Limerick-Off Monday – Rhyme Word: DRESS or adDRESS or reDRESS at the end of any one line (Submission Deadline: November 12, 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 DRESS or adDRESS or reDRESS 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 the last contest’s Limerick-Off Award Winner.)
Additionally, you may write themed limericks related to SINGING, using any rhyme word. And of course I’ll present an extra award — one for the best SINGING-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 the Random Words anywhere in your limericks.
Here are the FIVE RANDOM WORDS for this contest: EYE, RAIL, RUSH, SEAT, SNAIL.
(You’re free to singularize/pluralize the designated random nouns and to change the tense of the designated random verbs. You can even turn adjectives in adverbs and vice versa. And you are NOT required to use any of them as rhyme words, as long as at least two of the words appear somewhere in your limericks.)
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 November 13, 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, November 12, 2022 at 4:00 p.m. (Eastern Time.)
Here’s my DRESS-Rhyme Limerick:
My sister just bawled out my niece:
“You’re unkempt and too sloppy, Elise.
You look like a mess!
Did you sleep in that dress?
I’m fed up! You must learn to de-crease.”
And here’s my SINGING-Themed Limerick:
A fellow who sang in a chorus
Tried out for the lead role in Boris.
“You are NOT good enough!”
Was the speedy rebuff.
“You sound like a sick stegosaurus.”
And here is my RANDOM WORD GENERATOR Limerick:
A fellow who moved like a snail
Couldn’t help it; the old man was frail.
He’d been eyeing a seat
On the train, but was beat
By a boor also trav’ling by rail.
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: Audition Humor, Audition Limerick, Competition Limerick, Dress Humor, Dress Limerick, Limerick Challenge, Limerick Contest, Mother Humor, Mother Limerick, Opera Humor, Opera Limerick, Poetry & Prompts, Rail Humor, Rush Humor, Singing Humor, Singing Limerick, Train Humor, Train Limerick, Voice Humor, Voice Limerick, Writing Prompts
This is true. I am from New Jersey, where my Mom owned a “women’s wear”
shop, called Mademoiselle. She had quite a run: 1943-1993 !!
Although she enjoyed her success,
Working “retail” gives rise to much stress.
Selling “women’s wear’s” tough,
And what makes it so rough
All day long, it’s redress and redress.
There’s a idiom I just love, which was, (and probably still is)
used primarily in Brooklyn, New York and Staten Island New York, mostly by teenagers:
“She thinks who she is” , meaning she thinks too highly of herself.
“Funny Girl”
Barbra Streisand: no one can replace.
She sings with much style and such grace.
But “She thinks who she is”
And that’s why this Ms.
Wants to throw a pie smack in her face.
The Frog and the Peach Restaurant, New Brunswick, New Jersey.
“The Frog and the Peach” set a mood.
They don’t rush you; it’s warmly subdued.
We tell so many tales
‘Bout their wonderful snails.
Since we both disapprove of fast food.
Senior Citizen Home: “Ripe”
At Ripe, many tenants are failing.
It’s sad when you notice they’re ailing.
If they struggled to rush,
Ev’ry bone they would crush.
Then cancel their plans to go snailing.
There’s a poodle in town folks call Tess.
She seems sad, that is everyone’s guess.
I give her a snack.
Lately, hasn’t come back.
I presume she forgot my address.
The choir sang “My heart is inditing”
unaware that the stage was igniting.
The shrill shouts of “Fire!”
were drowned out by the choir
and the con fuoco violin writing.
You’re eager to sing with me, surely,
a madrigal by Thomas Morley?
But we must do it well
it would sure sound like hell
if we were to warble it poorly.
I find that whenever I croak
a vocal work from the Baroque
each line is so long
that before the darned song
is half over I gasp and I choke.
I’m starting to grow a bit weary
of my interactions with Siri.
She won’t give directions
but sings, with inflections
reminding me of Blossom Dearie.
The popular singer named Tiffany
arrived at a startling epiphany:
“This music is schlock!
I’ll stop singing rock
and start singing Flemish polyphony!”
This “Requiem” setting just stinks.
What would help is a couple of drinks!
To sing “Lacrymosa”
I’ll need a mimosa.
Who cares what the audience thinks?
Our feelings, I know, differ vastly
but I’ve always been fond of Rick Astley.
He was awfully cute!
We can watch him on “Mute”
since you think that his singing is ghastly.
Baroque opera I can’t abide – oh,
I’ll make an exception for “Dido”,
Who sings to her maid
about when she is laid.
