Limerick-Off Monday – Rhyme Word: PLATE at the end of any one line (Submission Deadline: July 23, 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 PLATE at the end of ANY ONE LINE. (A homonym or homophone not listed here may be used in lieu of the designated rhyme word.)
The best submission will be crowned Limerick-Off Award Winner. (Here’s last week’s Limerick-Off Award Winner.)
Additionally, you may write CRAFT-themed limericks using any rhyme word. And of course I’ll present an extra award — one for the best CRAFT-related limerick.
And for a THIRD SEPARATE CHALLENGE, I’ve used a “Random Word Generator” to generate five random words. Your challenge is to use AT LEAST TWO of these Random Words anywhere in your limericks: COMPLAINT CELL FORBID QUIRKY BOIL.
(You’re free to singularize/pluralize the designated random words and to change the tense of the designated random verbs. You can even turn adjectives into adverbs and vice versa. And you are NOT required to use any of them as rhyme words.)
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 July 24, 2022, right before I post the next Limerick-Off. So that gives you FOUR full weeks to submit your clever, polished verse. Your submission deadline is Saturday, July 23, 2022 at 4:00 p.m. (Eastern Time.)
Here’s my PLATE-rhyme limerick:
A slacker was caught as he ate,
By the boss, who was rather irate.
His response, when reproved
For blown deadlines? Unmoved:
“Not my fault! I’ve too much on my plate.”
And here’s my CRAFT-themed limerick:
A ship-wrecked young man on a raft
Felt sev’ral strong wind gusts abaft.
He cursed his bad luck,
His life run amok,
And the death of his rickety craft.
And here is my RANDOM WORDS GENERATOR Limerick:
I’m sick of my cell phone co’s quirks.
Its service employees are jerks.
When I called to complain,
Their response was insane:
“Call again with a cell phone that works.”
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: Boat Humor, Boat Limerick, Boating Humor, Boss Humor, Boss Limerick, Cell Phone Humor, Cell Phone Limerick, Competition Limerick, Complaint Humor, Complaint Limerick, Customer Service Humor, Employment Humor, Employment Limerick, Limerick Challenge, Limerick Contest, Phone Humor, Poetry & Prompts, Transportation, Workplace & Career Humor, Workplace Limerick, Writing Prompts
Biology 101: “Microscopic Organisms”
“Now students, can anyone tell
Me, what was the very first cell?”
(Johnny Jones is real jerky
His answer was quirky)
He replied, “It was lonely as hell.”
IMPORTANT MESSAGE FOR ALL:
Please note that (throughout the summer, at least) I’ll be posting new Limerick-Offs EVERY FOUR WEEKS. I may possibly revert to posting every two weeks in the fall, depending on the number of Entrants and Entries.
At the “Crafts Competition” , this thug
Came in first; he was freakish and smug.
Though my Earthenware plate
Was flawless and great,
He won with his Martianware mug.
Some say lim’ricks are simple to craft.
But those folks are decidedly daft.
It’s so simple to goof,
And I’ll proffer as proof:
This last line was my seventeenth draft.
In my head there exists a steel plate;
I’ve forgotten the date of this fate.
I recall digging in
To a meal from a tin,
So it must have been something I ate.
My New Crafty Man Cave
I’ve designed State String Art for my walls,
Parsons Tables to fill up my halls.
Etched glass sets I displayed.
For my bedroom, I’ve made
Some magnificent decorative balls.
At the craft show called, “Really Good Pikin'”
My husband was suddenly stricken.
He cried, “Hold me back Lil,
Cuz I’m ready to kill
That man who just bought a brass chicken.
Oh, what an imposing estate!
In very good taste, yet ornate.
We drank wine from Lalique.
The sterling was chic.
And each guest had a posh paper plate.
I’m a new chef, employed by Her Grace,
She fired me and spat in my face.
I’d cooked fish for her plate
And then asked for a date.
I work dock-side now, (I know my plaice).
Mad: I THINK (and Hope) that 1, 2, & 5 are proper rhyme: ‘com-Pli-ant’, ‘Cli-ent’, ‘re-Li-ant’.
(All randoms)
The complaint, for not being compliant,
Saw him end up as some lawyer’s client.
In his cell, he boils jerky;
Not forbidden, (but quirky).
At least he’s now more self-reliant.
“As I basically live just to skate,
Nancy Kerrigan makes me irate,”
Said Tonya. “A hammer
Will get me some glamor;
I’ll win if she needs a knee plate.”
Said Stormy, “Great sex is my craft;
You can have me both ways, fore and aft.”
For mere seconds he drilled,
Yet six figures she billed;
In the end, ’twas her gave him the shaft.
Said a lady of titanic weight,
“I would love for my size to abate
But whenever I spy
A large cake then I cry
’til it’s handed to me on a plate.”
A wild fowler who hated to hunt
Constructed a life-saving punt
With springs round the craft
And an engine down aft
Little ducks out of danger he’d shunt.
Said an actor, “I muffed a few cues,
Then my stagecraft I started to lose.
