Limerick Floor (Limerick-Off Monday)
It’s Limerick-Off time, once again. And that means I write a limerick, and you write your own, using the same first line. Then you post your limerick here and, if you’re a Facebook user, on Facebook too.
The best submission will be crowned Limerick Of The Week. (Here’s last week’s Limerick Of The Week Winner.)
How will your poems be judged? By meter, rhyme, cleverness, and humor. (If you’re feeling a bit fuzzy about limerick writing rules, here’s my How To Write A Limerick article.)
I’ll announce the Limerick of the Week Winner next Sunday, right before I post next week’s Limerick-Off. So that gives you a full week to submit your clever, polished verse. Your submission deadline is Saturday at 10:00 p.m. (Eastern Time.)
I hope you’ll join me in writing a limerick with this first line:
A woman was perched on the floor…*
or
A fellow demanded the floor…*
or
A gal was re-tiling her floor…*
or
A fellow would frequently floor…*
*(Please note that minor variations to my first lines are acceptable. However, rhyme words may not be altered, except by using homonyms or homophones.)
Here’s my limerick:
Limerick Floor
By Madeleine Begun Kane
A ranter demanded the floor.
He was plastered and hard to ignore.
How he stewed and he prattled!
The chair, rather rattled,
Threw his gavel and hammered that bore.
Please feel free to write your own limerick using the same first line and post it in my comments. And if you’re on Facebook, I hope you’ll join my friends in that same activity on my Facebook Limerick-Off post.
To receive an email alert whenever I post a new Limerick-Off, please email Madkane@MadKane.com Subject: MadKane’s Newsletter. Thanks!
Tags: Bores, Competition Limerick, Gavel Humor, Limerick Challenge, Limerick Contest, Meeting Humor, Poetry & Prompts, Writing Prompts
Our puppy had pooped on the floor
In a corner that I never saw.
When I asked my wife: “Hell!
What on earth is that smell?”
She replied, “Well, it ain’t my Dior.”
He had buried her under the floor
In a box that he made with his saw,
But her blood, while congealing,
Leaked right through the ceiling;
The neighbours complain of the gore.
The Speaker said “Please take the flas”
To the Senator from Arkansas.
He replied, “Well, gee, thanks”
As he prised up the planks
Which he sold to the carpentry stas.
A lovely French hooker called Flore
Was famed as ‘the swallowing whore’.
She said “Bodily juices
A blowjob produces
Taste better as ‘esprit de corps’.”
With a blow of his fist, he would floor
Any fellow with whom he was sore.
But he once hit his wife,
And she wielded her knife;
Now her trophies hang over the door.
That wretched bird’s crapped on my floor
From its perching-place over the door!
Tomorrow, I hope
The new cleaner will cope,
Young what’s-her-name … oh, yes, “Lenore”.
A woman was lying on the floor
When her husband walked through the door.
He ruefully assessed,
As the milkman got dressed,
That his milk would be costing much more.
The boxer lies flat on the floor,
The referee’s count reaches “FOUR!”
He pirouettes and then
Begins counting again …
(He once ran a ballet dance corps.)
A snake in the grass-covered floor
Said “This apple’s a fruit you’ll adore.”
Eve and Adam tucked in,
And because of their sin,
We’re all rotten right through to the core.
The boxer was down on the floor,
And the ref. counted “One, two, three, four ..”
When the count had reached ten,
The chap leapt up again
Saying “Taking a dive pays me more.”
The composer was pacing the floor;
John Cage had forgotten his score.
So he gave them instead
A piece straight from his head –
Some minutes of silence, just four.
I am beating my fists on the floor;
This is really becoming a chore,
For it’s limerick day,
And my wife has her say:
She insists that I write ten or more
To David McCormick:
I hadn’t seen your ‘boxer’ piece before writing mine!
A fellow demanded the floor
Though known as a terrible bore –
So instead of on stage,
Everyone, in a rage
Directed him out of the door.
A woman was perched on the floor,
As, after drinks, often before –
For being that low
At least she would know
She couldn’t fall off any more!
The economy fell through the floor,
And we fought that despicable war.
