Limerick-Off Monday – Rhyme Word: COLD at the end of any one line (Submission Deadline: Jan. 16, 2021)
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(s) as a comment to this post and, if you’re a Facebook user, on Facebook too.
I hope you’ll join me in writing limericks using COLD at the end of any one line. (Homonyms or homophones are fine.)
The best submission will be crowned Limerick-Off Award Winner. (Here’s last week’s Limerick-Off Award Winner.)
Additionally, you may write themed limericks related to KNITTING, SEWING, and/or OTHER NEEDLEWORK CRAFTS, using any rhyme word. And of course I’ll present an extra award — one for the best KNITTING, SEWING, and/or OTHER NEEDLEWORK CRAFTS-related limerick.
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 winners on January 17, 2021, right before I post the next Limerick-Off. So that gives you two full weeks to submit your clever, polished verse. Your submission deadline is Saturday, January 16, 2021 at 4:00 p.m. (Eastern Time.)
Here’s my COLD-rhyme limerick:
A lamb on the lam disappeared;
“I’ll be eaten for dinner,” it feared.
But when found, wet and cold,
“You’re not food,” it was told.
“But we DO need our weeds and brush cleared.”
And here’s my KNITTING, SEWING, & OTHER NEEDLEWORK CRAFTS-themed limerick:
I’m begging: Don’t ask me to knit,
Cuz whatever I make, it won’t fit.
I am dreadful at “throwing.”
The same goes for sewing.
(But my nitpicking’s often a hit.)
Please feel free to enter my Limerick-Off by posting your limerick(s) 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: Animal and Pet Humor, Competition Limerick, Crafts Humor, Knitting Humor, Lamb Humor, Limerick Challenge, Limerick Contest, Needlework Humor, Poetry & Prompts, Sewing Humor, Writing Prompts
My husband thinks outside the box.
His footwear? It’s unorthodox.
His choices are bold
but they leave his toes cold;
which is why he wears socks with his Crocs!
“Bad news,” said the doctor, dismayed,
As the craft teacher’s X-rays displayed:
“Though the six weeks have passed,
I can’t take off your cast,
‘Cause the bones haven’t knit. They’ve… crocheted!”
“Why, how dare you!” the golf student told
Off her coach, for his very lewd hold.
“Just correcting your stance…”
“Pressed against me? No chance!”
“Well, you’re right… but my willy was cold.”
In an attitude scathing and cold
Jim Jordan, a self-righteous scold,
Said our founders would never,
Back closures, however,
They’re dead so they cannot be polled.
The notion that Trump’s soul was sold,
To Putin is really quite old,
His loss means a pickle,
For the hammer and sickle,
So they may bring him in from the cold.
“Now look here,” said Lady du Platt,
“I will not have you playing with that.
It’s wrinkled and old
And your fingers are cold
And your antics have upset the cat.”
There was a young lady called Sewel
Who embroidered her smalls on a stewel.
When she punctured her eye
She gave out a cry:
“Oh needle! Why are you so crewel?”
Her makeup was startlingly bold;
Her mascara had slipped, and had rolled
All over the place.
“What d’you think of my face?”
Her husband said “Baby, it’s kohled!”
During bonking, a husband called Flynn
Was shamed ‘cos his willy was thin
The wife’s sleight was unwitting
She carried on knitting
Said, “Its hard to know when it’s in”!
In the kitchen he wanted to boff her.
Satisfaction he tried to proffer.
She replied, “I am sold,
But the floor is too cold.”
So he made her a counter-offer.
A letter to “Chief” I’m submitting.
It states that “This job I am quitting.
And here is just why
We must say, “Good Bye”
This job interferes with my knitting”
There are times when I just lose control.
But hubby knows how to console
Me. He gives me old socks.
And then my world rocks.
Sewing holes, without fail, mends my soul.
All neighbors, come out and behold
The snow is so dazzling, like gold.
(A refreshing brisk day)
And I sure have to say:
“This weather is so f****’in’ cold”.
