Limerick-Off Monday – Rhyme Word: SOLE or SOUL at the end of any one line (Submission Deadline: July 4, 2020 at 4 p.m. Eastern)
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 SOLE or SOUL at the end of any one line. (Homonyms or homophones are fine.)
The best submission will be crowned Limerick-Off Award Winner. (Here’s last week’s Limerick-Off Award Winner.)
Additionally, you may write themed limericks related to WEAPONS, using any rhyme word. And of course I’ll present an extra award — one for the best WEAPON-related limerick.
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 5, 2020, right before I post the next Limerick-Off. So that gives you two full weeks to submit your clever, polished verse. Your submission deadline is Saturday, July 4, 2020 at 4:00 p.m. (Eastern Time.)
Here’s my SOLE/SOUL-rhyme limerick:
When I ordered a French Dover sole,
My fish-dish arrived in a bowl.
“What’s THIS? Why no PLATE?”
I shouted, irate.
(My new rating is “Dinnerware Troll.”)
And here’s my WEAPONS-themed limerick:
What’s my weapon of choice? It is words.
Guns and rifles and knives? For the birds!
Kill or maim? Not my aim.
(Please don’t make me shoot game!)
I’m just one of those bookwormy nerds.
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: Bookworms, Competition Limerick, Dinnerware, Fish Humor, Fish Limerick, Food Humor, Gun Humor, Language Humor, Limerick Challenge, Limerick Contest, Poetry & Prompts, Restaurant Humor, Sole, Trolls, Weapon Humor, Weapons, Writing Prompts
“Though Army recruiters may beckon,
Through jungles I’ll carry no weapon,”
Said Donald. “My dad
Says my bone spurs are bad,
And to let someone else do the schleppin’.”
I just met a cool man named Cole
who played his guitar with great soul.
He asked, “Do you play?”
I asked, “In what way?”
for I had a non-music goal.
“North Korea may have a few nukes,”
Said Donald, “But why the rebukes?
Though mad as a hatter,
Kim knows how to flatter;
They’re really fine people, for gooks.”
“While Yemen they’re turning to ash,”
Said Donald, “the Saudis pay cash.
We loosen the wings
On our fighters and things,
For they buy even more when they crash.”
The Devil said “Sell me your soul
And I’ll give you the world.” “Hey, let’s roll!”
Donald said. But he knew
That when payment fell due,
There’d be only a large, empty hole.
Defending the 2nd
“They’re after our guns! We’ll refute ’em
With logic; our words will confute ’em.
But if that should fail,
We are bound to prevail
When we round up the bastards and shoot ‘em.”
Said the flounder one day to the sole,
“That worm’s on a hook. See the pole?
Let’s swim down and lie flat
On the bottom and chat
Till the guy motors off, the asshole.’
When Satan was asked, “Take a poll
About classic and new rock and roll?”
After pausing a while,
With a devilish smile,
Said, “The music I like is called Soul.”
It’s euphoric to lose all control
So turn up the sound and “unroll”
Close your eyes and just chill
You are in for a thrill
Let the music take over your soul
The world is just no longer fun
There are people out there with a gun
You will not see us smile
We get seats in the aisle
To get the hell out and then run
Marvin Gaye, Barry White, Nat King Cole
Were singers we sure did extol
They would always enthrall
And proved once and for all
You don’t need to shout to have soul
A bank robber out on parole
Went to church to save his soul
But he tempted fate
And stole the collection plate
And that was the end of that goal
This country is safe ev’ry day
Cause of Trump, Boy, he sure is okay!
He is such a good “Pres”
Listen close when he says:
“Just buy guns! The American Way!”
Here’s one for both prompts:
The nuke on Bikini Atoll
Robbed a part of our national soul.
“Their weapons of war
Until now were a bore!”
Satan clucked, looking up from the hole.
Said Donald, “Hey you in that hole,
Go dig some more beautiful coal!
Climb down a few rungs
And then fill up your lungs;
On our national shoe, you’re the sole!”
Inflicting Bodily Harm
The bungee cord kept on a ‘flyin
As a weapon, it ain’t worth a ‘tryin
To take your own life
Simply use an old knife
With a bungee, you keep almost ‘dyin
Hordes of kids, fans of K-pop from Seoul,
Took embarrassing Trump as their goal.