My lines I forgot
And I messed up the plot –
I gave up on account of the boos.”
My mum thinks that sailors are daft,
For they journey in very cold craft.
She says that each boat,
When it is afloat,
By necessity has got a draught.
A chef who’s both frugal and quirky,
Has a habit of basting a turkey,
With his drained motor oil
(which he brings to a boil),
Then complains that the gravy is murky.
As the baserunner dashed for the plate,
A good throw would determine his fate.
The catcher, from Perth,
Tagged him out with great mirth:
“Welcome home! Got ya, though. G’day, mate.”
One Ump — who’s retired of late —
Finds himself in a curious state:
He’ll wait in the line
At a buffet to dine,
But can’t eat till he’s dusted the plate.
Non-Mitosis sis (I made up that word)
No use for a complex excision.
Cuz that would cause widespread derision.
It never complained.
(So at rest and contained)
This cell really sucked at division.
The word should be “WATER”
There is something that needs to be said:
An idiom might trigger dread.
If a “watched pot could boil”,
It would quickly recoil.
And God Forbid cremate your head.
Told my students to draw a “plant cell”
Susie drew a red rose, named Gisele:
Encased in concrete,
In the thick boiling heat.
With a note at the end, “Prison’s hell.”
He said that his craft was tattoo;
I asked, “What about piercing?” “That too.”
So I thought, “I’ll be art!”
But he let out a fart,
And I left when what’s next was “Achoo!”
Who Is This?
Well, who could this famous man be?
A true genius, yet quirky is he.
Mama prayed, “God Forbid”
Didn’t matter; he did.
Although gone zi veyst all ’bout Soon-Yi.
Translation of line 5: Although gone she knows all ’bout Soon-Yi.
Makes my blood boil — I’ve got a complaint.
On my cell phone Dad placed a constraint.
All my use? Now forbid.
Takes me clear off the grid.
He’s old fashioned and quirky and quaint.
The Court, I expect, will rescind
Our God-given right to break wind.
They’ll forbid all complaints
And add quirky restraints.
That’s how stare decisis is skinned.
Good-Bye USA
Roe v Wade, overturned? God Forbid!
Those 2 cells in my womb ain’t no kid.
I’m starting to hurl
From “cell boy” or “cell girl”
I’m now on my way to Madrid.
The hooker used terms that were quirky:
Straight sex became “Stuffing the Turkey”;
A hand-job (how quaint!)
She called “Portnoy’s Complaint”,
And a blow-job she sold as “Beef Jerky”.
An old river-boat hand, bored with steaming,
Thought he’d ‘hot-up’ his craft (with some scheming).
It shot from the dock
Like a jet-propelled rock,
With both whistles and passengers screaming.
The valuer stared at my art
In such Awe that I feared for his heart.
“No price is enough
for this masterful stuff”
I said “Cost me ten bucks at Walmart”
He smiled as he sipped his fine tea.
He said my work looks like Dali.
I sensed he was skeptic,
then learned he’s dyslexic
And meant to say “looks like Al-di”.
Art-and-Craft show I saw, was a wank!
It was judged by his friend from the bank.
His “Pink-bottled Fart”
won Ephemeral Art,
It was not only rigged but it stank!
“If you leave any food on your plate,
You will suffer a terrible fate,”
Said the parents. “Okay,”
The boy answered, “But hey,
As to sins, did you know I’m not straight?”
If your period, this month, is late,
We’ll concede: You’ve a lot on your plate.
Because face it: We’ve ruled
You’ve no rights! Had you fooled!
(We Supremes have decided your fate.)
Humble potters so oft get the shaft
From rude prig-snots who trash as mere “craft”
The fine works they create
As not “art” (second rate).
(But the wise know such snobs are just daft.)
Ghislaine Maxwell now sits her cell,
Insisting she’s really unwell.
She complains of her plight–
Says her treatment’s not right.
But her victims say: Keep her in hell!
I’m here at “Creations” and grabbing
My needles and yarn, I’m not crabbing.
Cause I’m toeing the line.
I will see the sun shine.
Cause knitting prevents me from stabbing.
A porn actor looked at his plate;
“I’m sorry, not feeling too great.”
The waiter complied
Then remarked on the side:
“It must have been someone he ate”.
My boat is a wonderful craft;
She’s really a beaut – fore and aft.
When asked about size
By the sailing club guys,
“It’s a kayak” I said – then they laughed!
In the hope that her passions might roil,
Glover covered his lover in oil.
Though he missed quirky spots,
Sure to give her the hots,
Still, he managed to give her a boil.
We sat there and watched as he ate
Amounts that could alter his fate.
That volume of food;
One can only conclude
He had way too much on his plate.
Last week, I was avidly looking
For something to do, except cooking.
Then I found a new craft
(Not dotty nor daft)
It’s something called “Creative Hooking.”
“Out To Dinner’
Gee Jasper, this food is so great.
C’mon, eat some, you’re losin’ some weight.”
“See Maude, I can’t chew
Don’t know what to do.
