Limerick-Off Monday – Rhyme Word: STRAIN at the end of any one line (Submission Deadline: March 19, 2022 )
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 STRAIN 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 LINES, using any rhyme word. And of course I’ll present an extra award — one for the best LINES-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 March 20, 2022, 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, March 19, 2022 at 4:00 p.m. (Eastern Time.)
Here’s my STRAIN-rhyme limerick:
Friends were hoping to fly to Port Blair
To visit some relatives there.
But the new Covid strain
Has them worried again,
So their plans are all up in the air.
And here’s my LINES-themed limerick:
Here’s something that makes me see red:
A rest’rant with only one head.
Long lines for the john
While we’re eating? Come on!
I’m fed up! We’ll dine elsewhere instead.
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: Bathrooms Humor, Bathrooms Limerick, Competition Limerick, Covid Humor, Dining Humor, Dining Limerick, Family & Relatives Humor, Family Limerick, Flying Humor, Health & Medical Humor, Health Limerick, Limerick Challenge, Limerick Contest, Lines Humor, Lines Limerick, Plans Humor, Poetry & Prompts, Port Blair Humor, Restaurant Humor, Restaurant Limerick, Travel Humor, Travel Limerick, Writing Prompts
Thanksgiving, each year is a pain.
Mama always says, “Don’t dare complain!
“The gravy’s not lumpy,
Do not make me grumpy.
I’m doing my best without strain”
Seven Volumes? No Problem!
Used to think that the line was a crime.
But no longer, I feel it’s sublime.
With my “DMV Tome”
There’s no rush to get home.
Cuz I’ve mastered “In Search Of Lost Time.”
I really not one to complain
but lately I’m under such strain
that for better or worse
to fashion a verse
is too much for my poor, tired brain.
I find that whenever I croak
a choral work from the Baroque
each line is so long
that before the darned song
is half over I gasp and I choke.
There once was a lim’rick unfinished.
Its impact was greatly diminished.
It made people whine:
“There’s no closing line!”
Walkers Restaurant, 1 Walker Avenue, Clarendon Hills, Illinois.
In Du Page County. (nice inexpensive place)
Dine at Walkers? You’ll never go wrong.
They offer good food for a song.
On “Free Sample Night”
Seniors don’t get it right.
And that’s why the line is so long.
Though he thought his pursuit to be fetching
His chances he was certainly stretching
Her eyes they just rolled
‘Cause his line was so old
When suggesting she come see his etching
“We are Mr. and Mrs. George Fine.
As it happens, we’re both 99.
I have to conclude
That you’re nasty and rude.
Do we LOOK like we ordered online?”
(No jokes were harmed, or even used, in the making of this limerick.)
There must be some way to restrain
The madman who’s bombing Ukraine.
Is Vlad looking for
A nuclear war?
He’s out of his mind, that is plain.
Used to do it high up in a plane.
Or outside in the strong pouring rain.
But now I am old,
And the truth must be told:
It gives me a swack inner strain.
I see Brian got there first. Here’s my two cents.
A fellow who’s stuck in Ukraine
Has come under significant strain
As his plan falls apart.
Seems he isn’t too smart —
Like his friend with the “very good brain.”
Singing lessons for me were in vain.
My voice coach would trill, “Please refrain!”
But I did manage once
A series of grunts
That sounded a lot like a strain.
With lim’ricks it seems I am cursed.
I try ’til I’m ready to burst,
But the meter is wrong,
Or the lines are too long,
So at poetry, I’m not well-versed.
Writing poetry can be such a strain
Coming up with words is a pain
Should have ditched it long ago
Before it crushed my ego
Wondering what I’ve got to gain
Cowboy’s horse is forlorn as can be.
What he longs for the most: to be free.
Being under the rein
Of his rider’s a strain,
So when stopping, he says, “Whoa is me!”
I needed a cool “pick-up” line.
The girl at the bar looked so fine.
I calmly walked by,
And then I said, “Hi
Can I buy you some Ketamine wine?”
On Paul’s “There once was a lim’rick….”
No way does your word play diminish
My int’rest for lack of a finish.
