythm and your offal offerings hurt our ears.
Puh-leeze! Read Mad’s ‘How-to-write-a-limerick’ (link above beside her pic.) Then go around repeating, “la-la-LA, la-la-LA, la-la-LA” for several hours before submitting again. It should improve your stress…
and lessen ours.
(s) The Cognoscenti
Said mother to son, “Try this pot.
It’s time that you learned how to squat.
Just deposit your load
In this gateway commode,
And you’ll work your way up to a yacht.”
My wife and I gave it a shot:
Writing lim’ricks while mellow on pot.
But it took several days
(Munchies caused the delays).
This joint effort is what we begot.
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 227
But you can still have lots of limerick fun because a new Limerick-Off has just begun: Limerick-Off Rhyme Dash.