It takes her forever to die, though.
There was an old perv in a mess.
Forgotten his own home address!
He looked high (not low)
till he found that window
from which he’d watch neighbors undress.
The duet ‘tween the diva and he,
Was more sexual each time they changed key.
His sus4 (so long)
To their climax, – so strong,
Was that beautiful F in her C.
All these phone apps help Me do my thing.
One plays music that makes my heart sing.
And my mind has confessed
that the thing it loves best,
Is the button that turns off the ring.
My marriage is such a bad mess
My wife’s just a girl who says ‘yes’.
On the counsellor’s couch
For an hour, I can vouch
She’s showing me the way to redress …
My life (like my house) is a mess.
The economy adds to the stress.
I go through the days
like a mouse in a maze
seeking Peace – but I’ve lost the address.
At the show, first in line for the loo,
Aesop’s hare eyed a snail in the queue.
Why’d the rabbit retreat,
And rush back to his seat?
Some might say that he sensed deja vu.
Singing Theme
The Rosenberg’s had quite a fling.
As part of a Communist Ring.
But they wound up in seats
With rhythmical beats.
And wrapped up the show with a sing sing.
correction of limerick #4 ” Senior Citizen Living at “Ripe”
At “Ripe” several tenants are failing.
It’s sad to see some who are ailing.
They all know not to rush.
(Ev’ry bone they would crush)
And the ones who use walkers are snailing.
When Jess met pretty girl Bess
He asked could he have her address
And her phone number please
He felt weak in the knees
She replied, “yes, yes and yes “.
The great Baritone, Giuliano
Was practicing Faust on the piano.
Then was kicked of his seat
By Rational Pete.
And now he is singing “Soprano”
In front of the mirror she would preen
Thinking she’s some sort of queen
Bully in a black dress
Emerges from the darkness
As no one but herself for Halloween
The hurricane caused much distress.
And of course, we’re all seeking redress.
Though my house is now gone,
I will still carry on.
But my hairdo is simply a MESS!
A turtle named Cooter McGee
Saw a snail, and said, “Come ride with me.
Take a seat on my back.
Hey, give it a crack.”
The snail whopped it up and cried, “Wheeee!”
An Attempt At Meter “Singing Theme”
The Rosenberg’s had quite a fling fling.
As part of a communist ring ring.
But they wound up in seats
With rhythmical beats.
And wrapped up the show with a sing sing.
I sing like an angel, it’s true
My bass is right down in my shoe
Meanwhile my soprano
Deserves a-Milano
And my alto’s the choice of Rieu.
Yet to fame there’s a flaw in my path,
And it’s one that’s attracting my wrath:
Stage presence, so prized,
Remains compromised
When it all only works in the bath …
I’m a dud with the ladies, I guess.
When I asked for a date, lovely Jess
Told me, “Meet me at eight
At my place. Don’t be late.”
Then she gave me a bogus address.
Ms. Beverly Sills, you’ll recall,
Was known as Ms. Bubbles to all.
She sang those high C’s
That sparkled with ease,
And perlage filled Carnegie Hall.
In China when springtime is young
And shoots from the ground have just sprung
To help them along
Folk sing them a song
And the singer is often called Sung.
On a bright winter’s day, a cute snail
Warmed himself on a sunlit steel rail.
Then along came the rain,
And a rather large train.
Sunbathe Fail. End of snail. End of tale.
The Autumn leaves fall to dress
The lawn, the walk ‘n the rest
But when their colors fade
And they stick where laid
They leave an ugly mess
Issues that need to be addressed
Should be thought out and compressed
Or a solution to the topic
Could become psychotic
And no one will be impressed
Music can be uplifting
With vocals or instruments echoing
Musical inflection from humans or nature
Can be healing and bring pleasure
Solo or together is singing
A Scary Tale
The “Snail Squad” from Wet Land arrives!
In their folds they are carrying knives!
The mayor says, “Hush
There’s no need to rush.
Now everyone walk for your lives!”
Once, a fierce fashionista named Zach,
Told his boss, “I am on the attack!”
But he made a big mess
When creating a dress
Out of gunny. So Zach got the sack.
“The New Look”
I feel that we need a strict dress
Code at the airport, I stress:
Flyers roll out of bed
When their eyes are still red.
Then hop on the plane like a mess.
“Over sleet, over snow, over hail,
My own reign over mail will prevail,”
Misquotes Louis De Joy.