Your plot lines commence
To build up suspense
(though your Fifth Act’s a little bit thinnish).
Correction Of Limerick #2
Used to think that “the line” was a crime.
Changed my mind, now I feel it’s sublime.
With my “DMV TOME”
There’s no rush to get home.
I’m an expert “In Search Of Lost Time.”
Alexander, aged five, can explain
How to turn any sprain into strain:
“Just give up your tea
And replace it with pee!”
Smart alecs can be such a pain.
He fooled everyone, taking the prize
For glibness – maintaining the guise.
But he died from the strain
Of legerdemain–
Keeping track of those countless white lies.
At the TSA screening, the queue
Snakes for miles, so to quickly pass through,
Say you’ve broken a leg.
Without having to beg,
You’ll get quickly rolled through by the crew!
Life is tough, and I’m feeling the strain.
Being poor is one damnable pain.
Inflation’s a bitch!
I’m surely not rich!
And seltzer is now 3 cents plain!
Not all writing is tranquil, because.
Scratching out numerous faux pas.
It’s sometimes a strain,
On fingers and brain.
But can clear up bad case of the blahs.
Introductory book that’s divine.
With the subject of fish on the line.
Is Seussian driven.
A gift I have given.
To children from newborn to nine.*
*One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish.
The sixty were standing in queue.
It was painfully slow, and I knew.
There’s something afoot.
Discovered and put.
A sale of some shoes as what drew.
The TRUE protocol of getting in line in New Jersey elementary school
in the 1950’s. I will never forget it.
In school, we would “line up” by height.
As the tallest, it sure was a plight.
The last to walk home,
I would wander and roam.
Cuz the moon didn’t shed enough light.
A fellow was asked to explain
What he did to alleviate strain.
“Well, it helps to work out.
But I’d falter, no doubt,
If it weren’t for those lines of cocaine.”
Let’s consider the fork and its tines
It has function and beautiful lines.
If stuck in your thumb,
Your eye or your bum
It can cause the most exquisite whines.
An actor with amnesia signs
Kept forgetting to pay parking fines.
So to clear his dull head
He went fishing instead,
But he didn’t remember his lines.
My post-Covid life is a pain.
To move is perpetual strain.
All crawl do not runny.
This poem could be more funny,
but it’s morn, and I’m already drained.
We had bunk beds, and boy what a pain.
The berth on top made me insane.
Now I sleep on the floor.
I don’t cry anymore.
The commute was too much of a strain.
T-Rex had quite a long reign.
But can’t clap – It causes strain.
It’s not they report,
That his arms are too short.
But that he’s dead – It’s what they maintain.
At the end of the show I just froze.
I guess I’m not one of those pros.
I played Charles Foster Kane.
The last line left my brain.
And in shame, I cried out, “Auntie Rose.”
There’s a reason that my name is Dane.
I come from a northern strain.
Have strong Viking blood,
But may be a dud.
I distain going out in the rain.
My golf swing’s a thing to behold.
I follow the line like I’m told.
But here is my bane,
Each swing is a strain.
They explain that I’m just getting old.
Pursuing a line of inquiry
About toilet roll thefts from the priory,
The cop, needing a poo
In the paper-less loo
Had to use the last page in his diary.
Civic Theater auditions went fine;
I was told that the lead would be mine.
But on opening night —
With my fame at its height —
Only word I could utter was “Line!”
I’ve always liked pretty designs,
And paintings of all different kinds.
But Picasso, however,
Was not very clever.
Ev’ry day, all he did was paint lines.
Each night at the “Chateau Decline”
At my door there’s a very long line.
Ev’ry evening I hear,
“Excuse me, my dear.
Do you know which apartment is mine?”
At “Arthritic” the units are plain.
And therefore, not hard to maintain.
We get to bed late,
But that is our fate.
Cuz turning the door knob’s a strain.
Hey listen, how can I explain?
I think this could drive me insane.
But I have to tell you,
I can’t do number two.
I just sit in the bathroom and strain.
Correction for Mar.7th 3:02 p.m. faux pas
Civic Theater auditions went fine;
I was told that the lead would be mine.
But on opening night —
With my fame at its height —
The one word I could utter was “Line!”