They scored one million tix
With a few simple clicks
And the shitshow in Tulsa they stole.
At the Take Out I order this dish:
boiled chicken butt mixed with canned fish.
Surf ‘n’ Turf? Oh how droll!
Well, I can’t afford sole,
so I’m treating my taste buds to “chish.”
I cannot abode ANY gun,
They’re not my idea of some fun,
I know for some lootist
His motto as shootist
Is “grab all the goodies and RUN!
Three fiddlers who knew Old King Cole,
Scoffed, “This guy? A merry old soul?
You should see what an ass
he can be without grass,
so we fill up his pipe and his bowl.”
First pick a career you revere,
Then with your studies persevere.
Being true to your soul
Keep your eye on the goal
Or else, from your track, you will veer.
Important point number one
You can’t shoot if you can’t have a gun.
Points two to ten,
(For the NRA’s ken*),
Refer to point number one.
*ken: To know or understand (English/Scottish)
The fish swam around in a shoal.
God was angry, and told them: “Your role
Should be worshipping Me!”
They said: “As you can see,
We’re sardines, and we don’t have a sole.”
I wish my workplace had a soul,
but that’s never been how they roll,
and the size of its heart
weighs no more than a fart
in contrast to their boot and spiked sole.
Tim J. – Doggonit you got here first, but here’s another take:
When followers sat all alone,
Trump’s glorious rally was blown.
Attendance they’d lack
From the kids fighting back;
Their weapons? Tik-Tok and a phone.
Some researchers have a new goal:
Determine if Trump has a soul.
One summed it up best:
“It’s an arduous quest;
We’re combing a bottomless hole.”
There’s a reason I’ve no wish to trifle
with the likes of a pistol or rifle:
my aim’s more impressive
when passive-aggressive.
(More conspicuous urges, I stifle).
He made a raw deal for his soul
All he got was an empty bowl
He got very upset
Hopped on a moving jet
His death, was one weird story told
As winning is his only goal
To the devil he’s sold his soul.
He’ll say whatever it takes
And whatever are fakes
To win in the next poll.
Said Lizzy, “I’m grabbing an axe,
And my mother I’ll give 40 whacks.
Though that may seem uncouth,
I’ve discovered the truth:
She writes checks to Republican PACs.”
It is said a stick or a stone
Can sometimes break a bone
But if you’ve only heard
A pun with a word
It will only result in a groan
Said Oog, “Me go hunt now with spear.”
But his wife said, “You full of lies, dear.
What you call ‘business trip’
Is excuse; I am hip
To what means your Neanderthal leer.”
Learning cuss words, when young, was my goal;
soon no sentence without them seemed whole.
So my mother (“The Pope”)
washed my mouth out with soap.
Now I squeak but a meek, “bless my soul.”
Making devil’s food cake was her goal;
On her fate, though, it took quite a toll.
For this offer she took
From the demon’s cookbook:
“For my recipe, sell me your soul.”
Bank Robbery
There’s a gun at your head; stop that bawling
Here’s my note; I want cash; quit that stalling
“Thief, I read what you wrote
You’ve no reason to gloat
Now please leave Sir, your grammar’s appalling”
Said the mink, “To hellfire your soul
Will be damned if you make me a stole.
Right now you riffraff
At my warning may laugh,
But down there you won’t think it’s so droll.”
Said Jill, “Hey Jack, let’s climb that knoll;
On top’ll be nary a soul.
‘We need water,’ I’ll say
So my mom says OK,
But to not be a virgin’s my goal.”
Elvis Presley, Sam Cooke, Nat King Cole
Are the singers I truly extol
I invited them all
To my “Rock ‘n Roll Ball”
And guess who showed up? Not a soul
Shoot a gun, and your subject will fall
Stab a knife, and your victim will sprawl
Yet some words you might say
In a real vicious way
Are the most harmful weapons of all
My wife is sure on the attack
A few times she gave me a smack
So I asked her, (real sweet)
“Later on when we eat
Will you please pull that knife from my back?”