How we got in that boat is
The fault of that SCOTUS:
Its vote five-to-four Bush v. Gore
A woman was perched on the floor
she threw down her sponge and she swore
and screamed at her gent
“that is not what I meant
when I told you to use the back door!”
A fellow demanded the floor
Gave a speech a saint it would bore.
Some listeners would weep
Some just fell asleep
And drowned out the speech with a snore.
A gal was re-tiling the floor
When she heard a knock on the door
She wasn’t a prude
So she worked in the nude
And rushed to the door to find Pastor Nabore.
The Speaker demanded the floor
To vote down the ACA once more
Even though it is law
Poor John Boehner saw
A chance with vote four forty four
A heckler called out from the floor,
“Sir, listening to you is a chore.
Before taking the podium,
Take some Imodium;
Verbal diarrhea’s a bore.”
Her undies were down on the floor
And bra was draped over the door
The dress on the chair
Stockings over there
Dressing Barbie at the toy store
A woman was perched on the floor,
in a bird suit – oh, what an uproar!
The gents at Burlesque
thought her too Rubenesque,
and with boos sent her through the trapdoor.
Randy Mazie @ thewritersvillage.wordpress.com
E. A. Poe was heard pacing the floor
On a dreary late night, “Oh, Lenore!”
His lost love he was cravin’,
Yet he found but a raven,
With rhythm and rhyme words galore.
A mom exercising her floor
Did Kegels and Kegels galore:
No leaks, better sex
(‘least she’d have if her ex
Didn’t still try to use her back door).
My contractor’s tiling the floor,
But his helper is still at the store.
Fast completion’s in doubt
Since no one’s brought grout
And for that he insists he’ll charge more.
Though I’m writhing in pain on the floor,
Seems her snub was less harsh than before.
Sure, she slammed the door hard,
But my ego’s not scarred,
‘Cause at least my poor foot’s in the door.
A guy that once lived down one floor,
Drove right across a claymore
Found his grill in Kentucky,
His dipstick in Truckee,
And rear end in Lake Elsinore
Con mi, he was mopping the floor
I ‘splained, I no call her a whore!
I say, yo soy Paco,
Can she share her taco?
What’s left of her box, I’ll pay for!
A” Newtonian Folly”
When ” Angello” lay on the floor
Envisaging scenes to adore
His help dropped an apple
That caused a kerfuffle
Cause he sat up emitting a roar.
A fellow would frequently floor
The woman whom he did adore,
His lovemaking brought awes.
Because indeed he was
Skilled in and out of the boudoir.
A fellow demanded the floor
“The state of the arts, I abhor!
The arts funding is cut,
While for wars there’s a glut!
Poe’s raven doth shout, ‘NEVERMORE!’ “
A fellow demanded the floor-
“Our leaders are nothing but whores!
We must stop GMOs
And join the fracking foes
These horrors we cannot ignore!’
When she told me, my jaw hit the floor
“Let us wed, or see me no more!”
I thought it astute
Being irresolute
But this day, I’m simply not sure
A Gal was retiling her floor,
Youdda thunk that she’d done it before,
But she made such a mess,
That she had to confess,
I bought library paste at the store!
A lady was perched on the floor
She was waleyed and piked by the door
Shell get crabby and yell a bit
Just for the halibut
All the whale she spends floundering more
Dora screwed the old salts on the floor.
Scrubbing up wasn’t much of a chore.
When they rolled from on top
She retrieved a wet mop
To push seamen right out the back door.
“Dona Flor and Her Two Husbands”
(novel by Brazilian Jorge Amado, film directed by Bruno Barreto)
Teodoro wed sultry widow Flor.
As a lover he was, frankly, a bore,
So she conjured Husband One
For some marital fun
And Vadinho performed an encore.
Portuguese pronunciation notes:
(accent is on the next to last syllable in all of these names with more than one syllable)
Flor = Floor (Dona is a form of Miss or Mrs., pronounced like Donna)
Jorge Amado = George-ee Ah-mahd-oh (J is NOT pronounced like an H as in Spanish)
Bruno Barreto = Bruno Bah-hate-oo
Teodoro = Tay-oh-door-oh
Vadinho = Vah-dean-you
There was a designer named Flor-
ence who’s last client was a young Hor-
tense who’s taste and her bawdi-
ness leans to the naughti-
est levels of moral decor.