There once was a fellow named Wayne
Whose guts often used to complain
Till he found that hydration
Reduced constipation,
Now ablutions are less of a strain!
Perhaps you have heard about Jane
Whose tattoo has caused her some strain
For her Chinese symbol
Means not smart and nimble
But rather means chicken chow mein.
The sermons of Father Matteus
Are filled with deep breaths and long phrases
He speaks with such strain
‘Cause Sister Elaine
Is fellating him under the dais.
Life has such stresses and strain,
No wonder I turn to cocaine.
It gives me a lift, at
Once (not to be sniffed at)
When I sell it for capital gain!
A pushy and arrogant cop
Tried to command me to stop.
I said, “Do you mind?
I’m before you in line
To order at this donut shop.”
Said Timmy one morning so fine
Watching his folks 69,
“Alexa’s live tweeting
You while you’re eating
And I’ve got the cops on the line.”
My teacher at school gave me lines,
My teacher at school gave me lines.
My teacher at school
My teacher at school
My teacher at school gave me lines.
You were 95 short Harris, see me after 4 o’clock.
There once was a fellow named Rand,
The horniest guy in the land;
He wore out six brides,
Twelve hookers besides,
Nine sheep, and the lines on his hand.
We used to say, “Mama’s insane”
And wondered if she had a brain.
She never was able
To set a nice table.
Eating soup with a fork was a strain.
4 beats to a bar in a queue.
That’s “line dancing” all the way through.
The origin is
When girls needed to whizz,
They jiggled in line for the loo.
Late night he heard sounds, not divine.
Soft music and talk, all combine.
Couldn’t figure the source.
Soon learned, but of course.
His pacemaker now was on-line.
There once was a stressed sieve named Shane
Who cried, “People drive me insane!
They’ll scream and they’ll shout
If some food should drip out
And I just cannot handle the strain!”
Three lions — straight, gay, and a bi one
Were taking a bath at Lake Zion.
The first one got out,
Which proves, beyond doubt,
The shortest bath is a straight lion.
Recipe
Cook some pasta and thoroughly drain.
Add bananas, some rice, and cocaine.
Then mix very well.
It’s tastes really swell.
And is known as “La Gluteal Strain.”
The boss said, “It’s time to resign.
You know nothing ’bout style, Mrs. Klein.
As a buyer for Saks,
You’re gettin’ the axe,
Cuz you chose a real tacky fall line.”
A financial conundrum a drain.
Paycheck to paycheck a strain.
The eighty percent,
They’re totally spent.
Less money than month, what a pain.
An actress who dressed to the nines
Was obsessed with her facial age signs
“Though an awful brain drain
And a terrible strain
I always remember my lines”
Ms. Portia, in English quite plain,
Said the qual’ty of mercy won’t strain.
But Shylock knew best.
It wasn’t twice blessed,
But he would not deign to explain.
Producers and Consumers has recently been replaced by “Prosumers”
(just found that out) “Baby Boomers: Past And Present”
Inventors, designers, prosumers.
That’s now what we are: Baby Boomers!
Long ago, on the line,
Near the low-hanging vine,
We stole Mrs. Rosenberg’s bloomers.
Old Shylock would not toe the line.
A settlement he did decline.
He sued for some flesh,
Not frozen, but fresh.
On Venetian tartare he would dine.
oops! not clear enough! line 3, “on” should have been “from”
“Clothespins”
Inventors, designers, prosumers.
That’s now what we are: Baby Boomers!
Long ago, from the line,
Near the low-hanging vine,
We stole Mrs. Rosenberg’s bloomers.
My old Osteopath, Dr. Spec,
Ought to keep his opinions in check.
When on visits I whine
That my spine’s out of line,
In my file he writes, “Pain in the neck.”
I sit on the toilet and strain
To remember if it was champagne
That caused me these troubles
(Residual bubbles)
Or maybe the month-old chow mein
My head’s full of lice complained Fred.
All treatments so far made it spread.
No use to complain,
Cuz it’s a new strain.
Which then left him scratching his head.
Our diva soared through the refrain
Slightly off, and with obvious strain.
