After a big break from my challenges, they’ve slowly started to creep in again.This week I challenge you to write a limerick. Here’s a silly one from me:
There was a pop star called Gail,
Who received lots of fan mail,
One day she was sent a snake
Wrapped up in a slice of cake,
Alas, it made her quite pale.
Last week’s challenge was to write a ghost story/poem. Here are a couple you sent in:
Steve Walsky posted his ghost story Freeeeky Night on Simplicity Lane: https://simplicitylane.wordpress.com/2018/02/08/a-freeeeky-night-flash-fiction/
Sue Vincent posted a chilling piece of flash fiction:
https://scvincent.com/2018/02/09/solitary/
Martin Strike says he doesn’t usually write poetry but had a bash at it for the challenge. Well, I’m impressed!
Of this manor house centuries old
My dying story must be told
It’s been the Fortescue family pile
For sixteen generations
A house of riches and great style
Now my ghostly incantations
I was no landed gent, I fear.
Using my poor Dad’s old gear
Lord Fortescue was a tough to please
He slaved me every hour
He brought his servants to their knees
Kept his wife locked in a tower
Her face was rarely seen.
Except by flying birds and I
She’d a thing for me, I reckon
I’d climb and make her windows shine
While she’d lay back nude, and beckon
This went on week after week
And with buckets full of water
I’d climb up high to have my peek
At things I shouldn’t ought’a
One day and I could wait no more
I climbed in to her room
I spilled my bucket on the floor
That was to spell my doom
A desire we’d shared for ever
Her husband burst in through the door,
I dropped my shammy leather
He saw the wet patch by the bed
His wife all in a fluster
He threw a chair aimed at my head
With all strength he could muster
Seconds later I had fled
He really could not be madder
It wasn’t the chair that felled me dead
But the woodworm in the ladder
A year on from my fatal crisis
No tears the Lady sheds
And now my dead body fertilises
His Lordship’s best rose beds
***
Esther Chilton 
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