Squeezing three specific words into a limerick can be a daunting challenge. But Three Word Wednesday wants poems using cleanse, knead, and melt. Its wish is my command:
Half-Baked Housewife
By Madeleine Begun Kane
I’m lousy at baking and kneading
And the same goes for cooking and feeding.
I melt when I cleanse
And it gives me the bends.
Am I awful at housework? Conceding.
From time to time, sundry animals (squirrels, raccoons) find our New York City home alluring. While these incidents provide great fodder for poetry and prose, I could live without them. If only…
Our latest animal invasion involves a stubborn squirrel who has taken up residence in an upstairs window AC — the AC that cools my tiny writing-room. Consequently, Mrs. Squirrel (I fear it’s a she) has become a constant companion.
The good news is that our squirrel nuisance has given birth to two poems — a limerick and a tanka. Both poems were also inspired by Big Tent’s prompt to write about being scared of an animal. (I’m more annoyed than scared, but close enough.)
The limerick pretty much wrote itself, but the tanka was a bigger challenge. Why? Because I felt compelled to use the three words (loud, persuasive, riches) dictated by today’s Three Word Wednesday prompt.
First, my limerick:
Dear Squirrel
By Madeleine Begun Kane
Squatter-squirrel, please scat — go away.
This is my house — no wildlife! Okay?
And stop building that nest
In my AC, you pest!
It isn’t a squirrel chalet.
And now my tanka:
Loud screams and clamor
unpersuasive to squirrel,
planting nest riches
under my window AC,
her womb, I fear, rich with life.
(Also posted at I Saw Sunday and Write A Letter Wednesday, which asks for letters to a pet. Once again … close enough.)
Author’s Note: You can find more of my animal humor here and my squirrel humor and verse here.
UPDATE: Happy Squirrel Appreciation Day, January 21st!
I rarely write poems about science. But Big Tent Poetry got my juices flowing with this article about astronauts, NASA, and clutter at the International Space Station: Here’s the line that got me going:
There is no up or down in space, so clutter adorns almost every surface and is held in place by duct tape, Velcro and metal clips.
Limerick In Free-Fall
By Madeleine Begun Kane
The Space Station clutter’s appalling.
Objects long to engage in free-falling.
It take Velcro, clips, tape
To prevent their escape:
My hubby’s fav tools — missed his calling.
(More space verse here.)
Edgy Limerick
By Madeleine Begun Kane
His cash flow had put him on edge,
And he needed a day to just veg.
He was stressed to the max
Over real estate tax,
And could not even fund his new hedge.
(Lots Of Laughter edge prompt)
Who needs to join a gym when you own a home in New York and experience … pardon my French … winter! Cardio? Check. Muscle building? Check. Seriously, there’s nothing quite like lifting a snow-packed shovel way over my head in my quest for a place to dump the damn stuff. I’m talking mountains of snow, some of it still lingering from December.
That brings me to my wintry mix of limericks:
I Need A Landlord, STAT
By Madeleine Begun Kane
While owning a home can be nice,
It isn’t all sugar and spice:
After snow and ice falls
There’s no landlord for calls
About shov’ling. That’s part of the price.
Lamentable Weather
By Madeleine Begun Kane
I know that it sounds like I’m wailing,
But it’s thund’ring and lightening and hailing.
It was snowing all day.
Now an ice storm? Okay,
It’s official. Can’t take it. I’m bailing.
Mark and I are looking forward to the next heavy rain storm, since we don’t dare hope for a multi-day thaw. And until one or the other happens here in New York City, we won’t be able to use our back door (which opens out) or get into our yard.
My two-verse limerick explains all:
Who Needs A Door, Anyway?
By Madeleine Begun Kane
Can’t exit our house from the back,
Cuz the door’s blocked by snowdrifts, alack!
We would shovel it free
If we could, but you see
We’ve no route to that snow we can track.
For the trail to that door’s through the yard.
And clearing that path’s more than hard.
For the yard gate is blocked
From inside, as if locked
By still more snow. Our entry is barred.
Needless to say, I wrote this limerick while running around doing sundry chores:
What A Drag!
By Madeleine Begun Kane
A woman who’s dragging a cart
Has some errands to run. Where to start?
The cleaners and grocer —
Too bad they’re not closer.
How she longs to stay home and make art.
Thursday night’s weather was certainly interesting here in Queens, New York. Hubby Mark and I were on the Long Island Railroad on route to an Off-Broadway play, when what turned out to be a tornado hit.
After some delays, our train did manage to make it to Penn Station, after which the railroad completely shut down, stranding hordes of rush hour commuters. (As we later learned, the tracks were littered with uprooted trees, and the storm had wreaked havoc throughout much of New York City.)
But we went off to see the play, figuring that by the time we were finished with theater and dinner, everything would be back to normal. Ha!
As it turned out, more than 24 hours would elapse before the LIRR would fully recover. So our path home to Bayside, Queens was a challenge, involving an unfamiliar combo of train, subway, and bus.