Centre-stage; somewhat loaded,
Her high note exploded.
So did she, – we’re still cleaning the stain.
She runs nude on the beach, – such eye-candy,
Just the sight of her makes me feel randy.
I’m face-down but it’s plain
That I’m feeling the strain
Getting sore, raw and painfully sandy.
A strain may result in a pain.
A bad pain can make someone insane.
But the worst combination
Known as “triple sensation”
Is pain from a sprain and a strain.
Physics 101
If you pull a thin wire it feels STRESS.
Will it STRETCH? Well, the answer is yes.
This increase, or gain,
In length is called STRAIN.
Mnemonic – keywords start with “S”.
The new chorister sang like a drain,
The parson went pale from the strain,
The choirboys cried,
The choirmaster died
And the churchgoers all went insane.
I planted straight lines for a bet,
With every bulb that I could get.
There’s shallots and alliums
Garlic and scallions –
Of onions I must have the set!
I used to reside at “The Pines.”
Down south where the sun always shines.
For 2 years, lived in Rome.
Now I live in a “home”
Called “Swan Song For Wrinkles And Lines.”
A Better Limerick
A strain can result in a pain.
A pain can make someone insane.
But the worst combination
Is that nagging sensation:
“The Synchronous Pain Sprain And Strain.”
I make flour by stomping on grain,
Squeeze out sugar by chewing on cane.
I eat pasta in clumps,
And my gravy with lumps.
But credulity mostly I’ll strain.
He kayaked for hours on the lake.
Felt pressure that soon made him ache.
To relieve the strain.
The snake he must drain.
He stood up and fell in his wake.
He kayaked a river uncharted.
With rapids – he wished he’d not started.
A gut retching sign.
Waterfall in his line.
He soon joined the newly departed.
In the 50’s we saw many kinds
Of extremely annoying designs.
Tried to watch “Rin Tin Tin”
Yet we never could win.
So we settled for “Parallel Lines.”
Said the barfly: “Hey babe, you’re a fox.
If you like to date doctors or jocks,
Gynecology’s sort
Of my favorite sport!”
His pick-up lines really suck rocks.
Mr. Autocorrect undermines
All my lim’riks, with stupid designs.
He goes to great pains
Oh, how he complains!
And insults me with red squig’ly lines.
“Jingoism”
Donald Trump, without effort or strain,
Would smoothly make use of his brain.
“Revenge” was the goal.
And with total control,
He would cry out, “Remember The Maine!”
The Russian people suffer the strain
of sanctions Putin treats with disdain.
Russia’s proud name
bears Vladimir’s shame:
innocent blood leaves indelible stain.
He wiggled his body and strain
He even twisted his hand
Trying to break in the store
Then was caught in the door
Causing his body much pain
At the food bank, the lines so long
To pass the time they sang a song
It sounds awfully bad
Which made others mad
They were just used as a pawn
You’ll never find there’s a long line.
It’s not where you go to fine dine.
A culinary, nay.
The Port-A-poty cafe.
Make sure you don’t drink the house wine.
With men, there’s a typical sign.
They’re triggered, and inch down my spine.
My virtue’s unraveled,
Because they have traveled.
The Mason and Dixon south line.
This geometry teacher’s adored.
But he’s cranky, exhausted and bored.
Then lured from his books,
To fish line and some hooks.
Mathematical angler* restored.
*A person who fishes with a rod and a line.
Pythagoras knew how to wrangle
The math’ to work out the ‘right’ angle.
By Right (In particular)
He meant perpendicular
And used it to straighten his dangle.
The world feels the pain and the strain
That Vlad’ mad-bastard’s causing Ukraine.
Putin’s puttin’ the boot in
And no one’s disputin’
He’s several degrees of insane.
For Charles Atlas et al.
“If your muscles are puny and weak,
Making prospects in life appear bleak,
I will guide, you will strain –
There’s no gain without pain –
Till you sport the impressive physique.”
A redo
A geometry teacher, adored.
But weary, exhausted and bored.
Then lured from the books,
To line and some hooks.
Mathematical angler restored.
A horny old man in Seville.
Once forgot to take his blue pill.