She lived on the twenty second floor
This madam, this sweet, one-eyed, whore
She had hundreds, why me?
“You’re my favorite!” said she
“You’re someone I keep an eye out for.”
I slam my right foot to the floor
This smart car won’t do any more
I barely fit in,
My knees hit my chin
And aesthetically, it’s half an eyesore
I awoke today, ICU floor.
(A flashback to two weeks before)
At a club in the city,
I made up this ditty
How Mike Tyson’s mama’s a whore!
The two of them polished the floor,
Using sex acts they’d come to adore.
It doesn’t seem rude
Tp note they were nude
And practiced positions galore.
He spent the night pacing the floor
Awaiting her walk through the door.
The later it got
The worse things he thought
Like, “I think that I’ve married a whore!”
Abe Lincoln was pacing the floor
With his second inaugural chore.
Said he, “Mary Todd.
Is this good or just odd?”
The response that he got was a snore.
The Speaker demanded the floor,
Grabbed the mike and then let out a roar.
“The POTUS is lazy.
He’s driving me crazy.
Now back to my nap – let me snore.
Her performance on the stage floor
Attracted audiences galore
When sweet Gypsy Rose
Took off her clothes
There were cries of Encore! Encore!
Our eyes met as I crossed the floor
Bringing thoughts I had not had before.
The breathtaking view
Of a methmaking Jew
Made me scream as I ran out the door!
As our clothes began hitting the floor
After carefully locking the door,
I surveyed the hole view
As my love, 8 foot 2,
Showed me why she’s called Pussy Galore!
As I knelt on the cold tile floor
Of the bathroom behind a stall door,
I was hugging the throne,
Calling Ralph on the phone,
Revisiting meals heretofore.
I’ve grown weary of pacing the floor
Recalling my ex-wife, the whore.
The guy I caught nailin’ her
Was the one I had tailin’ her–
He’s no private dick anymore!
In a building, there’s always one floor
That’s avoided and steeped in bad lore.
It is number thirteen;
Do you know what I mean?
It’s the ghost story — one they abhor.
I was drunk when I hit the dance floor
I’d prove to these snobs I’m no bore
But my moves and careening
Gave ‘break dance’ new meaning
Now crutches make both my pits sore
My house has an ivory floor,
Since I made my big lottery score.
I eat caviar,
From a two liter jar,
And I only drink Chateau Latour.
I kissed her right on the dance floor
I then whisked her out the back door
I groped nook and cranny
Found out she’s a tranny
And now, I admit, I’m cocksure
A woman demanded the floor,
Also windows, walls, roof, and the door.
Yes, my lousy ex-spouse
Got the whole freakin’ house.
With that screwing…well, guess where I’m sore.
A girl who was tiling the floor
Pointed her ass to the door.
A fellow went by
And said winking his eye
” I’ll have it pale pink but not raw”
I went to the top storey floor
Of a pension named “Hotel d’amour”
In a chambre privee
I had my chance to say
“Je t’adore but you’d best shut the door”.
The woman asleep on the floor
The shoppers could hardy ignore
Au naturel she lay
All her wares on display
She’d slept walked to the all-night store.
An Eskimo fell through the floor
Of his igloo, and wasn’t seen more.
The domed house was doomed,
Just as spring flowers bloomed,
The past winter he’d built it offshore
The agent got up off the floor;
He’d been shot in the head, nothing more.
Scores of bad guys he felled;
“Go, Jack, get ’em!” I yelled.
(I’ve been watching too much “24.”)
I dumped my grilled steak on the floor
Snatched up by my big Labrador
He gagged on some gristle
And wheezed like a whistle
So I heimliched that chunk out the door
I peed through a hole in the floor
A cheap Euro vacation, for sure
And I kinda resent it
An old woman attendant
Takin’ tips, right behind, by the door
There once was a guy named Ed Floor
No really, he lived right next door
I was young, maybe ten
But delusional then
So I lied, his real name was Seymour
I was showing my moves on the floor.