**
Her husband just loved and adore’er.
But night and day always implore’er
“Dear, you’ve got M.P.D.
Please see Doctor Lee,
‘Bout your Multiple Project Disorder”.
The village on earth that’s most cold
is Oymyakon, where, I’m told,
you’ll find your breath freezes
before the word “Jesus!”
can make it past one vocal fold.
In crafting, across generations,
There are oodles of great presentations.
And no one can make
A single mistake,
(Only in’tresting unique creations).
another one
In crafting across generations,
We’ve seen many great presentations.
And no “crafter” can make
One single mistake
They’re merely real diff’rent creations.
Mad:
You will probably noticed that in the limerick from today at 4:24 PM,
I wrote,
adore’er and implor’er I meant adord’er and implored’er
Can you please change those mistakes for me?
Thank you,
Lisi
“Hello! It’s your Prof, Mr. Scold.
Years ago. Stole your gloves. I was cold.
‘Wanna send a nice gift
To my friend, Mr. Swift.
Will you help to find them? They’re gold”.
Donald Trump’s taking lessons in sewing;
It’s tough, but the stitches are flowing.
Though it makes his hands bleed,
It’s a skill he will need
For the mailbags where he will be going.
Donald threatened and whined and cajoled,
But Brad told him, “The count was threefold;
The votes you insist
That I find, don’t exist –
The election results are stone-cold.”
In September I welcomed some cold.
By December it’s long gotten old.
Now call me naive,
but I just wanted leaves,
not mountains of ice to behold!
I stitched him a jacket of leather,
With patches of wool for cold weather.
I could not place the trace
Of that look on his face…
but his brows kind of knitted together.
I resolved to give knitting a try,
But I’m clumsy. It all went awry.
I got tangled in yarn
And — oh heck and gosh darn —
A needle near put out my eye.
Rhyming Error! from 1/3 at 1:16 PM
There are times that I just lose control.
But hubby knows how to cajole
Me. (gives me old socks)
And then my world rocks.
Sewing holes, without fail, mends my soul.
Refined anarchist?
I have never been one to obey –
Rules are made to be broken – they say.
Do you do as you’re told?
Ugh! The thought leaves me cold.
I would much rather go my own way.
Of course, anarchy isn’t allowed.
Does that mean I must follow the crowd?
That would make me a drone.
Eagles fly all alone.
Not stand offish, just proud and unbowed.
“Isn’t knitting a manly pursuit?
One is never quite sure. The point’s moot.
But whenever the cold
Settles in and takes hold,
I knit something that’s warming.” “How cute!”
A young man from Stow-on-the-Wold
Refused to do what he was told,
Met some friends at the pub,
They moved on to a club
And caught Covid, Swine flu and a cold.
A stitch in time (some say) saves nine,
Which doesn’t quite rhyme, but that’s fine.
So before it gets worse
I will sew up this verse
Just by adding this fifth and last line.
She longed to wear clothes that were bold,
Even daring, risque’ , truth be told,
But she really felt better
In jeans and a sweater –
It’s hard to look hot when you’re cold.
A Response To Sue’s Above.
“Unmet longings? They’ll have their own way.
Best to give them their head than fall prey.
Take a risqu’ and be bold.
Dare to live – sod the cold!
If you’re hot you’ll get warmed on the day.”
“Unmet longings must out in the end,
Or you’ll surely end up round the bend.
Best not leave it too late.
Mutton dressed up as bait …?
Don’t let that be your fate. Buck the trend.”
On the stump grumpy Trump (so it’s told),
Grumbled, “Freezing my ass off gets old.”
Maybe if he hangs tough,
He’ll end up soon enough,
In that place where it NEVER gets cold.
The prep room is climate controlled
(As essential to keep the stiffs cold).
But the pipes have been leaking,
And something’s now reeking.
Look here on this corpse–there is mold!