Then to further annoy:
“And I’m keeping an eye on each snail.”
Hi, Lisi. LOL to “A Scary Tale”! I’ll confess that I augmented your script by
reading it again (and again) while playing the theme to “JAWS” in the background. :)
Thank you, Sjaan! That’s so nice! (and funny)
Singing Theme:
The soprano lead started to pant.
Then went into an ill-tempered rant.
Unwilling to sing,
She proclaimed, “Here’s the thing:
Butt out, let’s just say I descant.”
I married my sweetie pie, Mia.
We met at the “Town Pizzeria”
Lovely Mia is Druze,
Not like one of us Jews.
Ev’ry day, we sing “Oy Vey Maria”
I detect yet another rhyming error. How about this?
While planning my wedding with Mia,
We both had a splendid idea.
Since Mia is Druze,
And not one of us Jews
Have the JP sing “Oy Vey Maria.”
Rush and I didn’t see eye to eye
As he railed and his bile he let fly.
Shuffling off of this coil
After all of that toil,
Where’s he now? I’ll bet not in the sky.
In the choir I was singing my best,
When the alto beside me confessed.
She informed me, “You’re flat.”
So I said (tit for tat),
“Honey, you’re not exactly Mae West.”
“Bad Moon Rising” by Creedence Clearwater: Misheard Lyrics?
Creedence Clearwater’s sure ‘outta’ sight.
When they sing, it is such a delight.
And when you ‘gotta pee,
They give you the key
To the bathroom that’s “there on the right.”
Ms. Goneril Lear did one day
Make her dad and his friends go away;
And he had to confess,
That he had no redress.
Having children, he saw, does not pay.
“Beast of Burden” by the one and only Rolling Stones!
Misheard Lyrics?
My kind heart has always been churning,
And often, my stomach is turning.
Though the Great Rolling Stones
Sing in consummate tones,
Why’s their pizza consistently burning?
Randoms
I rushed to my Granny’s to eat.
Couldn’t wait, cause her cooking’s a treat.
Then went into a spin.
I asked, “What’s that din?”
(It was Gramps getting up from his seat.)
I’m one of those real active males.
I rush to the gym that has rails.
Then see sinewy guys,
With muscles that rise.
So I run on the “Treadmill For Snails”
Randoms
On the top of each stalk is an eye.
Which is one of the ways snails get by.
Its shell is their pad.
And you might get real mad
When they claim they’re not home, it’s a lie.
At the Naturist Club bare-boned Bess,
Didn’t stress about how she should dress.
She showed up at the place,
For a friendly embrace,
When her birthday suit needed a press.
My snail is real smart and so cool.
Keeps his eyes on the ball; he’s no fool.
When he drops a fresh leaf,
He never feels grief.
Cuz he’s hip to “The 5 Hour Rule”
How de do, I’m the eye doctor, Chris.
It says here, you’ve been “very remiss”
Relax, take a seat.
I’ll forever repeat,
“Can you see this one better than this?”
I went to a gown shop address
With my a-la-kart purchase, – a mess.
The one hundred-floor block,
Churned out on-line smock schlock.
One small door, and no buttons to press.
Whenever she tries to sing higher,
The sound she emits is quite dire.
She’s no Dianna Ross
But she’s loved by the boss
‘Cause she’s got the best boobs in his choir.
An old one extended:
A horny old preacher named Morris
Auditioned a new Sunday chorus.
But wouldn’t you know
That after the show,
He groped a soprano named Doris.
So startled, she let out a screech;
“You slimy, despicable leech!
A baritone, Lee
Said “It’s easy to see
That harmony’s not within reach.”
My Toyota had writing; I’d pout.
Japanese, and important no doubt.
A need to address,
And not to just guess,
But I didn’t have a yen to find out.
“You must give a stern talk, – an address.
Else this bunch of hard crim’s will regress.”
But I read out for hours,
All my lim’s about flowers.
Now traumatised, they want to confess.
A marine snail named Slimy Mahoney
Had eyes for Fiona Mulroney.
They finally mated.
(50 babies created)
And that is a lot Abalone.
When she gave him the slightest caress,
He embraced her and pawed at her dress.
“What a creep!” you may say.
But it’s really OK:
He’s a pup. They excel at excess.
“Snailbert Einstein was spellbound by slime.
And you can be certain that I’m
Gonna’ rush to “Book Nook”
And have a good look.
It took him so long. It’s bout’ time.”
A young debutante, under duress,
Was wearing a haute couture dress.