I’ve got bunions and corns, and the sole
Of my foot feels like walking on coal
Set ablaze on a grate.
To ameliorate
Such sharp pain, there’s one fix: Dr. Scholl!
What with all of the guns on the street,
It is best just to beat a retreat
When you’re into a pickle.
If mugged, don’t act fickle–
Just curse, kick, and run – use your feet!
All my shoes on the whole
Have leather upper and leather sole,
On slippery steel
With a slippery heel
I’m lucky that I didn’t bowl.
An unusual murder weapon
Ev’ry one of the cops on the beat
Were certainly not real discreet
Saw the victim and shook
Knew his wife was “no cook”
(Told the press, “It was murder by meat”)
Mad: above limerick
Could you please change L2
Instead of Were certainly not real discreet to
Were known for not being discreet
Thank You, Lisi
On my keyboard I thump “Heart and Soul,”
and bang “Chopsticks” (when I’m on a roll).
It’s a scant repertoire,
which I must say, so far,
helps to minimize damage control.
Asked the sage of his student: “Young soul,
How is Donald J. Trump like a mole?”
Well, the boy was wise too
And his answer was true:
“Both their heads are lodged deep in a hole.”
A baby is housed in a womb
A vault for the dead is a tomb
So therefore, a bomb
(Which can’t keep you calm)
Should rhyme with a word like “Ka Boom”
A Deceptive Weapon
Careful choking in sex is all right
It’s a “turn on” and sparks sure ignite
But the gal didn’t know
‘Bout my new girlfriend Jo
So I choked her a little too tight
Though I may be a literal fool,
I think figures of speech can be cruel.
Think of all those who croaked
as they parried and poked
with their pens — not their swords — at a duel!
“Elvis”
Used to come home from school and my sole
Desire was losing control
I would put on “The King”
Just do my “own thing”
And dance to that ole rock ‘an roll
A man with instinctual soul
Created this craze: “Rock ‘n Roll”
His name was Chuck Berry
Who made you so merry
Your dancin’ feet lost all control
No way would the gourmet extol
Any part of his meal or the whole;
Instead blurted: “Ish,
What a terrible dish,
Chicken chowder with filet of sole?”
If you’re angry and ready to stifle
Your opponent, but don’t have a rifle,
Don’t feel downcast,
It’s easy and fast,
If a bullet can’t do it, a knife’ll.
“When we sell to you Saudis a tank,”
Said Donald, “It’s cash in the bank.”
“The homes of the rebels
Will soon be just pebbles!”
They toasted, and more champagne drank.
“My campaign needs more heavy artillery,”
One night in October said Hillary.
“For now it seems Comey
Is Donald Trump’s homie”
He won, and she drank a distillery.
Just an ordinary collector
The government asked “That in time
Will you sell use your guns; they’re sublime!”
After real careful thought
I felt quite distraught
‘Bout selling to organized crime
With the effects of a quake or eruption
The pandemic is a massive disruption.
Though by many deplored,
Global warming’s ignored,
Trump’s a weapon of mass destruction.
America will never be great
Till we learn to love and not hate.
Until we are whole
And have regained our soul
We’ll forever be in this state.
“Though your homophones, Oscar, are droll,”
mused Richard, “this piece on the whole….
Well, I like ti with bread,
but a note ‘pulling thread’?
Any chance you might brighten up sol?”
I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where….
– Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
“When that arrow I shot in the air
Fell to earth (be assured I know where)
I should not have bent down!”
He exclaimed with a frown.
“I can’t sit now; I’m hurting down there.”
June 27, at 8 PM
Sorry, Mad : obvious mistake: L2 will you sell us your guns; they’re sublime
not: will you sell use your guns.
I just noticed it.
Thank You Lisi
An unusual, yet effective weapon
Here he lies, and we hope that he rests
In peace, (he tried one of his quests)
Found a girl, but was rude
And exceedingly lewd
So she smothered him with her big breasts
Assuming the posture of lotus,
Buddha lifted his voice to give notice:
“You may chant on this knoll
if it pleases your soul —
but you’re gone if your mantra is ‘potus.'”
A forensics professional, Ray,
Went to court with his findings one day.
When he talked ’bout the gun,
All his facts came undone.