Last winter, committed to knit
Lambswool mittens cold hands might befit,
I kept dropping my stitches,
Creating new glitches–
So ceding defeat, I just quit.
Crafters: Stuff All Over !!
A professional crafter must know
The motto of ev-e ry pro:
If you can’t find the paint,
There’s no reason to faint,
Though you had it 2 seconds ago.
A professional crafter must know
The motto of ev-e-ry pro:
If you can’t find the glue,
Don’t cry and get blue,
Though you had it 2 seconds ago.
A professional crafter must know
The motto of ev-e-ry pro:
If you can’t find the clay,
Do not feel dismay,
Though you had it 2 seconds ago.
A professional crafter must know
The motto of ev-e-ry pro:
If you’ve misplaced the yarn,
Don’t give up and say, Darn !
Though you had it 2 seconds ago.
A professional crafter must know
The motto of ev-e-ry pro:
If you shape origami
While eating salami
It’ll smell like a real dirty toe.
My husband says, “Summer is hell”.
Claims all of his body parts swell.
But when it is cold,
(or so I’ve been told)
Mr. Turtle climbs back in his shell.
It’s so hot in here, I could just die.
The temperature’s making me cry.
What? Now I am cold?
Well, lo and behold,
My mother-in-law just passed by.
When happy, my gladness increases.
When sad, all that gladness decreases.
As we quilters all know,
We must reach that plateau
When gladness means going to pieces.
Oh, please do not buy anymore
Dumb stuff at that stupid craft store.
So much crap’s in this house,
Just to make one damn blouse,
That each night I’ve been sleeping next door.
a slight modification of a previous limerick from 1/3 at 12:09 PM
This one’s better.
A letter to “Chief” I’m submitting.
It states that, “Today, I’ll be quitting
And here is just why
I must say, “Good Bye”
This job interferes with my knitting”.
above limerick: line 3: which says, “And here is just why”
I have changed it on Facebook to “If you’re wondering why”
I feel that is better grammar.
Boys are naughty but can be quite nice,
Though, when older, much given to vice.
Girls will sometimes withhold,
By turns, shy and then bold,
Blowing hot and then cold – that’s the spice.
In the ecstasy of creation, I forgot the rules – plonker! (Please delete the above, Mad. Thank you.)
Boys are naughty but can be quite nice,
Though, when older, they’re given to vice.
Blowing hot and then cold,
Girls will sometimes withhold,
By turns, shy and then bold – that’s the spice.
Manly knitting – what might that entail?
Knitting socks while you languish in jail?
Or at sea, while you pitch?
Careful! Don’t drop that stitch!
Never mind that it’s blowing a gale.
As a knitter, I’m clicking all day.
Yes, I knit in the old-fashioned way.
On occasion, I darn –
Mending socks with spare yarn –
And, relaxing, I take up crochet.
Santa asked, pleaded, begged, and cajoled;
In response, though, his missus was bold:
“Me, get naked in here?
It’s the Arctic, my dear!”
It’s a drag when your gal is so cold.
I was knitting, pearl and then plain
As the guillotine came down like rain.
Shouted Robespierre
From way over there,
“It stuck, well do him again.”
In the hours after work he’ll
Join in with a knitting circle.
And as the lone male
He never does fail
To “knit” with one young Miss Merkle.
He said he liked a good yarn
So was asked to come to the farm.
He was rather unwitting
As their yarn was for knitting
Not for a show in their barn.
White marble’s too modern and cold,
My favourite décor looks old.
So what that I shout
“Rip all the stuff out,
Burn it, replace it with gold.”
The Senate House Leader named Mitch
If female, would be labelled a bitch.
He’s sour and he’s cold
And he’s fat and he’s old
He just caters for his friends, the Rich.
In the Senate, if Pence doesn’t fold
He’ll find himself out in the cold
And well see that Trump changed
From friend to deranged
Spitting venom that’ll do more than scald.
He’s big and he’s brash and he’s bold
And he’s got some of GOP as his fold.