I think I just swallowed my plate.
I can not remember the date,
That I purchased my Rosenthal plate;
But in ol’ Carolina
I had rice on that china,
And even Chow Mein tasted great.
There was a young fellow named Bunn
Who was shot in the head with a gun.
A large metal plate
Caused the pain to abate
And made airport security fun.
The Queen bless her heart was irate
When she saw Emsley’s portrait of Kate,
With the paint hardly dry
She let out a cry,
“I’ll have that man’s head on a plate!”
They were snogging the night of their date.
He reached first base, then second, then straight
On to third, and then more:
He attempted to score…
…And was blocked and tagged out at the plate.
With Walter, all meal times are “ish.”
His food, though it’s always delish,
arrives on your plate
after quite a long wait,
much later than when you would wish.
Had a boil, and it hurt me like hell.
It got worse after seeing Doc. Smell.
Lost his license, cuz he
Never had a degree.
But he lets you chit-chat on your cell.
Yo Clarence, you’ve done it now, bro.
With craft you revisited Roe.
Yet you still kept the right
To a wife who is white.
That’s miscegenation, you know.
I find that I’m putting on weight
From all the desserts that I ate.
I’m getting quite round
Gaining pound after pound
From not leaving a crumb on my plate.
While driving, I saw something funny.
Must tell you about it, my Honey:
A white license plate
Which clearly did state
“Please hit me cuz I need the money”
Carving models – a difficult craft.
Wanted to cry, but just laughed.
Lost a firm grip.
My chisel then slipped,
And turned sailing ship, into a raft.
My Sweetie, you never will guess.
While driving on Palin Express,
A weird license plate
From Ye Ole’ Lone Star State
Said, “Whatever Trump Wants Answer’s “Yes”
In a chest they found pieces of eight,
And divided (equal portion per mate).
With gold in their hand
They tried to sell, and
Found it was just a gold plate.
Slight modification.
In a chest they found pieces-of-eight,
And split (equal portion per mate).
With gold in their hand
Tried to sell, and
Found it was just a gold plate.
Should have no complaint, shouldn’t dwell.
She is quirky (yes) but, what a bombshell.
So here is my foil,
What makes my blood boil.
They forbid me to enter her cell.
When building a space craft, the goal
Is to use quintessential control.
Be sure it will not
Have one tiny spot
Or a cosmic gargantuan hole.
I know it’s a little bit quirky
but I like to make soup from beef jerky!
Just saute it in oil,
bring the pot to a boil,
and it’s done when the broth isn’t murky.
He managed in prison quite well
and soon learned to cope in his cell.
Some things they forbid
and those things he hid
but just where I would rather not tell.
I gave Grandma Nonnie a hug.
Cuz for Christmas, she gave me a rug.
It shows thick golden chains.
It’s woven with skeins.
And the tag says, “Handcrafted by Thug”
Our American tectonic plate,
Moves and shifts at a leisurely rate.
But some day in the future
It’ll need a vast suture,
But by then it’s most likely too late.
The batter slouched at the plate
His belly he had to abate
Having just finished a big meal
His chance to run and steal
A base or two was not his fate
The Plot of The Garden of Eden and Cain and Abel In 5 Lines
I forbade you, the fruit I can smell.
On mountain peaks you must now dwell.
I won’t hear one complaint.
You showed no restraint.
And there’s talk ’bout a fertilized cell.
Ladies, welcome to “Crafting Event”
I need your united assent.
The law is, “Be wise
When you’re buying supplies,
Never tell “hubby” what you just spent.”
“What is new-fangled thing you call ‘plate’?
This not be how our ancestors ate,”
Complained Oog. “In Stone Age
Making mess is the rage!”
Sighed his wife, “On my nerves cavemen grate.”
The life of a “senior’s” not great.
Those damn blood tests sure make me irate.
Then there’s “angiograms”
And rectal exams.
And that’s only Monday’s full plate.
Earthquakes! The movement of tectonic plates
If you’re on the couch reading a tome,
Reconsider! You might like to roam!
If you live near a “plate”
Now that’s something great!
You can travel, while sitting at home.
In the “Land of the Honey and Oil”
The bitter herbs started to spoil.
No one heard snide complaints
From the 12 hungry saints.
Who relished “The Last Crawfish Boil”
(aka “Plan B”)
You Earthlings have sealed your own fate
You have failed to step up to the plate
We’re removing your planet
You’re not fit to Man it
We’ll contact you soon re’ the date.
You’ve had too many Fails; quite a spate.
Now you’ve run out of time, we can’t wait:
You were pencilled for Sunday
But you’re good until Monday, –
We’re running a little bit late.
He said “Here she comes, – striking fear
Into hearts of men who venture near.
Your potential next date?
Not with Your date-craft mate”.
I said “Watch and learn friend, – hold my beer!”
Homemade Christmas Decorations: Discussion
“I’ll be knitting a star by myself
To place on the shelf with the elf.
Whatcha thinking, my dear?
Did I not make that clear?”
“Sue, now I know we have a shelf”
Let’s do something, I’ve got boredom blues.