His performance in vain,
Despite all his strain.
Showed skill but lacked thrill of the spill.
Ev’ry night we’d indulge in champagne.
Then he’d whisper, “I love you sweet Jane.”
But now that I’m old,
The truth must be told:
To hear all that schmaltz is a strain.
Small change.
A horny old man in Seville.
Forgot once to take his blue pill.
His performance in vain,
Despite all his strain.
Showed skill but lacked thrill of the spill.
Hey Gene, please don’t mind me for asking,
As in posthumous fame you’re now basking.
So, was dancing a strain
When you sang in the rain,
Or, simply, routine multitasking?
Hoping that Americans are familiar with the corny old English joke (L5), or at least Madeleine (lol).
While sailing and writing some prose
He fell overboard. How? No one knows.
He yelled “I’ll be fine, –
Someone throw me a line”
All he got was “My dog has no nose…”
Mangiah Ghufran has great lines
And he won first prize in the confines
Of Qatar’s Camel show.
It’s engrossing to know
That there’s cash in God’s oddest designs.
(A beautiful “droopy-lipped, long-lashed doe-eyed dromedary” proven by X-rays to be surgically un-tampered with. Won 1 million riyals last week.)
For all of this long life of mine
lived just yards from the grand central line
I could hear iron strain
as the cars of each train
pull uphill ‘tween the birch and the pine
Sometimes I can hear it at night
in my pale rectangle of the moon’s light
it rolls through my dreams
and my life seems
on schedule and everything’s alright
After weeks at his Mom’s up in Maine,
Jack and wife, on the train ‘eased’ their strain.
Train’s horn, and Jack’s, blew.
Pocket-dial: …. “Jack?…’that you?
Tell me, – When are you coming again?”
She fell for him hook, line and sinker,
But he, an inveterate drinker,
With her love only tinkered.
She was totally blinkered
By the sweet talking lines of this stinker.
Changing the time makes me sour.
But my brain has a great superpower.
To prevent any strain,
Which I know would cause pain,
I stamp on each clock, “Add One Hour.”
I’m on line, my dear Google, for help.
My dog has no nose, that poor whelp.
So, how can he tell
When I’m dirty and smell,
And reacts with an agonized yelp?
To my doc I said, “Doc, my “old chap”
Has a very bad case of the clap”.
The doc said, “It’s quite plain
It’s a virulent strain
‘cos it drips like a washer-less tap”.
If you’re wise you’ll draw lines every day
between what you do and you say:
Lines to toe, lines to cross,
what to keep, what to toss,
lines to keep you from going astray.
Your Lim’s could show criminal signs
If you’re writing some libellous lines.
Ensure meaning is ‘seen’
When reading between
the lines, – you’ll avoid law-suit fines.
Toward the maiden, the knight had designs.
He’d ply her with with candies and wines.
Then he tried, don’t you know it,
Romance as a poet.
That failed ’cause his lines had false rhymes.
Limerick-Off Loser’s Lament
Though the man had a Limerick brain,
His rhyming showed signs of great strain.
“This one’s ten of ten,”
He said oft, and again.
Yet he found he had lost once again.
Invisible lines (#2).
Do the lines that you write commit crimes?
(Cuz we live in litigious times).
Lines taken as read,
If not written or said,
Won’t attract law-suit fines for your rhymes.
Your honor, I must now confess.
I’ve ruffled some feathers, I guess.
My lines meant as tribute
Were not to contribute
To a poet’s apparent distress.
I wake up, 1,2,3, in a snap.
I’m an active and sprightly ol’ chap.
But I don’t want to strain
My tireless brain.
After rousing, I take a nice nap.
The Parallels feel incomplete.
He is low, and she’s high on the sheet.
They long to be “one”
But they’re not havin’ fun.
It’s a shame that they never will meet.
We met, oh, this man was so fine.
We kissed, then we wed, (so divine.)
Had 3 real cute kids.
Then divorced, (on the skids)
All this happened on DMV line.
I was waiting in line to buy booze,
So I watched the “What Else is New” news.
They claim twenty percent
of our lifetimes are spent
Watching tellies and standing in queues.