Will he manage to squirm
Into his second term
Or will he be out in the cold?
Please don’t throw me out in the cold
Though Joe Biden’s won, so I’m told.
I seem to confuse
The real and fake news,
Remember I’m senile and old.
Don’t sit there hissing and spitting
Though you do stick to your knitting!
You’re a con and a sham
You’re whole life is flimflam
Is that a Presidential image that’s fitting?
If we can’t know how they all polled
Then some folks will be hungry and cold.
Well what the heck
That they’ll get a small cheque…
Not my fault the Dems will not fold.
I think it’s abundantly clear,
No silk purse from a sow’s ear…
Is not my fault.
I’m not the dolt,
But this useless sewing machine here.
With regard to Trump’s claims I’m sold
And quite willing to do what I’m told.
I’ll march on Capitol Hill
And maybe blood spill
Quite calmly, collected and cold.
Following action that’s clearly unwinnable
At what point is Trump declared criminal?
While some call for quiet
Trump calls for a riot
Overtly and in no way subliminal.
Regarding what has transpired,
Trump won’t be loved and admired.
All those in his fold
Will throw him out in the cold
Shouting, “Donald! You’re FIRED!”
You’ve only yourself to blame
Electing a President who’s all about fame.
What next should unfold
Is a cell, dark and cold,
To show that he lost the end game.
Way back when was a war known as ‘cold’,
When Soviet doctrine patrolled.
Now it’s Facebook and Twitter
Control Trump’s transmitter
And his words of great wisdom withhold.
A bucket of ice cream had rolled
Off the shelf of the freezer, I’m told.
A stock boy named Joe
Was laid low by the blow.
You could say that it knocked him out cold.
“Chilly Willy, of Stowe-On-The-Wold,”
As he styled himself, thinking him bold.
Ladies browsing his ad’
Thought, ‘Uh-oh! Jack the lad,’
And as one left him out in the cold.
Bad day on the links, dear?
There are some things best served very cold.
Beer and ice-cream; revenge – I was told.
But my temper was hot
When I strangled the clot
Who had whistled each time he had holed.
Social media giants of old,
circled wagons, – Trump’s out in the cold.
They canceled his credit, –
even banned him from Reddit.
and they won’t accept cash or hard gold.
“Why is knitting so dangerous, Dad?
Is it naughty, or worse, really bad?”
“No. The danger, my son,
Is, you’ll have too much fun,
And your mother will likely get mad.”
Knitters have their own slang, it turns out.
Now I ask you – what’s that all about?
SABLE means, ‘Stashed for life’.
YARNIE: loves yarn – the wife –
And then SEX, which is shopping, no doubt.
For four years Trump tried to look bold
As he lied, stole, groped, cheated and trolled;
Now he quakes, his teeth chatter —
But “What? What’s the matter?
I’m NOT scared! It’s winter — I’m cold!”
Surving The Experimental Knitter
I’ve endured holding skeins while she winds,
And the needles that stab of all kinds:
But I’m drawing the line
Now she’s knitting with twine.
Sisal isn’t for cladding behinds.
A Response to Tony Holmes — and a double-header limerick:
On the contrary! Lo and behold,
‘Twould appear that your lady’s struck gold!
Wearing twine BVDs,
No one ever would freeze —
They’d be far more tormented than cold.
Those two helpdesks have kept me on hold
For eighty-six minutes, all told!
Their “Customer Service”
Is making me nervous.
I’m done being Macy’d and Kohl’d.
My sewing group’s very close-knit.
They accept me ‘though I’m a misfit.
We embroider all day,
While the puns I do say.
People think I’m a fool — a knit-wit.
There is just so much crap on display
In my house, there is quite an array.
I once threw out a pit.
And my wife had fit.
Ever since, I’ve thrown nothing away.
Tried weaving a real cozy rug.
I thought it would be nice and snug.
Didn’t buy enough twill.
But my dog had a chill.
He’s a pug who’s real snug in the rug.