Relieved to finally be home, we were greeted by an unwelcome discovery — the tallest tree in our backyard had relocated to our neighbor’s yard.
Well, at least the play wasn’t bad — It Must Be Him, starring Peter Scolari and Liz Torres. Not great mind you — not even close. But everything’s relative.
I hope you’ll join me in writing a limerick with this first line:
A fellow who hated to clean…
Here’s the limerick I wrote with that line. (It’s a two-verser, but a standard one-verse limerick is fine, of course.)
Not-So-Clean Limerick
By Madeleine Begun Kane
A fellow who hated to clean
Was a bach’lor. (You know what I mean.)
His home was a wreck,
Filled with dust-covered dreck.
The mess was quite frankly obscene.
When he took a cute date to his place,
She fled, saying “What a disgrace!
I refuse to date pigs.
Get me out of these digs.
And my phone number? Kindly erase.”
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 in my Limerick-Offs.
I hope you’ll join me in writing a limerick with this first line:
A miserly fellow name Joe…
Here’s the limerick I wrote with that line. (It’s a two-verser, but a standard one-verse limerick is fine, of course.)
Miserly Limerick
By Madeleine Begun Kane
A miserly fellow name Joe
Was obsessed with his weekly cash flow.
The guy was so petty,
He ordered wife Betty
To flush once a day. She said, “No!”
Then he yelled, “You are wasteful and low!”
But she said, “It’s distasteful. No go!”
So he sued for divorce—
An asinine course.
Now the lawyers have all of his dough.
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 in my Limerick-Offs.
Dear Press: Clean Up Your Own Damn Mess! (Limerick)
By Madeleine Begun Kane
We get headlines each March from the press:
“It’s Spring — Time To Clean Up Your Mess.”
Seems they’re too dumb to know
That we’re still getting snow.
Dear journos, stop giving me stress!
Related Post: Guilt Springs Eternal
Like so many people in New York City (and the Northeast in general) hubby Mark and I have been besieged by snow storms this winter. And we’ve also lost a chunk of our electric power.
The good news is Con Ed, our power company, was very responsive. The bad news is Con Ed says the problem is ours. And electricians, always elusive creatures around here, are harder to hire than ever.
Oh well — at least our computer lines work.
Unenlightened (Limerick)
By Madeleine Begun Kane
A part of our power is dead,
And the problem is ours, says Con Ed.
Electricians are busy.
(The storm’s caused a tizzy.)
But the phone works. At least we’ll be fed.
Related Post: Ode To Takeout (to be sung to My Favorite Things)
I’m so sick of this snowy New York winter. And of all the fretful phone calls from my mother-in-law, warning hubby Mark about snow shoveling and heart attacks. Funny, she isn’t at all concerned about my heart.
That brings me to my latest limerick:
Send Us Spring, STAT!
By Madeleine Begun Kane
I’m achy from head down to toe.
The cause? I’ve been shoveling snow.
I wanted to punt,
But instead, did our front,
While my spouse did the rest — quid pro quo.
********
I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the one up side of February which is coming up very soon: Valentines Day. And so happy Valentines day, especially to you fellows who may find this Valentines Day column helpful. Gals, you can thank me later.
That’s it. No more vacations!
Sounds a little extreme, I know. But strange things tend to happen when my husband and I have the nerve to travel or take time off.
No, I don’t mean canceled flights, lost luggage, or stolen passports. Nothing so mundane as that. I’m talking about incidents like:
* a drowned Toyota;
* a windshield collision with flying branches while my car is going 55 mph;
* a Mazda smashed by a tree while it’s parked and minding its own business.
Detect a pattern here?
We’ve had so many weird holiday episodes, that our insurer has created a special policy provision just for us:
Notwithstanding the aforesaid incomprehensible coverage terms, this policy shall be subject to the following limitations and exclusions, hereinafter referred to as Madkane’s Oddball Vacation Incident Exclusion clause:
1. Claims for beach sand, in excess of four (4) gallons, entering automobile via sunroof, shall be subject to a $2,500 deductible.
2. Damage to fuel line by reptiles, including but not limited to alligators and crocodiles, is hereby excluded.
3. Hotel parking lot car-drowning incidents shall be subject to a “one more time and you’re canceled” cap.
Our most recent adventure took place at our weekend house. And before you get too impressed by our owning a weekend house, let me hasten to add it’s only 380 square feet. In fact, when we got it appraised for mortgage purposes, its “comparables” featured our neighbor’s garage.
Mark had spent the entire day telling me he “really, really, really should plant the flowers” — those very flowers that were waiting patiently in our Mazda, hoping against hope that the fellow who bought them the previous day would eventually recall that occasional sunlight is somewhat better than a hot, dark trunk.
Knowing better than to meddle in Mark’s planting activities — or lack thereof — I didn’t say a word. I didn’t have to. I already knew the answer: “I don’t want your help. Go away.”