Mathematics I once would abhor
Couldn’t dodge it at school (it was core)
Now I add and subtract
And can prove it, in fact:
The sum of these lines equals Four.
Murphy’s friends have always maintained
His passion for truth is ingrained;
They all are quite sure
His motives are pure–
The quality of Murphy’s not strained.
There once was a lady named mad
Who received many limericks bad —
With terrible rhymes
And then there were times
Where you just couldn’t believe how many extra syllables some of the final lines had!
Sorry, I meant “Mad.”
I hope there’s no capital punishment.
The rain in Spain may fall in the plain,
But the water runs fast down the drain;
Life’s not so lush
When you can’t flush–
Spanish bowels are feeling the strain.
Our gov’ment confirmed UAP’s.
They speed through our skies with great ease.
It would be a strain,
Another country it’s plain.
Could never have this expertise.
Give a man a fish to enjoy.
He’ll eat for a day well, oh boy.
But teach him one time.
To fish with a line,
And the ecosystem, he’ll destroy.
Stare at blank page, it’s a scourge.
Juggle words till ideas surge.
Then line by line.
After some time.
Like butterfly’s, lim’ricks emerge.
I know these two limericks don’t exactly meet your criteria for “lines”, but I submit that the 4th line of the first limerick may be one of the best limerical lines you’ll encounter for a while. When I realized that the lyrics to “Home on the Range” were chock full of anapests, these two limericks wrote themselves.
There once was a cowgirl named Faye
Who, alone on the range, used to say,
“O give me a home
Where the buff fellows roam
Where the dearly endowed cowpokes play.”
Faye fancied a roll in the hay
On the range in a cowgirlish way
Where seldom is heard
A discouraging word
And the guys are rut-ready all day.
A quite nimble blond, though not dumb.
Had a W tat, each cheek of her bum.
Then nude, with no strain.
Handsprings she’ll sustain,
And (WOW, MOM WOW) is seen by some.
At “Food World” I’m always a wreck
When I spot Mrs. Slipshod Nontech.
She holds up the line.
We all start to whine.
Cuz she says, “Oh dear, where is my check?”
(Cash? Credit Card? We all know her:)
One of his unspoken lines
When treating his customers’ spines:
“I’ll give it a jerk,
‘If that doesn’t work–
‘Blame the astrological signs.”
His cellar is stocked with the lines
Of the world’s great beers and fine wines;
The toast before food
Is “prost”or “salud”,
Whether served in glasses or steins.
Correction of a limerick from today at 4:24 PM
At “Food World”, I’m always a wreck
When I spot Mrs. Very Nontech.
She holds up the line.
And all of us whine
When she says, “Oh dear, where is my check?”
I loved my old party-line phone.
Conversations by people unknown
I heard surreptitiously,
Perhaps not judiciously.
That way, I was never alone.
******
From Mad Kane
I remember them too. (Thereby giving away my advanced age.)
Hi, Lisi. I like “Food World” :) (I know Mrs. V. Nontech. Perhaps too well).
When I drop in at Food World for pickles,
The long line at my rear always trickles
away when I start
tearing my purse apart
Crying, “Where is my roll of old nickels?!”
On an overseas flight on the plane
my sphincter was under some strain
we hit turbulance
and i shit my pants
Left 17B with a stain
The zebras we see are all lined.
Yet some tend to be quite inclined
To ponder and muse
‘Bout silvery views,
Which zebrologists tag, “Ill Defined”
They told us to ride the S-train
To Rockaway Park in the rain
We read tragic novellas
Beneath our umbrellas
Our tears we could barely restrain
Rudy’s memories of party lines are not as fond as mine.
Dear Rudy,
The people you called, “the unknown”
Always irked me straight down to the bone.
My stomach would churn
When they’d cry, “It’s my turn,
So get the hell off of the phone.”
She was playing the Bach G-String Air
In the orchestra’s vaunted first chair,
And somehow she tore
The g-string she wore.
A line formed to view pubic hair.
I can’t summon my usual flare.
Emphasise the wrong word? (Wouldn’t dare!)
Rhyme and meter (again) –
Require stresses, not Strain.
This needs both, so I’ll leave it right there.
