Gored By Limericks (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, bored out of her gourd,…*
or
A fellow was proud of his gourd…*
or
A fellow, alas, had been gored…*
*(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:
Gored By Limericks
By Madeleine Begun Kane
A woman, bored out of her gourd,
Stopped dating a guy she’d adored
Cuz she suddenly noticed
He’d not the remotest
Attraction … except for his sword.
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: Competition Limerick, Limerick Challenge, Limerick Contest, Poetry & Prompts, Writing Prompts
A fellow, alas, had been gored
In a bullfight, and couldn’t afford
To lose so much blood.
Now his name was mud
As the crowd hissed and stamped feet and roared.
A hooker drank wine from a gourd
To forget all the nights she had whored
She’d scraped up her knees
Charging minimal fees
Memories are all she can afford
The King caught the Queen’s vassal, Gord,
In the castle, with her on his sword.
The King to him said,
“I’ll soon have your head.”
Gord said, “Nope.” but his asshole he bored…
A woman bored out of her gourd
Exclaiming, “I’ll not be ignored!”
Her poor husband “Peter”
Said “Hell, I don’t beat ‘er
And this is my lousy reward?”
A woman bored out of her gourd
Went out searching to find her Lord
A royal, fit gent
A humorous bent
And certainly not one to hoard.
A fellow was proud of his gourd
But his Jekyll in turn was deplored
His ‘pumpkin’ pumped kin
But did most of them in
On the hole it did not please the whored
A fencing instructor was gored
By the thrust of a naked man’s sword
He cried out, “Oh shit!
You’ve a rapier wit
And my penis no match for this word.”
A woman, bored out of her gourd
Threw a tantrum and bellowed and roared
She grabbed her phone and played Candy Crush
Until her brain dissolved into mush
And she thought she was Ford Madox Ford.
The matador yelled – he’d been gored,
And the bull now had part of his hoard!
Addressing El Toro
In pain and in sorrow,
“Could I have my ball back?” he implored.
No need, with a head like a gourd,
For disguise that she couldn’t afford.
Every Hallowe’en Night
She gave children a fright,
And she won the “Best Pumpkin” award.
I couldn’t believe I’d been gored
By a hooker who scratched me and clawed.
When I called the insurers
They said “Sorry, whorers,
Like acts of God, can’t be insured.”
The candidate ended “Al Gore’d”;
In the popular vote, he’d outscored,
But a few dimpled chads
Fixed by Jeb and his lads
Meant that Dubbya got the reward.
Our climate, now thoroughly Gored,
Would seem to be hurtling toward,
An ice-melting end,
Except that, dear friend,
Current data just must be ignored.
He burst like an over-ripe gourd
When from ten thousand feet he had soared.
Skydiving is rotten
For one who’s forgotten
To pull on the parachute cord.
In deep space he’s known as Gord
When confronting an alien warlord
But back here on earth
His hang time is dearth
Then in a Flash, it’s over, she’s bored
A woman bored out of her gourd
Was upset by being ignored
When she was young
Many flings she had flung
Now at home she was seldom adored.
.
This woman bored out of her gourd
At last she found some accord
She went to a store
Bought jewels to adore
At home her hubby was floored.
.
Her hubby was proud of his gourd.
Thought nil when his wife he ignored
The gal charged his card
And for life he was scarred
His good credit he never restored.
.
The lesson is clear when she’s bored.
Get rid of the oversized gourd.
Get the little blue pill
And give her a thrill.
Once restored she’ll be proud of your sword.
.
When a sword replaces a gourd
Happy times at once are restored.
When in a bored mood
No need to be prude
Get her nude and hop right aboard
A fellow was proud of his gourd,
And women who saw it were floored!
They tried to seduce
They used every ruse
And begged to be pierced with his sword.
A woman bored out of her gourd
Had found a hot guy and implored
Sweet music to make,
Her whole being quake…
He played her like a harpsichord.
A woman bored out of her gourd,
Had flesh that could not be ignored.
She’s the whole calabash,
And played guys with panache
And gave them the whole smorgasbord.
Imagine a ‘Frankenstein Gourd.’
The fame of this pumpkin has soared.
It’s grown in a mold,
Then stripped clean and sold
As a Halloween gimmick it’s scored.
Note: This is a new product which is coming on the market and you can check out this link for more details.
