Is it Thursday already? Where does the time go?! I hope you’ve had a good week. Here’s my new challenge for you:
Option one: Write a limerick with the word SHED in it somewhere
Option two: Write a poem on the theme of FOOD
Option three: Write a ten-word story using all of the following words: FLABBERGASTED, EYEBROW, GOOGLE, SCANDAL and SLIPPERS
Last week option one was to write a limerick with the words POTATO featuring in it somewhere. Here are the witty results:
Keith Channing didn’t have much time to work on these, but they’re all utterly fantastic:
The potato, or spud, as it’s known,
Is a staple that’s much overblown,
It may be quite nice
Though it isn’t like rice
And, like pasta, it’s fine on its own.
The potato, when cut into chips
And deep-fried, will add to your hips.
But with well-battered fish
There’s no better dish
To round off your holiday trips.
It’s not only deep-fried as chips
That potatoes appeal to the lips
If you’ve enough cash,
Try bangers and mash
With some buttered asparagus tips.
Potatoes, if sold by the pound,
Will bring Trading Standards around.
To sell by the metre
Won’t make them taste sweeter,
But it will shut them up, I have found.
Kim Russell has written a belter:
When thinking about food fast or slow,
Give thanks to the versatile potato.
You can roast, mash and fry it,
Even baked it in its jacket,
A spud’s a good way to go.
Graeme Sandford has written some fabulous limericks, though I’m starting to think he’s becoming a little obsessed…read on and you’ll see why…
Potato Limerick #1
“A ‘potato’ is a wonder,” said Edward the king
“In fact it’s absolutely, positively mash-ing!
Boiled or chipped (in case you lose it);
Sauteéd (once flipped – being careful not to bruise it);
Au Gratin, dans le matin, just the thing.”
Potato Limerick #2
“The potatoes are coming!” the little boy cried.
We all ran for cover; but, the little boy lied.
When we surfaced from hiding
With our fears all subsiding;
He laughed at our faces and much wounded pride.
Potato (ish) Limerick (ish) #3
You say potato, and I say chips
As in ‘Potato’ and, as in ‘Chips’
“Potato!”
“Chips!”
You know it might just catch on – barring mishaps.
You say tomato, and I say soup
As in ‘Tomato’ and, as in ‘soup’
“Tomato!”
“Soup!”
You know it might just catch on – perhaps.
David Harrison’s is really funny:
He’d gained so much weight poor old Cato
He looked liked a knobbly potato
When he saw a new diet
Was a mistake to try it
As he ended up fatter than Plato!
Option two was to write about a poem on the theme of DREAMS:
I’m sure you’ll empathise with Geoff Le Pard:
Dreams
Drive me mad.
Hours creating worlds
Exploring depths in my psyche
In minutes I might fly
On a leaf
To the Top
Beyond the Top
of the Toppiest Top
And there are still
Tops beyond
The Top.
I can smell the distance,
Taste the space,
Feel the gap,
Hear the way
Hear…
The bloody alarm:
And they’re gone.
Kim Russell felt inspired to write a vivid poem:
Dreams
Tumble in the night
Elusive memories
And notions
Senses
And emotions
Slipping away
As soon as you wake
Leaving bittersweet aftertaste
On dry morning lips
And shapeless shadows
Behind gritty eyelids
Fading and forgotten
Stories and poems
Dreams
© Kim M. Russell, 2016
Carol Campbell has written a super poem about dreams. Please click on the following link to read it:
https://writersdream9.wordpress.com/2016/02/28/dreams-haibun/
Now Graeme Sandford moves onto the theme of dreams…and potatoes…
Potatoes, it seems often have dreams
Of paper in reams and eating custard creams
What’s more
They snore
In this poem of Greem’s
–
“One potato, two potato, three potato… where’s Pomme de Terre?”
“I don’t know, sir; but, he’s left his jacket on his chair,” said potato three, Pomme du Mare.
Potato one just rolled his eyes – that was Petit Pomme de l’aire.
Whilst Pomodoro, potato two, said: “I miss his earthy ‘how-do-you-do!’ And his dreamy ways, without compare.”
“You are a dreamer, Pomodoro; and I swear, you and he were quite a pair. A right pair, indeed!” the master quothed – he did often swear.
Potato four, sweet Pomme de Terre; without his jacket, with option rare; had left the college for new pastures fair.
But, without his jacket – totally bare – he wound up dancing (he had flair) with all the style of Fred Astaire.
But, his dream came crashing, a real nightmare;
And his love, Pomodoro, he wished was there.
Sadly, he took his life amidst despair,
And, with a spud-gun smoking by his side, did sightless, unseeing, become Pomme de Terre de Terre.
G:( poor Pomme de Terre
–
I have to write a poem
Without mentioning the ‘P’ word
I have used it far too often lately
In my work many times it has occurred
In variations, admittedly, which helped to make words flow
But, now, I have to stop it
I have to let it go
Even Esther seems to think I have a problem with it now
I have to write on something else, if only I knew how.
Sat on my couch like a…
Well, you know;
I need to go and do something else
To interrupt the flow.
Maybe I can hold out till Thursday
When another prompt will be
And I can focus on that
I hope so…
Pity me.
Your final option from last week was to write a ten-word story using all of the following words: HOBBLEDEHOY, POP, HUGO, TACENDA and SPADE. I love these two stories:
Rajiv didn’t think his entry was the best, but I disagree. See what you think:
“My pop, the hobbledehoy,” said Hugo, ‘gave Tacenda the spade.”
David Harrison always writes something witty:
Hobbledehoy Hugo’s pop songs were tacenda. Using a spade? Useless!
***
Esther Chilton 
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