And he just went ballistic, they say.
In court, he was under the gun;
Got shell-shocked, and came all undone.
He thought he was charming
And rather disarming.
He’s a pistol, that son of a gun.
If I can’t: “I will!”
That is my magic pill.
My aim is sole:
To score that goal.
That’s why I’m winning still.
Can anything ever console
Donald Trump for the rally they stole?
“A million, they said!
Got six thousand instead!
Believe me, some heads gonna roll!”
A better version, to make more sense: “An effective, sexy weapon”
Here he lies, and we hope that he rests
In peace, (he tried one of his quests)
Found a girl; he was rude
And exceedingly lewd
So she smothered him ‘tween her large breasts
Trump falls short.
“The Tulsans will top all my goals,
I expect to have one million souls.”
What made Don’s balloon pop
And his momentum to stop?
He got punked by some junior high trolls.
Not a thing can exceed a black hole,
It’s darker than the darkest of coal.
Now scientists agree,
There’s a new nominee:
The center of Donald Trump’s soul.
“Though the virus has reached a new peak,
Nix the masks, they make me look weak.”
Don, damage control
Can’t rescue your soul,
You look weak every time that you speak.
The music we love, as a whole
Plays a very significant role
For your mind; gives it rest
And the way it’s expressed
Forms a channel for soothing the soul
another way of putting it:
The music we love, as a whole
Plays a very significant role
In calming the heart
And playing its part
Of soothing the sensitive soul
At the restaurant I ordered with glee
fresh sole daily pulled from the sea.
But I lost all control
when I choked on the sole.
So they threw in the laces for free.
A gallon of mead in a bowl
Was balm to the old Viking’s soul;
He downed a huge slurp,
Emitted a burp,
And toasted the gods with a “Skoal!”
Yearly Checkup
Mr. Trump, I’m not one to be droll
I am truthful; I never cajole
The report shows you’re fine
All your parts are benign
Yet it seems you’ve no heart and no soul
So, which way will the president jump?
Armageddon’s a pretty big hump.
Has he plundered his soul,
In achieving his goal?
Could he be, then, the very last trump?
Dad dismissed, as, ‘No fun!’ self-control,
And repeatedly loaded his bowl;
But it wasn’t the fries
That brought on his demise,
But a hook that was left in the sole.
In denial, Dad spurned self-control,
And repeatedly loaded his bowl;
But it wasn’t the fries
That secured his demise,
But a hook that was left in the sole.
Wasn’t happy with the first and fourth lines.
Sorry about this, but I couldn’t think of mortgaged first time round.
So, which way will the president jump?
Armageddon’s a pretty big bump. (in the road)
Has he mortgaged his soul,
In achieving his goal,
Might this be, then, the very last trump?
“The Genius”
I planned a real vicious attack
So that fraud would get one painful whack
After ten solid years
I broke down in tears
Cuz my boomerang never came back
Mind, body, heart and soul,
Four aspects that make us whole.
Trump is bereft,
His heart and soul left
With conceit now filling the hole.
There once was a young cow named Betty
who borrowed the farmer’s machete.
She spilled human blood
while chewing her cud
and added it to her spaghetti.
Many years from now, Trump bares his soul:
“I regret that I lost all control.
I renounce my bad acts!”
But it’s time to face facts:
There’s no WAY that he’s making parole.
The current Limerick-Off ends tomorrow, Saturday, at 4 pm (Eastern time.) So please get your limerick stragglers in.
Since “God’s Chosen One” is his role,
Well, of course Donald Trump has “a soul”.
But there’s one little twist:
Theologians insist
That it should be pronounced as “asshole”.
LOVE Brian’s holy pun!!! (Amen to the sentiment as well)
There was a young woman named Jade
who wielded her tongue like a blade.
She’d slice you to bits
and not give two shits
while your psyche just dangles there, frayed.
Here’s a bit of discouraging news.
Despite all of the measures we use
Against COVID-19
This is what we have seen:
Facing weapons-grade stupid … we lose.
Sighed Poirot, “The solution is plain.”
(Had his listener detected disdain?)
“That murdering fool
used a gardening tool!
Yes, he lacks — like his victim — a brain.”