I don’t care what it is, so you choose.
We could rock and gyrate
Or just graze with a plate.
I’m thinking the (p)latter, – with booze!
She keeps buzzing, annoying as hell,
And should promptly be put in a cell.
She makes people recoil
And brings blood to a boil —
Peter Pan’s noisy friend Tinker Bell.
“When a man with grey hair on his pate,
Dates a girl half his age, he tempts fate.
The lascivious fool
Will stand out like a tool;
He’s got far – far – too much on his plate.”
“When a man whose grey hairs fringe his pate,
Dates a girl half his age, he tempts fate.
The lascivious fool
Will stand out like a tool;
He’s got far – far – too much on his plate.”
Forbidden to sit where you choose,
Gave this legend much more than the blues.
A short time in a cell.
She’d persist and rebel.
Rosa Parks, you’re our spirited Muse.
There once was a mean poet named Brad
Who believed that the moon was quite bad.
As a noun or a verb,
A bad habit to curb.
He is under a full moon, rabid mad!
“You’re all wrong! I outdid Watergate!”
Shouted Donald, while smashing a plate.
“And my ketchup I’ll smear
On the wall, so next year
Biden knows that I still lie in wait!”
My head suffered a terrible fate,
There is now a steel patch on my pate.
So my friend bought for me,
A fine wig; said “It’s free”
It was handed to me on a plate.
A gal with a braid long and straight,
Who desired a twist more ornate,
Dressed her tresses with bling
(a new wave, quirky thing),
Then complained, “I’ve too much on my plait!”
Said a crafty investor named Schmidt
(Who had dabbled in crypto a bit):
“It’s the ol’ pump-and-dump —
Last guy in is a chump —
But for now it’s still semi-legit.”
Mad, please delete my July 1 version. Thanks for the heads-up re the hyphen.
My first time in church; saw a plate
Filled with coins come my way, – I took eight.
I gave God his due praise
But, (to coin an old phrase)
I was collared (ruffed-up), by God’s mate.
Merriam Webster: Ruff 1. a large round collar of pleated muslin or linen worn by men and women of the late 16th and early 17th centuries.
An Artists Craft
Photographers like Uncle Nate
Perform magic, because they’re so great.
No one ever forgot
His most famous shot
Called “The Tower Of Pisa Up Straight”
A lady went on a blind date
With her girlfriend’s boyfriend and mate
He was handsome and charming
But she found it alarming
After dinner he licked off her plate
I’m 90, and feel so alone.
Haven’t heard from my dear sister, Joan.
Yes, I know it’s called “cell”
She can still go to hell.
God forbid, she could pick up a phone?
To invest in this market this late.
One likely has sealed their fate.
Unless nimble and sly,
With a discerning eye,
Will be handed their head on a plate.
Viking ships, very fast and low draft.
Those that opposed it were daft.
Its design very smart.
State of the art,
For an early-stage, Middle Age craft.
Small modification to June 29, 12:52.
Should have no complaint, shouldn’t dwell.
She is quirky as hell but a bombshell.
So here is my foil,
What makes my blood boil.
They forbid me to enter her cell.
I pity those “had no clue” souls
Who’ve just been apprised of their roles.
They didn’t know they
Would be searching all day
For interesting pine cones and bowls.
A quirky young staffer named Bill
Is cell-happy chasing a thrill.
The person he phones
Is someone who owns
That thigh gap he’s hoping to fill.
The dining room person would state
That President Trump was irate.
She already knew
By the ketchup that flew
Along with the porcelain plate.
“Interior Decorator For The Rich And Famous”
The motif I designed very well
Is a smash with my rich clientele.
Haven’t heard one complaint.
And I’ve named it, “The Quaint
Martha Stewart Traditional Cell”
(crafts and randoms)
On the cruise ship, a veritable raft
Of fine food, celebrating the craft.
I’ll over-indulge;
My stomach will bulge
With appreciative ‘burps’ fore n aft.
Penny glared at the “food” on her plate.
“Are you trying to make me lose weight?”
She inquired of her guy.
“That’s not fit for a sty!
As a drain cleaner, though, it’s first rate.”
Harry knew he’d been properly chaffed.
“I guess cooking’s beyond me!” he laughed.
He escaped Penny’s glare
When he learned to prepare
Macaroni and cheese made by Kraft.
There are those who would never complain,
Should the Other Guy’s future domain,
Be a place with a lock —
One small cell in a block —
An apt tribute, perhaps, to his brain.
His secret he never will tell.
He belongs to a terrorist cell.
It was always his dream
To hear people scream.
And seeing some blood would be swell.
Pure and pious was Pete as a kid —
Never sinned like the other boys did.
So he had no complaint,
On becoming a Saint,
And enjoyed saying, “Heaven forbid!”
The preferred watercraft that I own.
Is a kayak, but let it be known.
There is part that’s not fun,
At the end of the run.
Climbing out of the boat on my own.
As a senior, I love to complain.
When I do, I have something to gain.