Besides, I had complete faith that at some point before the plants died, Mark would remember that replacements cost money and he’d unload the car and begin digging and uprooting our resident worms. I also knew this would occur just as the last vestiges of sunlight said goodbye. (“Anyone can plant by daylight. Where’s the challenge in that?”)
Mark didn’t disappoint me. He cracked open the car trunk at 8 p.m. and finished around 10. He even did it without the sort of event that might trigger an insurance claim.
And then it happened: Just as Mark was walking up the driveway toward our refuse cans (in an aberrational instance of his actually taking out the garbage), he heard an unfamiliar noise. And thank heavens he did. Because the sound made him stop in his tracks, just as a huge tree limb came barreling down across our driveway, striking our car and our garbage cans but miraculously sparing Mark.
Mark naturally took this as a sign from God: “Thou shalt never again take out the garbage.”
We spent the rest of the night celebrating Mark’s survival. And devoted the next day to tree-limb removal, car-repair estimates, and insurance negotiations.
Needless to say, Madkane’s Oddball Vacation Incident Exclusion clause is longer than ever.
I understand why buying a car or a home appliance or pricey wine would require some research. But purchasing towels shouldn’t be all that complicated. So why is it that whenever my husband and I buy towels, they suck? Actually the problem is … they don’t suck.
Neither High, Nor Dry (Limerick)
By Madeleine Begun Kane
Our new towels seemed fine at first blush.
They were velvety smooth and so plush.
But they don’t absorb well.
You might say they repel.
Can’t our towels act more like a lush?
Empty Nest (Limerick)
By Madeleine Begun Kane
A woman was feeling depressed.
(Her syndrome is called “empty nest.”)
Her home was too calm.
She missed being a mom—
Though her spouse “helped” by being a pest.
Feel free to write your own limerick using the same first line and post it in my comments. And if you’re on Facebook, please join my friends in that same activity in my limerick-offs.
Guilt Springs Eternal
By Madeleine Begun Kane
Spring has arrived. Do you feel guilty yet? If not, you apparently don’t read women’s magazines. Every March and April they’re packed with “clean up and organize your life” articles. Stories with catchy titles like Spring Into Action — Tidy Up Your House. Or Wash Away Winter Blues. Or Banish Clutter Now; Otherwise We’ll Keep Torturing You With Articles Meant to Make you Feel Like A Slothful Bum. Personally, I’d rather read Why Clean? It Will Only Get Dirty Again Tomorrow.
Why do magazines publish these pieces? Because every spring millions of women have the same Pavlovian response: Guilt. Guilt quickly followed by a spending spree on periodicals and cleaning supplies. They grab every magazine in sight and, in a fit of post-New Year’s resolution fervor, vow to Martha Stewartize their homes.
Do these articles help? Do they unlock the sacred secret of “eat off your basement floor” womanhood? Hahahahahahaha. Pardon me — I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were serious. (Guilt Springs Eternal continues here.)
Here’s something fun for food-loving poets: TimeOut New York is having a pie-ku haiku contest. Here’s the one I submitted:
A freshly baked pie:
Tasty dessert and fragrant
Co-op buyer bait.
Today’s limerick, haiku, and senryu theme is furniture and furnishings. First, my limerick:
Quick Story
By Madeleine Begun Kane
“Quick story,” my husband declares.
“It’s short — I’m not kidding,” he swears.
But I know that he’s wrong.
He’ll be witty, but long.
How I wish I could find us some chairs.
And now two haiku (senryu):
Dad climbs into bed.
His poodle growls in protest.
Their turf war begins.
Sixty-year-old chair,
still covered in plastic,
protected from life.
Now, of course, it’s your turn. Your assignment, should you choose to accept it, is to write some verse about furniture and furnishings. When you’ve posted your poem(s), please return here and add a direct link to your themed poetry, using Mr. Linky. There’s no rush, by the way, because you have a whole week to post it.
(Note: My poems were inspired by these three prompts: “being told a story,” “pets,” and “father / find.”)
Limerick and Haiku Prompts Participants
| 1. SandyCarlson 2. Connie 3. Patricia (a/k/a Roswila) 4. Jade |
5. Linda – Nickers and Ink 6. Noah the Great 7. Noah the Great 8. Bevie |
9. Crafty Green poet 10. art predator |
UPDATE: Mr. Linky is now closed, but you can still add links to your furniture and furnishings verse in the Comments. And if you’d like to participate in a new poetry prompt, you can always find my latest one here.
UPDATE 2: World Storytelling Day falls on the spring equinox in the northern hemisphere.
Mad Kane (Madeleine Begun Kane) is a writer, musician, and "recovering lawyer." She won the Robert Benchley Society Award For Humor and enjoys writing limericks, song parodies, and current events haiku.
You can email her at madkane@madkane.com, visit her political humor blog, or stop by her home page.
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