Need some inspiration to get your creative juices flowing? Then why not give my latest writing challenge a go?
Option one: Write a limerick with the word BERK in it somewhere
Option two: Write a poem on the theme of SECRETS
Option three: Write a twenty-word story using all of the following words: DESTROYED, ALIBI, PROTOTYPE, NAUGHTY, BOB and BALLET
Last week option one was to write a limerick with the word TROUBLE featuring in it somewhere. You certainly didn’t have any trouble coming up with some brilliant limericks:
Jason Moody was the first one to get his fabulous limericks in this week:
The nerds in the room were in trouble
As they had lost contact with Hubble
They had sweaty palms
And this raised alarms
As they were called to the boss on the double.
Little George craved a chocolatey Mars
But they were all stored away in posh jars
He grabbed it, it slipped
He’s in trouble, it’s chipped!
But thank God it wasn’t the Ming vase.
The trouble with being a teen
Is that they’re predisposed to be mean
Sarcasm’s the law
Their manners are poor
And their bedrooms are rarely that clean.
Trouble is a song by Coldplay
And Chris Martin’s voice is Ok
I prefer the song Yellow
Because it’s quite mellow
But I prefer Shakespeare’s Sisters’ song, Stay.
Trouble is a good friend of mine
He has been since I was nine
But as I grow old
I do as I’m told
And for me, I guess that’s just fine.
“What do you mean I’m in trouble?”
“The woman said single, not double”
So I poured her another
And imagined her smothered
Under a ton of fresh rubble.
Bindu was next in with a clever limerick:
When I burst the forbidden bubble
I found myself in deep, deep trouble
Coz I had firmly been asked to refrain
From making unnecessary false and tall claims
For was I anything more than a mere “muggle”?
Keith Channing shows why he is the master:
Published today asHubble, bubble, soil and trouble?
When NASA first sent up the Hubble
The blasted thing kept seeing double
To arrange a rebuttal
Brave men in a shuttle
Went up there and sorted the trouble.
While her mother was wrist-deep in soap,
A child with a voice full of hope
Asked, “If it’s no trouble
Can you blow me bubble?”
Her mother said, “Go ask the Pope!”
The child thought her mum was referring
To the Papacy, known as unerring.
That the Bishop of Rome
Should trouble their home,
Is an outcome she was not inferring.
A Pope came – ‘twas Dave from the quarry
Turned up in a herfing great lorry
Not bringing her trouble,
Just a truckload of rubble
“Ten quid,” he said, “or you’ll be sorry.”
The mum said, “In here on the double
But first you must shave off your stubble.
I don’t like your tenor
But you do look like Ben Hur [groan]
So I’ll thank you quite well for your trouble.”
…and the child never did get her bubble.
And if you were wondering where Graeme Sandford‘s gems are this week, you need look no further:
The Trouble With Limericks
The trouble with Limerick-writing
Is at first they seem so inviting
But after a while
They don’t
And they really get up your nose.
Which is not to say I won’t write them
No, I shall still take the time to invite them
Ask them to tea
Or for a party
Or whatever they need to excite them.
All this may not appeal to a man from Wisconsin
Because Limericks are seldom about him
It’s not that he’s boring
He’s a (door-to-door) salesman of flooring
And it’s not our position to doubt him.
In fact, he’s a really nice fellow named Chuck
Which is ‘Charles’ in the mother place yUK
And if he has a fault
It’s his liking for malt
And his lack of a thing we call luck.
For example, last week on Friday the 13th
He was mowing his lawn when he pulled a muscle in his back
And,
As you can tell,
He doesn’t really fit the Limerick format that well.
Whereas, a pretty young lady from Kettering
Was in need of some knowledge for her bettering
She read in a book
About 50 shades to cook
And from her cooker she now needs unfettering.
This all goes to show that a Limerick
Is essential and not at all like a gimmerick
And a place it is too
And it also has a zoo
And a shop where you can buy saffron and turmeric.
A one-eyed potato named Spudsey
Had a mate (who also had one eye) by the known name of Pudsey
But, he was no bare
For he had much hair
And at bath time he became Pudsey Sudsey!
The trouble with Spudsey was his eye
It was causing him pains, by and by
He went to the docs
In his jacket and socks
But, the doctor wasn’t an amicable guy.
Spudsey’s hopes were dashed
So he went and got mashed
In a pub
Rub a dub
And then went over to Pudsey’s – where he crashed.
The tale of this potato’s sad life
With all of his troubles and strife
Did come to an end
When he realised his friend
Pudsey was firstly a girl, then his wife.
Jane Willis enjoyed writing this super limerick:
David Harrison sent in two entertaining limericks:
Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble
Decided to get into trouble
But Wilma and Betty
And their old friend Hetty
Soon deflated the miscreants’ bubble!