Though it may sound real quirky,
Or terribly jerky.
It’s so joyful to brag ’bout my pain.
Said the pirate, “These pieces of eight
I’ll melt down and make jewels of gold plate.
With such junk and fake pearls,
Hardy har! Ditzy girls
Blow me down at the end of a date.”
I’m not really one to complain,
But cell phones may drive me insane.
Unusable apps
And connections that lapse;
My land line’s a must to retain.
Cooking Class 101
“Cooking students, this isn’t a joke.
When your boiled egg is done, do not poke!
From the water, just take it.
God forbid, do not shake it!
Or you’ll wind up with famed “micro yolk.”
“I’ve too much work on my plate ,
So I’ll have to stay and work late ”
Whined the Bosses son Billy.
He was such a nilly.
To the rescue came brown nose Nate.
The avant garde “Chaotic Sonic”
Is a work I would call “Cacophonic”.
Ill-crafted; devolving;
Dischords; unresolving.
My ears are in need of a tonic.
The waitress I wanted to date,
Tripped and fell in my lap (it was fate)
“You saved me!” she said,
The first thought in my head?
“She’s been handed to me on a plate”.
A cop pulled me over, (oh swell)
He was real boiling mad, I could tell.
I was shooting the breeze.
I said, “Officer, please
Wait one minute, I’m still on my cell”
Correction of Above Limerick
There’s a cop right behind me, (oh, hell)
He looks boiling mad, I can tell.
I’m shooting the breeze.
I’ll say, “Officer, please
Wait one minute, I’m still on my cell”
Boris Johnson resigned. Let’s complain.
He might very well even deign
To return to New York
(Where first brought by the stork)
And try, God forbid, here to reign.
(Johnson was born in NY)
A comedical poet of note,
On the subject of lim’ricks once wrote:
“Call it craft, call it art,
Me, I don’t give a fart.
Do whichever it is floats your boat.”
Using witchcraft is no longer fun.
I promised myself that I’m done!
No more casting love spells
In those sleazy motels.
Doesn’t work; the men see me and run.
My complaint is: my gal has a quirk.
It’s her mood; it can change with a jerk.
She transitions with ease
From a boil to a freeze.
Keeping up is a whole lot of work!
Since this morning I’ve tried to create
A line that will finish with “plate”
I’m so sad; got no clue.
Hey! Look up at line two!
Guess that’s cheating, but Boy! It feels great.
I write art-and-craft news with my pen,
But also ‘suspense’ yarns like: When,
Only moments from death,
With her very last breath
She said “I know who killed him” and then….
When the movers had left, every plate
Was found broken inside of the crate.
Said the two with a smile,
“Insurance we’ll file,
And claims we know how to inflate!”
He lives in a place that’s quite hilly.
His complaint, “uphill peddling,” said Billy.
When it’s hot and it’s boiling,
God forbid, he’s still toiling.
Bought an E-bike and now it seems silly.
The Famous “Dish Night”
Grandma sat through some movies she’d hate.
Cuz that night she’d own something so great.
Granny never would fret.
At the end she would get.
An extravagant Fiesta Plate.
I’ve been told my my “art-farty” wife,
“When I’m “crafting”, I never feel strife.
Though this may sound bizarre,
All my craft projects are
Just like lim’riks, a whole way of life”
Keep quiet, do not tell another
Darn soul which includes my weird brother.
“Hubby’s” cells must be quirky.
I gave birth to a jerky
Kid who looks just like his mother.
Modification of Above Limerick To Be Nicer :)
Keep quiet, do not tell another
Darn soul, which includes my weird brother.
“Hubby’s” cells must be quirky.
Cuz my kids have been jerky.
And now, they look just like his mother.
OH, THE INDIGNITY
Used to know an old man with a plate
That came loose any time that he ate,
But they soon solved the problem
With warm runny pablum,
Tube-fed through the nose by his mate.
Mama’s Rules 1966
Get married and then have a kid.
Not the other way ’round, God forbid.
Then boil and then broil.
Also labor and toil
(On reflection, don’t do what I did)
At the trendy new place where we ate,
Food was served on a board, or a slate,
Or a piece of rare vinyl,
Or old cracked urinal,
Or anything else but a plate.
The amount he had piled on his plate,
Made some “all you can eat” guests irate.
Once his meal had been tabled
Chit chat was disabled:
His dinner had hidden his date.
Sewing Craft
I fell, got a gash in my head.
Just couldn’t believe how it bled!
From right down the road
The E.M.T.’s showed.
And fixed it with needles and thread.
Hi Lisi. Grandma’s “Dish Night” serves up old memories.
Only time I saw Mama irate?
During “Gas Wars” — Nineteen fifty-eight.
Dad would top off his truck,
For well under a buck,
But he’d always forget the free plate.
My Daughter’s Getting Married
At my girl’s wedding, boy I was stewed!
My wife said, “You’re rude and your crude”
50 dollars a plate!
(An exorbitant rate)
And that was without any food!