Frankenstein Pumpkins.
A woman, bored out of her gourd
was anxiously looking toward
a vodka martini
a ten inch zucchini
and the soon to be coming reward
A woman went out of her gourd
As her paramour noisily snored.
After sex, though, she found
That he made not a sound
So each night ever after he scored.
Two pianists, bored out of their gourd,
Stopped bitching and jointly explored
Which places to touch,
And when was too much.
Their crescendo together just soared.
I wonder if we’ve been ‘Al Gore’d’?
Are all scientists in accord?
So I guess, due to farts,
A polar bear departs?
Alrighty! We’re all now onboard!
Here’s a groaner, if you get it:
You might think Adam West lost his gourd
And should be locked away; rest assured
He’s not riled with brains throbbin’.
That’s the cross borne by Robin.
It’s Burt who’s in this onery Ward!
A woman, bored out of her gourd
Bought a moutain bike, then she soared
Over rock, rack, and ruined
her parts were then strewn
Now she drives slowly a Ford
With a thick Brooklyn accent:
She hollered at me, “Oh my gawd!
With you I’m becoming quite bored.”
I then answered back
With my usual wise crack,
“Shut your mouth and bend over, dumb broad!”
My memory’s suffered a lapse
From taking too many naps
When I lie down to rest
In my comfortable nest
That gray matter tends to collapse.
The hooker’s boat was a huge gourd,
Hollowed out, with pedals on board
She was fetchingly Norse,
And used leg muscle force,
To peddle her ass ’round the fiord
There once was a dumbass named Gord.
He’s a mohel with a long jagged sword.
If he gets near your son,
You should grab child and run:
An alert Jew is its own reward!
All Hallows Eve
The Great Pumpkin, that kingliest gourd,
Rises up! – becomes fully unmoored.
Quickly floats yard-to-yard
And attempts to retard
The predations of over-age horde.
Pouring wine from a newly carved gourd
Is a treat that I’ve to long ignored.
There is something enchanting
In the art of decanting;
It’s a pleasure I’ve never explored.
A pumpkin is simply a gourd
With a rep – it’s truly adored.
Found in lattes and pies,
Or a well carved surprise
The pepo’s a gourd that has scored.
What Happened Before the Breakup
No vasectomy! I won’t be gored.
That procedure is most untoward.
I fear next when you call me
It will be to de-ball me.
I refuse! No I’m not reassured.
Rave At Stonehenge!…
Hey there, baby, you got any glow-gourds?
Bring ‘em out to tonight’s Stonehenge slow-chords.
Plus, we’ll drop a few pills
To dispense with our ills,
Misbehavin’ out on the old mow-swards*.
*the old Scots word “mow” refers to that most ancient human activity.
Glow-Gourds at Stonehenge Raves All the Rage
Edited to fix a problem with rhythm.
What Happened Before the Breakup
No vasectomy! I won’t be gored.
That procedure is most untoward.
I fear next when you call me
‘Twill be to de-ball me.
I refuse! No I’m not reassured.
A Norwegian, quite out of his gourd,
Fixated on land he explored.
He so wanted to boast
He owned part of the coast,
But he could not afford a fjord.
A guy a bit out of hiz gourd,
Who truly believed he had scored,
Was surprised when she hit
Him a good one, so it
Was clear he was floored and was floored.
By a grizzled old pig, I was gored.
As I waited for succor, I roared.
It was not the damned pain,
But emotional strain,
‘Cause I really do hate being bored.
As I pierced my curved blade through his gourd
And it oozed, he cried out, “Oh my lord!
You’re a hideous bumpkin.
For defiling my pumpkin,
I shall see that you reap what you’ve sword.”
I carved in my big orange gourd
A resemblance of President Ford
But lost out to Martha,
Whose Chester A. Arthur
Took home the Best Pumpkin award.
He hid deep inside of a gourd
To escape from a ravenous horde.
As for humorous verse,
He was under a curse,
So he laid down,, he slept, and he snored..
A woman, bored out of her gourd
Rented the room where her junk was stored
Some steer horns on the walls
Pinned her tenant’ s overalls
And at meal time he was gored out of his board
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 and the Honorable Mention Winners: Limerick of the Week 186.
But you can still have lots of limerick fun because a new Limerick-Off has just begun: Limerick Switch.