This chick cheered so I knew I could score.
Then we walked to the car
Where I said, “Here we are.”
But my mom wouldn’t open the door.
A fellow demanded the floor
So he could debate with Al Gore.
Ideas were forming
About global warming
And other disasters in store.
With stocks there’s a ceiling and floor.
You buy low and of course hope for more.
If that bargain turns bust,
You’ll know who NOT to trust,
Cuz most brokers are best to ignore.
Note: My snarky wife added there must have been a “basement” he never told you about.
I vacuumed the rug, swept the floor
Worked a whole thirteen minutes, maybe more
I don’t count the time
I do it ’cause I’m
Not a self-absorbed hubby, anymore
Getting piglets to sleep’s not a chore
For their father, who sits on the floor
By their bed. Tales he’ll spin
When his offspring turn in.
They nod off ’cause their daddy’s a boar.
The body lay dead on the floor,
‘Twas a horrific sight, for sure,
Hysterical wife
Finds husband with knife,
He’d murdered his mother in law.
I wrestled this thug to the floor
He pulled out a big .44
We tussled, he shot
He screamed, I did not
He didn’t dig his self-induced gore
A fellow demanded the floor
To boast of his exploits, and more
The folks were aghast
At learning his past
And quickly shoved him out the door
She flung her new ring ‘cross the floor
I’d ask her to wed night before
Then met her little sis
Had to have some of this…
We’re done, and they don’t talk no more
My parakeet’s dead on the floor
I’d had that damn bird since ’04
You’d think I’d be sad
I was just like his dad
But screw it, that’s what poison’s for
When we broke through the vault’s heavy floor,
I thought, “Finally, a really big score!”
Then some rubble came down,
And it crushed my poor crown;
You’d be right if you guessed I was sore.
He had her pinned down on the floor.
With hia hands he began to explor,
But a knee to the nuts,
And a few upper=cuts –
She said,”One more makes four. I keep scor.”
Said he, getting up from the floor,
“I gave what I got, maybe more,
And now, my Black Widow,
I’m as good as Nick, kiddo,
But I’ll have to admit I am Thor.”
His ex-wife would sit on the floor
Shave her knuckles, really? What for?
Strange way to behave
There was nothing to shave
He thanked God she lived there no more
I dreamt I was pinned to the floor
Gettin’ pounded and bashed by Igor
I hate Rusky spies
They’re all such big guys….
Next dream, I’ll be the bash-or
I noticed a tilt in my floor
Putt a golf ball, it heads for the door
“Get them out of the house!”
Said my less than thrilled spouse,
“Cut the grass, you might see it tilts more.”
The Supremes ruled and those on the floor
Rushed out to tell those who kept score.
The Court with a whoosh
Elected George Bush,
While the people selected Al Gore.
Busd strode out on a deck, not a floor,
And mission accomplished the war.
Then he stoked a recession
(Perhaps a depression} –
Should the Court have elected Al Gore?
Eight House years in his seat , on the floor.
Then he spent in the Senate eight more.
Then eight more as Vice
President was sure nice.
The verdict – overqualified bore?
As he stood speaking out to the floor,
The Prize was for Peace, not for war.
Add a Grammy, an Emmy
A Webby, god damn he
Should paint himself nude to adore.
The golfer encountered a floor,
And was anxious to lower his score.
He raised his club back,
Gave the ball a huge whack,
Then a scream – he forgot to yell “fore”!
This gal from the small town of Floor
Got knocked up by Johnny McMore
Her impending distortion
Gave her thoughts of abortion
But she dug adoration much more
(Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.)
Thanks so much everyone for another fun week of limericks. This Limerick-Off is officially over. And the winner is…
Congratulations to the Limerick of the Week Winner, the Facebook Friends’ Choice Award Winner, and the Honorable Mention Winners: Limerick of the Week 173.
But you can still have lots of limerick fun because a new Limerick-Off has just begun: Rash Limerick.