Though her bosom was meager,
She still remained eager
That her cleavage would somehow impress.
Correction of Above Limerick
“Snailbert Einstein was spellbound by slime.
He wrote a new tome, I know I’m
Gonna’ rush to “Book Nook”
And have a good look.
Heard it took him so long; it’s ’bout time.”
I love op’ra; it gives me such thrills.
Some scenes cause my arms to get chills.
Mr. Landesman does too.
And he’s the one who
Is enchanted with Beverly’s Hills.
I’ve seen snails vegging out in the brush,
Living lives that are very hush-hush.
If they choose to move on,
Or to get their groove on,
They sniff Ortho to give them a rush.
“If I was a sculptor, but then again no. Huh?
Elton John: “Your Song”
We don’t care ’bout each thought in your head.
They fill us with doubt; we’re misled.
A “sculptor?” Wait, No.
Give something a go!
And consider a new job instead.
I’d love to make lady’s all swoon.
As they listen to tunes that I croon.
But my friends all grow pale.
If a mike I unveil.
For I truly can’t carry a tune.
Once, a gentleman bought me a dress,
With a size label bigger than “s.”
In spite of its cost,
The garment got tossed,
While I muttered, “So much for largesse.”
When job hunting, make sure to dress
For success; you will need to impress
The top personnel honcho.
So DON’T wear your poncho,
And make sure your hair’s not a mess.
Although I can carry a tune
And belt well, I can’t readily croon.
So when sitting your baby
I think I should maybe
Just read and not sing. Goodnight Moon?
A letter, these days, sent by mail
Seems to move at the pace of a snail.
Ask the postman to rush?
He will just retort: “Hush!”–
And annoyingly, then, drag his tail.
Snidely Whiplash, a dastardly male,
Rushed to tie lovely Nell to the rail.
I am bound to feel pain,”
She said, hearing the train,
“But I’d rather do this than eat kale.”
I’ve a new cocktail in my ‘Armada’,
To toast when Trump’s ‘time’ becomes harder;
To diminish our stress,
When he dons that striped ‘dress’.
It’s called a Subpoena Colada.
When in Scotland you should rush to try
Some bewitchingly great haggis pie.
It’s baked, but first boiled
In a cauldron that roiled
By adding frog’s toe and newt’s eye.
I’ve a song in my heart all day long.
Please correct me if you think I’m wrong.
When I feel like a mess,
And sense a redress.
I chose a new tune – my theme song.
My wife has her eye on a dress.
She thinks one should dress for success.
In my new bathing suit.
My friends are all mute.
Its laughter that they must repress.
Said tough prison officer Bull,
“I don’t wrap cons in cotton wool.
‘cos when they‘re singing
The info they’re bringing
Will help keep the jail nice and full.”
There was a young singer of note,
Who started to cough like a goat;
She ate thirty-two tubes
Of assorted jujubes,
And found that they soothed her poor throat.
“We’ve lost him,” said great Aunty Jess,
“Where he’s gone to I just cannot guess.
He drove off in the car
Shouting, “Bye-bye! Ta-ra!”
And he’s wearing a little black dress.”
When she sings, the collection of “notes”
She emits as she squirms and emotes
Is as soothing and sweet
As an ungulate’s bleat.
Oh my God, that’s an insult to goats.
DRESS, etc
When you visit my homely address
It’s always the best time to dress.
I look with disdain
And sometimes with pain
When I feel that you need to redress.
SINGING
She was singing in the rain,
Julie Andrews without any pain.
The audience bet
That she never got wet
And her dress always had a dry train.
EYE, RAIL, RUSH, SEAT, SNAIL
Sometimes when you travel by rail
It seems at the pace of a snail.
Keep an eye on your feet
As you rush to your seat
And make sure that you don’t kick a pail! (The bucket?)
My friend on a stage loves to croon.
I carry her music and swoon.
When she asks me to bring it.
She doesn’t mean sing it.
She knows I can’t carry a tune.
I’m not very good, I confess,
In chuckers, at checkers, at chess,
At bowling, at trolling,
At rocking and rolling,
But enough about me. i digress.
Many deeds in my past had tongues wagging,
And for years my atonement’s been lagging.
But I still can’t redress,
All my sins and confess,
Because God always knows when I’m bragging.
Transportation here’s really a mess.
I’m bitching and under duress.
No use being vocal.
This train, Sir, is local.
Your needs you must learn to express.
I was told, early on not to sing.
Evidently it isn’t my thing.