He walked around with a nasty cold
With his chest out being bold
He took the Covid shot
His body ran hot
Suddenly his face, turned old
“It isn’t the flu or a cold;
Yet it’s apt to be fatal, I’m told –”
“What’s that, COVID?” “Oh, please;
Not that kind of disease!
I mean hatred that runs uncontrolled.”
For Sharon – First Response
It may be I was hasty, or blind;
But with so little give, won’t they bind?
Sure, they’ll scratch any itch –
Which would offset that glitch –
But when push comes to shove, are they kind?
How sad to be Donald Trump,
A liar, sore loser and grump.
Now out in the cold,
Down the river you’re sold.
No end rousing cheer but a thump.
Now, the new game is No Trumps.
They’ll be forever down in the dumps.
With glamour we were sold,
Now thrown out in the cold,
The prognosis, us whole lot are chumps.
“Snow White” in a nutshell (sort of)
Mr. Grumpy could not be controlled.
Mr. Bashful would always withhold
His longing for friends.
And trying new trends.
Mr. Sneezy of course, had a cold.
Mr. Happy was cheerful and bold.
He couldn’t wake Sleepy. (I’m told).
Doc cured all the sick,
And Dopey was thick.
And Sneezy, of course, had a cold.
For Tony – in Response to his First Response
When push (as you say) comes to shove,
The plus is: they fit like a glove,
And they’ll check any thrust
Of a stirring of lust —
So prepare for the pure “kind” of love.
For Sharon – Second, And Fuller, Response
Ah! I think, now, I see through the mist.
You think, “Chastity belt – with a twist.”
A man suitably trussed
Would eschew thoughts of lust,
Lest his underwear chasten his list.
For the young, I applaud the intent,
But not so for the elderly gent.
Since his fires have grown cold,
He is rarely so bold.
The occasional thrust’s heaven sent.
And we mustn’t neglect lingerie,
Lest the PC police look our way.
Bras in sisal will give
Good support, but won’t live,
And they’ll all your passions at bay
Sorry, Mad. I missed a word, now corrected. Please delete the above in favour of this one blow.
Ah! I think, now, I see through the mist.
You think, “Chastity belt – with a twist.”
A man suitably trussed
Would eschew thoughts of lust,
Lest his underwear chasten his list.
For the young, I applaud the intent,
But not so for the elderly gent.
Since his fires have grown cold,
He is rarely so bold.
The occasional thrust’s heaven sent.
And we mustn’t neglect lingerie,
Lest the PC police look our way.
Bras in sisal will give
Good support, but won’t live,
And they’ll hold all your passions at bay
Corrections and addendum to the ‘Fuller Response’:
But we mustn’t neglect lingerie,
Lest the PC police turn our way.
Bras in sisal will give
Good support, but won’t live,
But they’ll hold all that passion at bay.
Or a teddy! Now that would be nice
For those keen on deterring male vice.
Though a few – filthy swine! –
Will get off on the twine
A sound tazing will tell them, “No dice!”
Making passionate love in the cold
Is the norm for Inuit, I’m told.
When you’re forty below,
And surrounded by snow,
What else can you do but grab hold?
Or – It came to me as I clicked submit comment.
Making passionate love in the cold
Is the norm for Inuit, I’m told.
When you’re forty below,
And surrounded by snow,
The idea doesn’t have to be sold.
For Sharon – A Further Thought:
If by ‘pure kind of love’ you mean chaste,
One can hardly demur, thus encased.
Since one must be resigned,
One is forced to give ‘mind’,
And ignore all that’s going to waste.
Laughed the lass with the long locks of gold,
“Bigly bears? Oh, who cares? I’ll be bold!”
She broke in. (What a rush!)
But found snack food was mush,
And, to boot, the bears’ beer, barely cold.
My wife always makes me aware
When it’s time for another craft’s fair.
She asks, “What should we buy?”
And I always reply
“I don’t know” “Let’s go home” ” I don’t care”.
