Happy Easter Monday! I hope you’ve had a lovely Easter so far. Here’s a new limerick challenge for you. Your word this week is:
KNAVE
Last week’s prompt was LEAVE. You came up with some fabulous limericks:
I don’t know what to do
She said we’d leave at two
It’s now three
And here we be
Let’s go now, I’m through!
Murray Clarke:
I once met a wizened old man named Steve,
Who, to be honest, had every reason to leave,
His fifth wife had warts on the end of her nose,
Definitely no fault of her own, I suppose,
But she loved reading books by Ann Cleeves.
Leave uni, advised my old Dad.
Each day since, I’ve wished that I had.
Accepting he knew
Very well what I’d do,
Embarrasses this undergrad!
There once was a man named Steve
Who’s wife really wanted to leave
She packed all her things
Including her rings
And exclaimed, “Now I’ll take my reprieve!
Tony:
Leave…
is to lay his sentence on the edge of a silence,
let the fire die without throwing water,
it is to leave without noise, the heart full of din,
with words that we did not know how to say too soon.
Leave…
it is not fleeing,
it is sometimes to love each other to the point of absence,
it is choosing not to break what remains standing
Slowly fading away, so that the other moves forward.
Leave…
it is often to stay
in the folds of a memory, in a breath of wind,
it is to engrave its tenderness on the bark of time
and watch, from a distance, without saying that we are waiting.
En Français maintenant,
Quitter…
c’est poser sa peine sur le bord d’un silence,
laisser le feu mourir sans jeter d’eau,
c’est partir sans bruit, le cœur plein de vacarme,
avec des mots qu’on n’a pas su dire trop tôt.
Quitter…
ce n’est pas fuir,
c’est parfois s’aimer jusqu’au bord de l’absence,
c’est choisir de ne pas briser ce qui reste debout
en s’effaçant doucement, pour que l’autre avance.
Quitter…
c’est souvent rester,
dans les plis d’un souvenir, dans un souffle de vent,
c’est graver sa tendresse sur l’écorce du temps
et veiller, de loin, sans dire qu’on attend.
Nicola Daly:
‘I have one more trick up my sleeve,’
Said that naughty Newfoundland called Niamh.
‘I’ll tickle your knee
Til you fall off the quay
And while you flounder, I’ll quietly leave!’
If you leave me alone with my thoughts
With my ‘What if’s?’ and ‘Should have’s’ and ‘Oughts’
I’ll end up in a spin
Create havoc within
Till I’m tied up in tight tangled knots.
There once was a man named Steve.
Who never in ghosts did believe.
He was caught in a house,
With a petrified mouse.
And a ghoul screaming that he leave.
She told me to leave, so I left.
Took nothing, not even the theft.
All rage in her grip,
With a smirk on her lip—
Even love needs a moment to rest.
Leave me alone she said
The phone clicked and went dead
Now I can read a book
Or find time to go and cook?
But then the phone fell on her head!
–
“Rachel, leave my boat alone
and don’t you take that rude tone!
I’m going out onto the river
but the cold makes me shiver.”
The boat flipped, she sank like a stone!
“If I leave, would you grieve?” We said, “No.”
So he left and he left long ago.
There’s a tale to tell,
but I can’t tell it well,
since his tale I no longer know.
There once was a mailman named Steve
Whose mailbag was of his own weave
Too many letters he’d stuff
The torn bag had enough
Trailing letters whenever he’d leave.
There once was a man barely conceivable
Whose actions made many feeling grieveable
With each wild and crazy reprieve
We hoped he’d get up and leave
Or from the Oval Office be heavable.
A witch had a book of spells
She’d pinched from an army of elves,
She learned them by heart
In case the book fell apart
As she chanted with whistles and bells.
–
You honestly wouldn’t believe
The trick she had up her sleeve:
My itchy red rash
Was gone in a flash
With the simple request of ‘LEAVE!’
Olaf Sturlasson’s Poetry Corner:
Should I write a limerick today?
Whatever I do
I’ll give it to you
So you can read it one day.
A young man decided to leave,
With a trick or two up his sleeve.
He vanished one night,
Gave his folks quite a fright,
And left not a soul to believe.
–
He traveled the world with a grin,
In mischief and mayhem he’d win.
But karma’s a thief,
It brought him some grief—
Now he can’t even leave the inn.
Rall:
there once was a convicted felon called donald
how he became president the mind boggles
god save us please leave
the nation still heaves
sod off with your bitch putin and doddle.
There once was a book quite sunny
Lots of sentences could be quite punny
Examples were made
Where commas were laid
But ‘Eats, Shoots & Leaves’ is funny.
Whilst training my Boxer dog Steve,
I taught him the word ‘to retrieve’.
He dragged my Dad backwards,
Despite his loud protests,
I had forgotten to teach the word ‘leave.’
So should I go or should I stay?
To leave is just running away
There may be tears
But I’ll face my fears
Who knows, it might be all OK.
Holding the door open for you
Here’s your hat and coat, hurry, SHOO
There is no one here who will grieve
Knowing that you’ve been asked to leave
You’re most stinky, you smell like poo.
There once was a fellow named Steve,
Who decided one day he would leave.
He packed up his gear
With hardly a tear,
And vanished one fine summer eve.
leave or stay
i can take it either ways
whatever it is
btw!
***
Esther Chilton 
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