He’s as busy as ten swarms of bees,
But often in private agrees,
That with time on your plate
Hibernation is great;
And nothing to do’s the bee’s knees.
“We think women do witchcraft in Salem,”
Said the mayor. “We find ’em and nail ’em.”
The Supreme Court rejoined,
“Women’s rights we’ve purloined!”
And a mullah just shrugged, “Here, we veil ’em.”
He flew in an old bi-winged aircraft.
At airshows (some thought he was daft).
When he walked on the wing,
Legs flexed (like a spring).
To ride out the next sudden downdraft.
Crafty Wife
Dragged my “hub” to the “Handicraft Mart”
He used to think he was real smart.
But I’ve casted a spell
There’s no way he can tell.
Now he’s smiling and pushing a cart.
There once was a man who had ate
so much he inhaled his own plate!
When he went to the loo
to perform number two,
both bowel and porc’lain met ill fate.
There once was a man who had ate
so much he consumed his own plate!
When he went to the loo
to perform number two,
both bowel and porc’lain met ill fate.
The geologist thought it was fate
The moves of a tectonic plate.
To him it was clear,
What he did fear,
An earthquake at some future date.
The geologist thought it was late,
The moves of a tectonic plate.
It decided with pace
To get out of this place,
In a few million years (at this rate).
A young damsel, distressed and dismayed,
By a knight whose religion forbade,
Quirky forms of coition
(‘Twas his Mission’s position),
Disliked kneeling for naught, so she prayed.
Crafty witches have sent forth a text:
It reads, “Yoo-hoo, you’re gonna be next.
Just because you avoid,
Thinking you’re paranoid,
Doesn’t mean that you haven’t been hexed!”
“Not tonight, I forbid you, my dear.
To be honest, your breath smells like beer.
I don’t mean to complain.
We will have sex again.
One time, ev’ry single leap year.”
Two strippers, called Florence and Jo,
Used a warm-water hose in their show.
I was told (when I paid),
“Choose one and get laid”.
I said I’d just go with the Flo(w).
Carving models takes time to dispatch.
It’s fun, oh but here is the catch.
When tapping off chips,
And your chisel, it slips.
You’ll end up then starting from scratch.
I reiterate my lim’-craft advice:
A repeated device won’t suffice
If you tautologise,
Try once more, re-devise,
and say ‘Sorry’ at least once, -or twice.
I sought help from a clown of renown.
“My jokes”, I said, “make people frown.”
He said, “Nobody laughed?
Your should first hone your craft.
And then you must dumb your jokes down.”
If you’re life’s throwing pots, Demi Moore
And the ghost must have lots of allure.
The wheel spins, things get hazy;
Here comes Patrick Swayze!
Alas, though, you’ll always be poor.
An old hitchhiker vowed to his chums,
“I’m through begging free rides — it’s for bums!”
Then he made a wheeled cart,
But the thing fell apart,
For, alas, the poor guy was all thumbs.
The eye-surgeon’s craft’s out of sight,
Though his dyslexic quirk’s a slight blight:
The cataract man
Fixed his catamaran, –
“It’s an eyesore I need to put right”.
Gee, sometimes I felt like a jerk
When at work, in the closet I’d lurk.
To read nail-biting thrillers
‘Bout boiling-mad killers
By the author I love, Matthew Quirk.
Sing Along With Frank Sinatra
I don’t think that witchcraft’s taboo.
Cuz Baby, I’m stirred up by you.
You’re one real sexy witch
(By the way, I am rich)
I’m Ol’ Blue Eyes from Traffic’s A Zoo.
Just One More New Jersey Memory: Sing Along With Frank Sinatra
I don’t think that “Witchcraft’s” taboo.
Cuz Baby, I’m stirred up by you.
You’re one sexy witch.
(By the way, I am rich)
I’m Ol’ Blue Eyes from Taxes Are Due.
He is famous for singing “Witchcraft” (“strictly taboo” etc.)
Rochester New York, USA “Hard To Believe But True”
Baked beans, some “red hots” we both ate.
Then fries with a sauce that was great.
Also chicken and steak.
Yep! that’s what they make.
For Rochester’s famed “Garbage Plate”
There’s still more on that VERY SAME plate!
Macaroni and sausage to sate.
Tasty burgers, of course.
We ate like a horse.
(Cut the cheese all night long to deflate)
Lisi, I spent a couple of years (eons ago) studying at Eastman in Rochester NY. Fortunately, I never encountered “Garbage Plate.”
Typo time again. In line 4 (July 12 at 8:51 pm)
I sought help from a clown of renown.
“My jokes”, I said, “make people frown.”
He said, “Nobody laughed?
You should first hone your craft.
And then you must dumb your jokes down
Correcting Meter Error From July 13th. at 1:16 PM
Although quiet, I felt like a jerk.
When at work, in the closet I’d lurk.
To read nail-biting thrillers
‘Bout boiling mad killers.
By the author I love, Matthew Quirk.
Mad
I just saw your post.