It’s not that I’m flat.
Oh no, nothing like that.
It’s just I’m not Frankie or Bing.
(oops, giving my age away)
Excuse me, I’m under some stress
Having made my last lim’rick a mess.
You see, I must squint
When I read the fine print–
Please use “dress,” please use “dress,” please use “dress!”
The ball, it was fancy dress.
But wait…an unexpected guest!
It’s the Red Death mask man
With a terrible plan
To turn everything into a mess.
Mom and I used to have lovely chats.
But regrettably, also some spats:
When she’d say, “Dear, please sing
With fervor and zing,
Cuz we need to get rid of the cats.”
I was singing last night in my bed.
(Better find a new pastime instead.)
The next morning I shrieked.
Then totally freaked.
Cuz all my canaries were dead.
Whenever you rush for a seat
You’ll find some young girl has you beat.
But don’t make a fuss
You are not on a bus.
It’s Musical Chairs, so compete!
Said Willie, an earnest young snail,
Press on, we will surely prevail.
Said I, who was wiser,
Do you realize, Sir,
We can get there much faster by rail.
When driving don’t go in a rush
You’ll end up as a pile of mush.
Proceed like a snail
And in time you’ll prevail,
Or at least, not end up on your tush.
Said Patrick to Sam (each a snail),
My eye tells me you are not male.
Well, Patrick, said Sam
I know who I am
But snail-sex jokes are so stale.
Your singing is off-key, that’s true.
You sound like you’re trapped in a flue.
When you go to a sing-along
Make sure that you bring along
A friend who is louder than you.
My wife, Alice sings way out of tune.
And “one of these days” (pretty soon)
I’m gonna’ say, “Yow!”
And then I’ll yell, “Pow!”
“To the moon, Alice; straight to the moon”.
My date sneezed all over my dress.
It looked like a mucousy mess.
I heard ’bout the spot
That hurts men a lot.
I kicked him there, then said, “God Bless.”
Mr. Shifty, a trickster from Wales.
Surely knew that this prank never fails.
Hands are quicker than eyes.
And there’s never a prize.
(It’s a shell game intended for snails.)
In France (if you do rush to go)
There’s something that you ought to know.
They have an hors d’oeuvre
Of snails that they serve.
Avoid what they call “Escargot”!!
Marc Bolan (of T-Rex) once sang
A great line, -then went out with a bang.
“I drive a Rolls Royce
Cuz it’s good for my voice”.
Girl-friend drove when he died in a prang.
Should’ve stuck with the Roller (he died in a mini).
I’ve tried singing; I’m hopeless, be wary,
When I’m drunk and I sing, things get hairy.
I sound like a hawk
With a sore throat; I squawk:
Freaks my dog; terrifies my canary.
I once ranted and railed (really fussed),
Ev’ry time I found travel a must;
But I’m calmer since I
Kissed the red-eye goodbye,
And decided I like being bussed.
Here’s an improbable tale:
I once gave my seat to a snail.
In a pig’s eye,
You may say, but here’s why–
He was old, he was slow, he was frail.
Keep your eye on the snail (just look).
If you think he is sad, you’re mistook.
He doesn’t pay rent.
He is smug and content,
Curled up there inside with a book.
Have a seat while I unfold this tale:
Pay heed if you don’t want to fail.
You can rail at inflation.
You can rail at your station.
But avoid, if you can, the third rail
When on seats in my parlor folks sit
For too long, here’s the problem, to wit:
Though I say, “What’s your rush?”
With a yawn and a blush,
They don’t translate my meaning to “Git!”
MEN !!
There are times when you sure have to rush.
If you don’t, you’ll feel some kind of mush.
You run, seat’s not down.
If you sit, you might drown.
And what’s worse, you discern a non-flush.
Quite a daunting task, I must confess
And for this one can’t use GPS
Those of you keeping ‘score’
Search back seven plus four
Then you’ll find Gettysburg Abe’s address
Applying for jobs, gurus stress
That at interviews you must impress.
Don’t make a mistake
Like my bearded mate, Jake.
He turned up in a scarlet silk dress.
What I gave you, (my mind was a mess),
Was a made-up address; I confess.
I’ve found out since then,
It’s a new drag-queen den.
If you go there, you’ll need to redress.
Theme-Singing
The maestro dreaded December
A non-harmomic off-key timbre
‘Twas all wrong
Quality of a gong
The carolers hadn’t practiced for a year
Although I’m a student at Yale,
Why is it I constantly fail
To achieve the brain power
And fathom “rush hour”
When we move at the pace of a snail.