–
I shouldn’t have looked at the stars
After downing a couple of jars
As I peered through the Hubble
I was in double trouble
When I mistook a stripper for Mars.
–
Option two: Write a poem on the theme of FEAR. There were some varied and brilliant poems:
Bindu sent in a poem on how to deal with fear:
Let not fear stroll anywhere near.
Should it find its way around,
You no longer remain sane or sound.
So trounce it beneath your feet
Before fear picks up & gathers heat.
The moment fear you do meet
Or face to face, fear you greet.
To thrash that gnawing emotion
Just call out loud and clear,
“Scoot you devil, why are you even here?”
And one which is more chilling:
Dark clouds gather and try to overpower
As fear turns monstrously big.
Rears its frightening face
My heart-beats pick up pace
Till they reach a crescendo
And my twirling thoughts an inferno
My within, emerges out
In fear I do shout.
But not a sound is heard;
Am terribly scared
My voice rooted in my chords.
EDC Writing wrote a haunting poetic prose piece:
I’ve asked myself so many times if you are real, if you only exist because I want you to, that you only live and breathe on here, and in my imagination. I’ve replayed in my mind all we’ve ever said, tried to find the meaning, the truth of our feelings in the endless sea of words. Since a child I’ve had one fear, of drowning, I think I understand it now, of not hanging on, no matter what, to what means most to me, to you. Without you I feel I’m slipping away, out of my depth, unable to breath, beyond the reach of anyone, but you. You are my lifeline, my kiss of life, the reason my heart beats. You are real, a part of me, it’s the way it is.
Rajiv Chopra sent in a strong poem:
Fear not fear, but fear thyself; You must not run, nor hide. Your lies will catch you in the end, And hurl you into your private Hell.
To look inside, we always fear; We hate to lose our myths so dear. Who shall meet us at The Gate? It’s not St Peter who seals our fate.
When the Doors of Death open wide, You’ll find there is no place to hide. No God, no Devil are in their place, All you see is your true face.
You fear Yama by the riverside; You fear his smiling face. He sees your soul, his eyes see all; They pierce you like a fiery ball.
Fear not fear, but fear thyself, You have tried to run and hide. Yama shows you your True Face, You seek redemption, and Death’s embrace.
Graeme Sandford‘s poem takes on a more serious note than his limericks:
I fear to tread
Where angels bled
Where demons roamed
Where Satan rehomed.
I fear to speak
And hear my words
As others hear;
Do they hear the fear?
I fear to look
To see the book
With my name upon
When I have gone.
I fear to ask
And avoid the task
And shrink like violets in a godlike sun
For it is indeed a fearsome one.
I fear to hear
The words you hear
And when your words are near
I disappear.
–
Option three: Write a twenty-word story using all of the following words: BARBARIC, ECONOMY, NUN, TRIVIA, QUANDARY and LOVE
Once Jason Moody got started on these stories, he couldn’t stop!:
Ailsa, the barbaric nun, was sat in economy. Her love of trivia put her in a quandary about flying Virgin.
–
“I’m in a quandary,” said the nun.
“I know. Your love of barbaric trivia has ruined the economy,” replied God.
–
“£1:50 for economy love hearts? That’s barbaric,” said the nun.
“That’s the quandary,” smiled the shopkeeper, no hint of remorse.
–
“Nun?”
“Nope.”
“Barbaric?”
“Nope.”
“Love?”
“Nah.”
“Economy?”
“Way off.”
“I’m in a quandary. What is the password?”
“I’m not telling.”
–
“Economy?”
Sue was not pleased. She loved business. Mingling with the barbaric hoards? Ugh.
What a quandary for a nun.
–
Lunchtime gossip was rife.
“Barbaric? A nun?”
“She was in economy apparently.”
“She’s in a right quandary now, poor love.”
–
NEWS HEADLINE.
“Barbaric actions of the government leave economy in a quandary.”
“Interesting headline, I love it,” said the nun.
–
“These economy tissues are barbaric on ones bottom,” said the nun to the clerk.
“Try these.”
What a quandary.
–
“Spell economy,” said the host.
The nun froze. What a quandary. Mind blank. What a barbaric embarrassment.
The poor love.
–
Bindu sent in a fun story:
Economy love is trivia to a caring nun who views a picture of barbaric Hun and goes into a quandary!
–
Rajiv Chopra sent in a quirky story:
The nun was in love with trivia contests. But the barbaric economy put her in a quandary – to lose, or not?
–
EDC Writing couldn’t resist the lure of the 20-word story:
Blue nun, a quandary, no economy of words, makes love sounds, creates barbaric images, trivia doesn’t hack it for her!
Here’s David Harrison’s hilarious story:
I would love a barbaric nun full of fiscal trivia running the economy. George Osborne in a quandary? You bet!
***
Esther Chilton 
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