You mean you didn’t go to “Nick Tahou Hots for fine dining? (LOL)
**********
From Mad:
Lucky for me (I’m guessing) I never heard of it. I had no idea that was a real thing. Sounds just dreadful!
I had way too much on my plate
from a quirky and ungrateful date
She expressed I was cheap
And called me a creep
Then went searching for a brand-new mate
I searched for another craft
Each time I was given the shaft
Got family to help
Make me a nice belt
But it looked like a twisted-up raft
The market’s quite volatile that’s plain,
But I am not one to complain.
I hedge when uncoiling.
Add long before boiling,
Looking forward to future stock gains.
I gaze at the stars from my awning.
Quiet-time, – yet ideas are not dawning.
‘should be crafting so fine
A tautology line, –
But it’s 7AM in the morning.
Soon after the family ate,
Their pup, who’d been lying in wait,
In spite of the censures,
Went after Gramps dentures,
Determined to lick ev’ry plate.
Oops. I apostrophize for the apology: The dentures should be “Gramp’s”
Sighed the fisherman tying a fly,
“I keep doing this craft – don’t know why.
At ShopRite, no doubt
I could pick up a trout
And in minutes be ready to fry.”
Who Is This?
He could make his way out of a cell.
How he did it, nobody could tell.
Some called him a “quirk”
Due to envy, they’d smirk.
“H” crafted a virtual spell.
When Ataturk ruled all of Turkey,
You guessed it, his tenure was quirky.
I’m not slinging mud.
He shed lots of blood.
As always, the history’s murky.
Rhyme corrected for line 3 and 4.
When Ataturk ruled all of Turkey,
You guessed it, his tenure was quirky.
I’m not slinging mud.
He shed lots of blood.
As always, the history’s murky.
Hi Mad,
Computer glitch.
The version of the “Ataturk” limerick i sent a few days ago did not post. And after tinkering with it, it posted twice.
Sorry,
Rudy
There wasn’t much room for debate,
And I dared not repudiate.
At mealtime each day,
My old man would say,
“You’ll sit there til you clean your plate.
A clumsy young fellow named Tate,
Broke his skull while learning to skate.
And now he must deal,
With a saucer of steel
In his head he calls his pate plate.
The snake, says the bible, had craft
Could speak, even though that sounds daft
With Balaam, alas
God spake through his ass
And I laughed and I laughed and I laughed
In his cell they forbid pastel paint,
But the artsy con curbs his complaint.
His blood’s at a boil,
Yet he will not roil,
He’s quirky, but a whiner he ain’t.
When they heard my warning they laughed,
You silly twit, you must be daft.
There’s no need to panic,
We’re on the Titanic,
No iceberg can threaten this craft.
Mad, please delete my July 16. 8.28pm. Thanks.
‘Pre-selected my stone for ‘post-fate’.
It is simple and plain (not ornate).
Don’t ignore my explicit,
I don’t need your visit,
“Not You again” is stamped on the plate.
Sorry Mad, please also delete July 13. 11.26am. Thanks.
The eye-surgeon’s craft’s out of sight,
Though his dyslexic quirk’s a slight blight:
The cataract man
Fixed his catamaran, –
“ ‘twas an eyesore I had to put right”.
I’ve been conned to perform, with my mate,
At a festival show that I hate.
Charts are in the wrong clef,
It’s a ‘Fete worse than deaf!’
With an outcome I can’t contemplate.
Recent medical findings to date
Show “Pathways” to maintaining weight:
With your mate you may eat
Any rich choc’late treat.
Just as long as it’s still on his plate.
And To Be Politically Correct
Recent medical findings to date
Show “Pathways” to maintaining weight.
With your wife you may eat
Any rich choc’late treat.
Just as long as it’s still on her plate.
My blood pressure’s up. Won’t complain.
So what’s an occasional pain?
I’m elderly-ish,
Still I do have one wish.
Yo Alzheimer! Lay off my brain!
Hear about flying saucers of late?
The larger ones must be a plate.
These aliens know
The advantage of micro.
Each of them must be a flyweight.
A word change to last entry.
Hear about flying saucers of late?
The larger ones must be a plate.
These aliens know
The advantage of micro.
Each of them likely a flyweight.
In the lane-way, the art-n-craft gallery
Is a ‘front’ for the hot hooker (Valerie).
It’s well known: ‘Backstreet Vally’
Lures men up her alley;
They’re the real source of Valerie’s salary.
My skin cells go through a transition.
They die at fixed repetition.
But I’m so boiling man.
And will never be glad
That my fat cells don’t follow tradition.
The teacher was chastising Gert:
“I forbid you to wear that short skirt.
Go home, girl, you’re bad.”
Gert was so boiling mad.
She returned in a transparent shirt.
The dinner that last night I ate
Was served on a plain paper plate,
But a pint of their draught
Was brewed with great craft;
And I managed to drink only eight.
“Let’s try camp-craft!” friends said. We consented.
We all slept a tent that they’d rented.
A Huge thunderclap;
An Involunt’ry crap:
Our rent tent was Not heaven-scented.