This garment I bought here’s a mess.
The hem is real crooked; I stress:
I’m filled with disgust,
And therefore you must
Make amends, patch it up, to redress.
A chordophone-plucking jamoke
Crooned his ballads for Renaissance folk.
His gal gave him the boot
And made off with his lute —
Thereby leaving the guy flat baroque.
For cycling those rail-trails are neat.
And riding for miles? No great feat!
But please don’t tut-tut
A pain in your butt
If your bike has a hard leather seat.
That’s my ghoul!
My Ghoul’s saving my seat at high tea;
It’s her Halloween party, you see
Her authentic cuisine
Has a treat: Soylent Green, –
She’ll be keeping an eye out for me.
There is singing, from Angels on high
They write songs whose words still fill the sky
“Am I gonna…” (they pen)
“see your face again?”
I’ve omitted the usual reply.
Hey, I saw the movie too.
I think that I really would hate
Sharing Edward G. Robinson’s fate.
But I really must guess
That he had no redress.
He became Soylent Green on a plate.
In a rush climbing stairs I clutch rail,
When catching my eye, is a snail.
Emitting a bleat
I fall on my seat,
Having slipped on his mucosal trail.
I know that you are under duress
But that is no call to undress.
Keep wearing your clothes
Whatever your woes
Which, I’m sure, are like mine, more or less.
The new choristers sing praise to God.
They have dumped their old style; now they’re “Mod.”
No more faith in the slow;
They’ve a bright flashy show,
With their lightning conductor (that’s Rod).
Hey Mad, I don’t want to cause stress,
It’s a minor complaint; I confess.
But now every time
I submit a new rhyme
I must re-supply name and address.
****************************
From Mad
I think the software is confused because you’ve recently used two different email addresses. So it associates your name with two different addresses and doesn’t know which one to use.
Senior Living At “Sunset Home” (singing)
We ladies at “Sunset” are shrewd.
We don’t sing in the shower; it’s lewd.
Cause then we will dance,
Likely slip, and perchance
The Medics will notice we’re nude.
Are there times when you feel rather vexed?
Or perhaps you are merely perplexed!
My cure can’t go wrong.
Just sing “ABC Song”
And you’ll always know which letter’s next.
I was filled with delight and surprise,
To discover a snail has four eyes.
So I posted this verse,
But some punster (or worse),
Followed up with the view, “It’s all lies!”
When I sing, all my friends scream, “Egad!”
“Your out of tune style makes us sad.”
And then I reply,
“If I’m making you cry,
I guess you can’t stand it. Too bad.!”
Correction: from 11/4 at 11:07 PM
Are there times when you feel rather vexed?
It might be you’re merely perplexed!
My cure can’t go wrong:
Sing “The ABC Song”
Then you’ll always know which letter’s next!”
An Idiomatic Departure in Random Words ~
Miss Muffet’s quick eye spied a spider
in a rush to the seat right beside her.
She soon left this vale
not by snail but speed rail
with a bite from that small, pale rider.
This cocktail has wonderful zing.
When you drink it, such joy it will bring!
But consume a small bit.
If you don’t you’ll get lit,
And then you will think you can sing.
I am singing a beautiful song;
My voice sounds so good; can’t go wrong.
Then my friend’s voice breaks in
“What the fuck is that din?
Quit the wailing, – and put down that bong.”
The Pale-Eyed Pailed Bride ~
In a great rush to take off her veil
and find a seat close to the rail,
she found, by-an-by,
too much food filled her eye
though her groom warned, “don’t eat that last snail.”
The bank heist has turned out a mess.
The robber was wearing a dress
And went right off his block:
When he saw the same frock
On a teller; was treated for stress.
The New Jersey “Light Rail” (in truth, a great way to get to New York)
“Are you new to this real cool Light Rail?
You will get to your trains without fail.
But do NOT rush to meet
The girl in that seat.
She’s from Mars, and she looks like a snail.”
Another Lost Weekend ~
In the rush to her seat, the young frail
knew she’d spend two more nights in the jail.
At the pub rail, her thigh
caught a young vice cop’s eye.
Her long weekend passed slow as a snail.
The Pollster’s Weekend Job ~
At the pole by the rail she’d dance.
Every eye in each seat took a chance.
Not a snail, the young lass
learned to rush through each pass—
for a drink and a c-note, romance.
Mad’s blog has forgotten my name, –
It was all good but now it’s gone lame.