Ms. Madeleine seems to imply,
And I haven’t a clue as to why,
That I’m getting old.
That’s really too bold!
She reads between lines. My, oh, my!
I read about party-line phones as a child in the “Herald Tribune”.
*************
From Mad Kane:
LOL! That’s the risk you take when you write a limerick talking about your memories of party lines in the FIRST PERSON.
I suffered some serious pain
Cuz my funny bone got me again.
I clobbered my elbow
And let everyone know
By singing a humerus strain.
Rudy’s Pants Are On Fire
Herald Tribune? Now that’s a clear sign.
That Rudy’s in “Senior Decline”
He brags, now and then
And he’s done it again
He’s toeing that old party line.
Matilda once tried to abstain
From Mollies, Big H and cocaine
NA was a yawn
Religion a con
Abstention too much of a strain
Singles Get-Together
If he throws me one more nasty line,
I’ll show him the way I define
A boor who is sick,
Like him, then I’ll stick
His words where the sun doesn’t shine.
Mad, this replaces March 13 at 11.38am. Thanks.
While sailing and writing some prose
He fell overboard, – head over toes.
He yelled “I’ll be fine, –
Someone throw me a line”
All he got was “My dog has no nose…”
I’ve struggled two years to displace
50 pounds — and I’ve done it with grace!
I’m three sizes down —
But I still have to frown
When I see the new lines in my face.
(True story and I have pix to prove it.)
Making Seder’s a terrible strain,
But I don’t have the heart to refrain —
So I’ll cook and I’ll bake
And I’ll clean till I ache…
But this year I won’t make my own khrain.
Half the morning I sweat and I strain
Making borscht in support of Ukraine;
Then my cat (who’s no fool),
Just as soon as it’s cool,
Eats it out of the pot. What a pain!
Happy St Patricks’ Day.
When your belly has all you can pack.
And the wind is now at your back.
A straight line breeze,
Came not from a sneeze.
From the cabbage that was your snack.
One more time.
Happy St Patrick’s Day.
When your belly has all you can pack.
And the wind is now at your back.
A foul, straight line breeze,
Came not from a sneeze.
From the cabbage that was your snack.
I too grew up with a party-line.
No calls did we ever decline.
One never knows
For whom the ring tolls.
When it tolled for the was divine.
Thinking of some travel is a strain.
Should I fly, should I drive or take the train
To utter obstruent,
My thinking’s congruent
That I should just walk, says my brain.
Do-Lang-Do-Lang-Do-Lang Do-Lang-Do-Lang
Remember the song, “He’s So Fine?”
The next line was “Wish he were mine”
It was all about me!
And I’m fine-a-ly free!
By the way, I am now 99.
I wrote down bucket list, here’s my point.
My wife used it to roll up a joint.
Now high with no strain,
So, my lists not in vain.
I see places that don’t disappoint.
Hey Lisi, your news is just great.
Perhaps, we should think of a date.
I don’t mean this lightly.
You sound young and sprightly.
Not a day over just 98.
Hey Mad,
I know the above limerick doesn’t qualify. Just consider it private correspondence.
Rudy
Dear Sharon Neeman,
Just a line saying you’ve got much class.
I, in turn, tend to be rather crass.
I, too, have lost weight.
Twenty pounds up to date.
But it seems that I’ve now lost my ass.
I’m outnumbered, yet still I opine
Harpo Marx was a long way from fine.
I would call him “just fair”
And was keenly aware
He forgot ev’ry single damn line.
Ev’ry week, as I struggle and strain
To write lim’ricks for Madeleine Kane,
My subconscious says, “Son,
This takes wit and you’ve none.
Write Hallmark verse. Stay in your lane.”
“When Harry Met Sally”
Not a soul at “The Strand” could surmise
That we’d roar at this funny surprise.
Let’s toast Estelle Reiner
For the world’s best one liner:
“I’ll have what she’s having” (with fries)
March 17th. Happy St.Paddy’s Day (Get it right)
I’m feeling a terrible strain.
Again, I must clearly explain!
It’s PaDDy, not PaTTy!
Once more, you are scatty.
Guess you need a Hibernian brain.