(Amid lightning and thunder
The tent rent asunder)
Sorry Mad (again). Just realised that L1 & L5 don’t rhyme (JULY 19. 7.27PM).
Please replace with this version. Thanks.
“Let’s try camp-craft!” friends said. We relented.
We all slept in a tent that they’d rented.
A Huge thunderclap;
An involunt’ry crap:
Our rent tent was Not heaven-scented.
(Amid lightning and thunder
The tent rent asunder)
To my Craftsman-style house came a “crafter,”
Paid to tear down a rotted old rafter.
I asked, “Load-bearing wall?”
He said, “Too soon to call.
But no worries — I’ll let you know after.”
One day, when the weather was balmy
I met by sweet honeybun, Tommy.
Who taught “Deli Art”
And captured my heart.
With his grand “Origami Salami.”
Correction of line one, above limerick
One day, when the weather was balmy,
I met my sweet honeybun, Tommy.
Who taught “Deli Art”
And captured my heart
With his grand “Origami Salami”
A horny old geezer named Nate
Was licking a lassie called Kate.
She came with such vigour,
He cried out, “Damn liquor!
I think I just swallowed my plate!”
Said boiling young lassie, “No fear,
Your licking’s quite quirky my dear.
I so love your lickin’
In places forbidden,
I’m sure that your plate’s up my rear.”
Thought crafty old geezer, “That’s fate.”
“When I kiss tonight with my mate,
She will never conceive
Where it was on this eve
And never know why it tastes great.”
Who’s on first, and he’s doin’ real great.
What’s on second, a champ, and first rate.
In left field is “Why”
He catches them high.
And Nobody runs to home plate.
(I think Nobody was on third)
I’m sorry. That one was not good, due to quotes on “Why” which didn’t belong, and repetition of the word, “first” Correction:
Who’s on first, and he’s doin’ real great.
What’s on second, (the best in the state.)
In the left field is Why.
He sure catches them high.
And Nobody runs to home plate.
(I think Nobody was on third)
The draftees were all standing in line.
They were fit as a fiddle, those nine.
I, myself, had used craft
To avoid that damn draft
I told them that I had no spine.
2 randoms (and a quirk?).
He gets word in his cell (on home soil), –
His exub’rance, now starting to boil:
The proud father to be
Is in Brooklyn (you see)
And yells out to the world “It’s a Goil!”
In a chat with my long-time best mate
Who’d a penchant for putting on weight
I confided I felt
That he’d be rather svelte
If he ate from a much smaller plate
Get out from your own private cell.
You’ll find life is a gay* carousel.
Get on for a ride
And deep down inside
You’ll see all that seems quirky is swell.
*(In the pre-gay era meaning of the word)
Our Beagle is sick, “hub’s” in tears.
We’ve had him for so many years.
I transformed his sadness
To breathtaking gladness
In the Craftsman wing section at Sears.
I admit it’s been more than 10 years
That “hubby” and I meshed our gears.
So starved for affection,
He tooled up an erection
In the Craftsman wing section at Sears.
PLATE
What else can I say about plate?
It’s part of a process I hate.
when it’s covered with highly cooked food
I have to suppress my bad mood
And with raw eats attend to my sate.
CRAFT THEME
Limerick writing is really a craft
Which just can’t be done by the daft.
Such incompetence makes the Kane madder
So she feels she must just climb a ladder
And attack with an extra long haft.
COMPLAINT, CELL, FORBID, QUIRKY, BOIL
My smart phone is really a cell.
It’s a fact that i don’t handle well.
It’s quirky I know
So I just let it go
And remember it’s not a deathbell.
Said the King to the Jester, “Don’t toil,
Over jokes I forbid you to spoil.
I have a solution
For bad execution.
I’ve decided to boil you in oil.”
Hey! We Get It !!
My complaint makes most ev’ry one groan.
We don’t live in “The I’ve No Clue Zone”
Whether landline or cell,
It’s uncalled for to tell
Us, “Now I can’t come to the phone.”
Attention all Limerick-Off Stragglers: The current Limerick-Off ends tomorrow, Saturday, at 4 pm (Eastern time.)
Revised version
Penny glared at the “food” on her plate.
“Are you trying to make me lose weight?”
She inquired of her guy.
“That’s not fit for a sty!
As a drain cleaner, though, it’s first rate.”
Harry knew he’d been properly chaffed.
“I guess cooking’s beyond me!” he laughed.
He escaped Penny’s glare
When he learned to prepare
Mac and cheese sold in boxes by Kraft.
Old Noah was not at all daft
In the way that he loaded his craft,
Taking trouble to store
Both the lions to the fore,
And the zebras and antelopes aft.
My limerick writing’s a craft;
I work hard on them, draft after draft.
One night a bad dream
Made me wake up and scream;
At my entries, MadKane hadn’t laughed.
Thanks so much everyone for another fun Limerick-Off, which is officially over. And the winner is…
Limerick-Off Award 498. Congratulations to the winners!
But you can still have lots of limerick fun because a new Limerick-Off has just begun: Limerick-Off Steak.