Donald’s a loser, never a winner,
An unmitigated sinner.
His moods run hot and then cold
Friend, if you do what you’re told
Or else he’ll eat you for dinner.
We’re off to a quilting bee,
My friend Jemima and me.
My husband pokes fun…
“I can’t wait till you’re done.
It’ll be all patched together, you’ll see.”
Suggestion for Sharon Neeman re January 3, 2021 at 4:44 am…
how about the last word being “macraméd”
Hi Mad,
You could delete my offering at January 7, 2021 at 7:53 pm as it has nothing to do with either cold or crafts. Woops.
Cheers
Tim
True story
When I was much younger, I made
Craft using string that was frayed.
They weren’t knitted but knotted
To hang plants that were potted
So they’d be artfully displayed.
I made headband, choker and belt
So the discerning hippy looked svelte.
For she who I did adore
A sleeveless coat to the floor
Over many a night was dwelt.
At the risk of sticking my oar in, Tim – Sharon, of course, will make her own response – and lovely word that it is, “macraméd” won’t scan, being three syllables, whereas, ‘crocheted’ is spot on. (Nine syllable line)
For Sharon: A Response To Yours Of The 3rd Inst.
Cold, Bold Willy? I Don’t Think So!
Your instructor is falsely accused,
Though his actions should not be excused.
But a willy that’s cold
Cannot hope to be bold,
As it’s shy and withdrawn – and bemused.
Sorry, Sharon! I misread ‘hold’ for ‘bold’. (Good thing I’m going for an eyetest soon.) It’s a real shame because it would have been a good response. No chance, I suppose, that you could bring it into line? I’ll pay closer attention on the next attempt. LOL X
Back On Track.
Chilly willy makes some uncontrolled,
Making, ‘normally reticent’, bold.
Inappropriate deed
May disguise urgent need.
What he’s after’s, “Come in from the cold!”
Will the Trump Roc go down in defeat,
Since the Cyber Lords strangled his tweet?
Feelings run hot and cold,
As events must unfold —
Still, the sound of THIS silence is sweet.
It is natural, when feeling the chill,
To seek succour and warmth – and goodwill.
Should a man become bold
When he’s feeling the cold,
Make him welcome. It’s only until …
Said McConnell, “I’ve stuck to my knitting,
But Donald, it’s time you were quitting.
Though Mike Pence and I both
Have long pledged you our troth,
In the Senate, your mob had us shitting.”
I prowled the terrain — reconnoitering.
Objective: support for embroidering.
I scanned hoops, shears, and thread;
Surveyed needles (with dread).
And then I got picked up for loitering.
A skein turned to me and it said:
“These results are Fake News! Trump’s ahead!
It’s sew easy to see
That he’s won, Perfectly!”
‘Twas a painfully dumb Twitter thread.
All over the bed the two rolled;
In the end, though, the girl was left cold.
“He’s tiny,” said Stormy,
“And God, does he bore me;
No more will I have in that mold.”
When you’re willy’s exposed to the cold,
It will shrivel as though you’ve grown old.
If you hope to rekindle
The poor little spindle,
Be gentle and kind, do not scold.
In the great Arctic wastes the Inuit
Survive – Heaven knows how they do it.
If it combats the cold,
It’s more precious than gold,
Which won’t, and that’s why they eschew it.
Under garments, hand-knitted in twine,
Sold en masse could put vice in decline.
Guaranteed to correct
What is pert or erect.
Briefs and boxers and bras – I’ve got mine.
America, we have been told,
Has streets that are all lined with gold.
That’s small consolation
For those in our nation
Who huddle and freeze in the cold.
I took up my needle and thread
To make a nice hat for my head
But my greatest faux pas
In these times by far
Was a baseball cap in a bright red.
My needle and thread are a waste
Needlepoint is just fabric defaced
The job leaves me cold
But Columbian Gold
Lets me just leave the project misplaced.