Correction of Above Limerick
I’m under a terrible strain.
I repeatedly have to explain:
It’s “PaDDY” not “PaTTy”
Stop being so scatty.
You need a Hibernian brain.
Mrs. Robinson’s daughter Elaine
Was subjected to unheard of strain,
When her mother, one day,
Had her lecherous way
With Elaine’s very innocent swain.
There was an old fellow called Paine,
Who once got “caught short” on a train.
It was a non-corridor –
(What could have been horridor?)
The poor chap nearly died from the strain.
There was an old fellow called Strayne,
Who once got “caught short” on a train.
He lowered a window
And let what was in go,
Which men on the lines thought was rain.
They met in a line at the store;
Excited, she opted for more.
But during the night
Before dawn’s early light,
Alexa was starting to snore.
Attention all Limerick-Off Stragglers: The current Limerick-Off ends tomorrow, Saturday, at 4 pm (Eastern time.) So please get your limerick stragglers in.
A play I once read (Gertrude Stein’s?)
Had young nymphs singing nude in the pines.
That’s a part I can’t play,
Since (in more than one way)
It requires me to think of my lines.
From my childhood there comes a refrain.
Whenever I’m boarding a train.
An old memory stored
makes me hear, “All Are Bored!”
And then staying awake is a strain.
(“Mondegreen” — a word or phrase that results from a mishearing
of something recited or sung., e.g. “kiss the sky” or “kiss this guy”;
or maybe “next door neighbor” vs. “neck store neighbor.” or….
Never mind…TMI).
They’re already feeling the strain
Of Vladimir Putin’s “campaign”.
Some oligarchs know
There is no place to go
With mega-yachts tied up in Spain.
My appetite’s feeling no strain
From my recent impressive weight gain.
I’ve eaten a horse
With horse-radish sauce, –
my favourite course was the mane.
Whilst waiting for my tea to strain
A thought pops up in my brain,
I could get a small rag
And make a tea bag
And not wait for tea-strain again.
Never Read Anything!
All my life, without fail, I’ve been fine.
I’m relaxed, not up-tight, never whine.
Here’s advice: Never Read!
It’s too taxing, indeed.
Merely sign on the black dotted line.
“Get your stragglers in”, says Mad Kane,
And as usual, I’m feeling the strain.
Five lines must be penned;
I’ve got four, but to end,
I am stuck for a pun once again.
“I have bullied and cudgelled my brain
To come up with a lim’rick for strain.
It has failed. Being thumped
May explain why it’s stumped,
Or it may be it simply won’t deign.”
I can’t delete the one above, so apologies for the variation, which I think is better.
“I have bullied and cudgelled my brain
To come up with a lim’rick for strain:
But I have not prevailed.
Damn thing sulks when assailed,
As it deems my demands inhumane.”
A rewrite of my 1:38 post yesterday:
They met while in line at the store;
Reflexively opted for more.
An evening spent;
Here’s a clue how it went:
Alexa was starting to snore.
When telephone lines were installed,
Each number was wired and called.
Today on the phone
A new message may drone:
“Your system has been overhauled.”
Their teacher said “One hundred lines
For making impertinent signs!”
“But Sir,” they complain,
“That’s a lot of cocaine,
And our dealers are all greedy swines.”
I’m under a great deal of strain,
Now the deadline’s approaching again,
As I’d love to submit
But my words just won’t fit
And there’s nothing but shit in my brain.
Romeo and Juliet
Each thought that the other was hot,
Shared a love which their kinsfolk did not,
So got secretly wed,
Then got laid and got dead,
And right there, in five lines, is the plot.
Inspired by my fellow stragglers, Brian and Mark
I am at the tail end. Yes, I know.
I’m a straggler, a laggard. I’m slow.
I’ve learned nothing, it’s plain,
From that often sung strain:
“Let it go, let it go. Let it go….”
Thanks so much everyone for another fun two weeks of limericks. This Limerick-Off is officially over. And the winner is…
Limerick-Off Award 491 . Congratulations to the winners!
But you can still have lots of limerick fun because a new Limerick-Off has just begun: Limerick-Off Heel.