And to add to the stress,
It don’t know my address.
Has anyone else found the same??
I once switched my address to one new
And now it can’t think what to do.
The I.T. we must use,
With ease we confuse.
Now with each rhyme I need I.D. too!
Seating for Two ~
For dating, she tried snail mail;
in a rush, her catch traveled by rail.
A wink of her eye
drew the amorous guy
to her love seat, where both would prevail.
Replacing my previous limerick (it wasn’t clear that “love seat” was not a “loveseat”).
Sailing for Two ~
For their first date, they tried snail mail
then her crush, in a rush, came by rail.
She first smiled at the guy
and then winking her eye
took a seat on her suitor’s topsail.
But … He’s Different! ~
A snail had a ride on a rail.
No seat, only head, foot, and tail
but each long, squiggly eye
in the rush of good-bye
saw the fascist crowd’s hateful regale.
Sequel to Oct-18, 11.46am.
I’d been waiting too long for my train,
So to pass time, I sang in the rain.
Seems an up-line derail
Was caused by a snail
Whose sunbathe attempt was in vain.
My attempts to learn lyrics fell flat.
Karaoke, though, took care of that.
I mouth into the mike,
Any jabber I like,
And there’s always some guy who’ll yell, “Scat!”
My darling, today you must stop
That singing of very cool bop.
Although your loud voice
Makes people rejoice,
The neighbors now want to hear pop.
Slight Modification
My darling, today you must stop
That singing of really cool Bop.
Your very loud voice
Makes people rejoice.
And the neighbors now want to hear Pop.
Terry Marter, I have to confess
That I too have seen name and address
Auto-fill not at all.
As a problem it’s small,
But I’ve notified Mad nonetheless.
***********************
From Mad Kane:
By coincidence, just yesterday, I realized that I have the very same problem. And I know what’s to blame:
My blog software recently went through a major “upgrade,” which made many changes in the way it works. And alas, what software designers consider improvements, I find to be unnecessary complications. It’s much harder for me to put up my posts, than before, and I’m stuck with this new version. Sigh…
Anyway, even though I can sign on as blog host for 24 hours at a time, I’ve just discovered that if I want to post a fresh comment, as if I were entering a limerick, the new “improved software” makes me enter my name and email address. The only saving grace, for me, is that I use Chrome, which knows my name and address, so as soon as I start typing an M, my name and address pop up, giving me the option of clicking on them and avoiding all that typing.
If the browser you use doesn’t give you the option to save your sign in info for my site, than I can’t think of any other work-around, unfortunately.
Sorry for this annoying issue! I wish I could do something about it, but I can’t. And it’s going to end up sending more legit comments into moderation because people will inevitably accidentally type quickly and have typos in their name or email address. (That’s already started happening.)
Oh well, technology is such fun, isn’t it?
A woman agent of the news press ,
Wanted to change her wrinkled dress ;
They showed her a room ,
And said: “Have no gloom !”;
The room was the Room of the Congress .
The New Carpool Rules
Do not think I am “going too far”,
Or assume that I’m strange and bizarre.
If you don’t sing along
To “Ma Paw Paw Done Wrong”,
Then get the hell out of my car.
A Perfect Storm ~
Let the eye of a spiral prevail;
seat of romance or bellowing rail.
Fibonacci, in fact,
help’s a poem’s impact—
just don’t rush any twist of this snail.
I was sure that she gave me the eye,
So I took the next seat; squeezed her thigh.
Then she let me caress;
Slide my hand up her dress,
Where I quickly found out, she’s a guy!
I’ve my eye on a dog who’s elite,
to adopt, but I sense he’s effete.
He’s above and beyond,
And will only respond,
to “Sit!” when it’s “Please, take a seat.”
I am singing a song of pure malice,
Rhyming Buckingham Palace with phallus.
Well, what did you expect?
I have little respect.
I’m simply dick-headed and callous.
So now that I’m no longer young,
I’ve sharpened the bite of my tongue.
But don’t ask me why,
I let sour notes fly.
It’s best we leave that song unsung.
Not in My Bucket List ~
Escargot is the French word for snail,
with each eye hoisted up on a rail.
I’m in no rush to eat
when I’m given a seat
where they’re served over ice in a pail.
So you really do think you can sing.
I’ve got news for you see, here’s the thing:
You think you’re Dean Martin;
I’ve heard better fartin’,
Your voice is excruciating.
My darling, your singing’s a sin.