Students who once were enrolled,
In the Trump University fold,
Might never pass,
A real civics class,
But they have impeachment down cold.
Donald knitted his brows. “My positon”,
He snarled, “On impeachment? Keep wishin’!
It’s gonna fail, cuz
If the President does
It, believe me, it can’t be sedition.”
Said young Betsy, “Oh, George, please don’t nag,
For I’m almost done sewing your flag.
Now, as for my fee,
Sir, O say can you see
I’m a widow in need of a shag?”
correction of my very messed-up previous limerick: “The Seven Dwarfs”
Mr. Grumpy could not be controlled.
Mr. Bashful would always withhold
His longing for friends,
And trying new trends.
And Sneezy, of course, had a cold.
Mr. Happy was cheerful and bold.
He couldn’t wake Sleepy, (I’m told)
Doc cured all the sick,
And Dopey was thick.
And poor Sneezy still had that damn cold.
A lothario’s lust had gone cold
For a woman of size he’d cajoled;
Toward ecstasy driven,
All night, he had striven,
But never did find the right fold.
Jack, a drunkard, fell splitting his head,
But Jill fixed him with needle and thread.
Both his trauma was mended
And his drinking was ended
When she stitched the fool’s scalp to the bed.
The current Limerick-Off ends tomorrow, Saturday, at 4 pm (Eastern time.) So please get your limerick stragglers in.
There once was a protest so bold,
With intent that was misplaced and cold.
My daughter not calm,
Disallowed to the prom.
You thought a different limerick would unfold.
There are water stains, drafts and some mold
Foundation has cracks, and I’m cold.
Holes in walls from my spouse
I hear many a mouse
And I hope this damn house soon gets sold!
I don’t care if you’re shiv’ring and cold,
Don’t come close or get cuddly or bold.
Put your fingers and thumb
‘Round your thingy, you bum,
If you really need something to hold!
Was it worth it, this searching for gold
In the Yukon up north where it’s cold?
Men gave in to a craving,
Would start misbehaving,
Then lose all their savings, I’m told.
My mother-in-law was so cold,
She would criticize, judge me and scold.
Then her son would act rough
And I’d just had enough
Sent him back to his gruff momma’s fold.
(true story)
As a kid, I would knit something snuggly.
I would show it off, acting quite smugly.
Crooked scarf should still fit
Not a soul gave a shit
No one liked it ’cause IT was butt ugly!
Little Jeannie once knit a bikini.
It was see-through, and limp like linguine.
You could see ev’ry lump,
Ev’ry curve, ev’ry bump
And the boys grew a pumpin’ zucchini.
Some old ladies’ club held in a barn
Would embroider, knit, sew, crochet, darn.
Their gossip manure
Made them look immature
But those grannies could sure spin a yarn!
They’ve discovered that D. Litmus-Mould,
Turns bright blue when the weather turns cold.
Then from blue he’ll go green,
Then the two in between,
Till bright red when the sun turns to gold.
Is Quasimodo getting too old
Or is he now just feeling the cold
He makes no apology
For flawed campanology
Says “The bells will have to be have to be tolled”
A horny old miner I’m told
Ran to town with his last bag of gold
After one night of pleasure
Full of joys none could measure
He found his ass out in the cold.
“Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee” by Muhammed Ali
The championship he did hold.
“I’m the greatest!’ he proudly extolled.
He stung like a bee.
We won’t forget he
Knocked many opponents out cold.
Of course it was never foretold.
Zip nada would make us consoled.
The black-out abrupt.
For all did disrupt.
And the ice cream soup strangely was cold.
Thanks so much everyone for another fun two weeks of limericks. This Limerick-Off is officially over. And the winner is…
Limerick-Off Award 461. Congratulations to the winners!
But you can still have lots of limerick fun because a new Limerick-Off has just begun: Limerick-Off Locks.
John and Mary decided to meet
And to bike in the nude as a treat
The action was bold
But the weather turned cold
And some body parts stuck to his seat