I rarely have heard such a din.
I’ll buy you that pup
If you shut the fuck up.
A quiet life, with a dog? That’s win/win.
The Derrière of the Hare ~
The hare knew the snail would fail—
there was no rush to run by the rail—
but the seat of his pants
were grabbed without romance
when the eye of a hawk spied his tail.
So That’s How I Got Here! ~
A rush of blood from seat to face
(though a snail could keep up their pace)
happened when my eye saw
my grampaw and grammaw
use his rail to impale her place.
The clothes that I wore looked a mess,
So I took them all off to re-dress.
But I still look a sight
(creases not been put right).
The dress is fine, – I need a press.
When your rhyming and timing’s a mess,
Keep ideas that you’d like to address
(that are clever and punny
with a punch-line that’s Funny)
Less cerebral, – more K.I.S.S.
One of Us! One of Us! ~
Near the end of rush week, hope seemed bleak
for a seat at the rail as a Greek;
every eye blurred and pail,
every turn of the snail
a maelstrom for drowning a geek.
Attention All Limerick-Off Procrastinators: The current Limerick-Off ends this Saturday, at 4 pm (Eastern time.) So please get your limerick stragglers in.
FYI: The Limerick-Off Winners post and the new Limerick-Off probably won’t appear until Sunday afternoon or evening because of my crazy schedule this weekend. Sorry for the delay!
Any time I attempt karaoke,
Whether poppy or rocky or folky,
Though I think I’m a star
With the best voice by far,
I am really all tuneless and croaky.
Those wearing the MAGA headdress
Are feeling dismay and distress.
A red wave it was not;
Instead, all they’ve got
Is a trickle of ketchup or less.
(A couple of old ones)
The tenor was vocally strained
By the high notes he’d barely attained.
He became a castrato
With thrilling vibrato,
But lost rather more than he gained.
************
Don Giovanni, a lecherous male,
Loved to sing to the girls he’d impale,
But his screams when he fell
To the fires of Hell
Were right off the musical scale.
She rushed across France on the rails,
Learned French culture in all its details.
She read Proust and Descartes
And it made her trés smart.
Plus, she learned to like garlicky snails.
“You’ve made my makeup a mess”
Sceamed the cross dressers wife Bess.
“You’ve torn my slip,
And my blouse has a rip,
Now please take off my best dress”.
I’m still clinging, with old-style aplomb,
To the out-of-date world I am from,
And I have to confess
That my email address
Is oldduffer@snailmail.com
for 12th Nov. 2022
You call your steno and dictate a letter
Than to wink at her nothing is better
And if you have the guts, press-er
If she wants to go further, let her
After all in love and war it does not matter
But see to it that the others don’t get her
And drop her when she gets fatter
press-er = slight variation on dress
My anger, I cannot repress
And have failed my attempts to redress.
My psych’ works up-town
But he’s now six feet down.
I just smile as I further regress.
The retirement home had a choir,
But the seniors had pop song desire.
Old folks and their friends,
With popular trends —
their performances soon caught on fire!
The post office “rushes” my mail,
But slowness will always prevail.
In mail-time we speak;
One day is a week,
And that’s ‘cause the mailman’s a snail!
He’s a masterful black-market guy,
With scruples to swindle and lie.
His judgement’s off rails,
Making scandalous sales —
But he can’t look himself in the eye!
There once was a fellow who’d sing
To the flowers that bloom in the spring.
But when leaning too close,
He received a strong dose
Of a honeybee’s grievous sting!
Our home buyers budget was less,
So we purchased a house that’s a mess.
We ordered some paint,
To make it look quaint,
But it shipped to our former address!
I order online in excess,
Delivered with two day express.
But one day my tissues
Create a few issues
When sent to my office address!
The cyCLOpes. 3 syllables, with the stress syllable in caps.
I didn’t know till 5 minutes ago, but that’s actually how it’s pronounced:)
The Cyclopes of Wight said, “Goodbye.”
And here is the sad reason why:
He gave her the brush!
(What an evil bum’s rush!)
Guess they just couldn’t eye to eye.
3 randoms
In a very great rush, we compete
To manage this difficult feat.
Here’s a thought, why not try
To wink a sweet eye
At the hostess to get an aisle seat.
Thanks so much everyone for another fun Limerick-Off, which is officially over. And the winner is…
Limerick-Off Award 502. Congratulations to the winners!
But you can still have lots of limerick fun because a new Limerick-Off has just begun: Limerick-Off Sale.