Happy Monday. Here’s a new limerick challenge for you. Your word is:
TOUCH
Last week’s prompt was CELLS. You came up with some entertaining limericks:
Nicola Daly:
There’s this mad professor who makes smells
Found himself locked up in the police cells
‘please leave the window ajar!’
He yelled through the bars
‘The stink in here is all kinds of hells!’
Are there cells where the mind thinks and dwells
filled with words that no sane person yells?
Is that rack for my hat
by that witch with a cat
which is black laced with polka dot spells?
Once, long ago, the old Bishop of Bath and of Wells,
Sought refuge in some sanctuary cells,
he needed a break,
a moment to take,
to take stock of his impending hells.
Best Place For ‘em! (No offence intended.)
The estate agent’s work was a tedious chore,
So she decided she wanted to do it no more.
Now her new job’s in jail
Where she makes plenty of sales …
She sells new cells on the ‘C’ floor.
Shaggy Green
Shaggy Green’s an old troll who does dwell
in a cell where the leftovers smell.
If he’d just wash his ass,
he could find him a lass;
a fresh one who won’t rot and gel.
I wish I could still grow some brain cells
So I could think up some great story tells
But imagination is fleeting and
My memory is retreating
So I guess I’ve no tales left to sell.
His wife opens the door and yells
Stop those campanology bells,
It’s driving me mad
This lunacy fad
Why not take up a phone with some cells?
A bee constructs a home of cells
His instincts are strong and nature compells
The Queen gives the orders
To the worker boarders
To gather pollen until honey jells.
Olaf Sturlasson’s Poetry Corner:
A warden patrolling the cells
That housed all the towns ne’er do wells
Fell into a trap
Placed right in his lap
Himself ending up in the cells.
There once was a man from the Dells.
Who at poker could not hide his tells.
He lost so much money,
And found it not funny,
That his tells were part of his cells.
She only dated swells
And farmers in the dells
When they made her crazy
For just being lazy
She rearranged their cells.
Kate in Cornwall:
Awoken at six by the bells,
the inmates were let out of their cells.
”Time to slop out
You miserable louts
Serves you right if you can’t stand the smells!”
Le Detective
There once was a sleuth, Poirot his name,
Came from Belgium and hogged all the fame,
He’d tap his smooth head,
“Use your grey cells,” he said.
Poor Lestrade just hung his head in shame.
He found DNA in his blood cells
To allow him to make good spells
He started to chuckle
As he turned an old buckle
Into Gold art from the book of Kells.
In a row sat the cold prison cells
Full of echoes and clangs and faint yells
Donald Trump was in one
He wasn’t having much fun
And for his misdeeds that’s where he dwells.
There once was a man named Timothy
The best escape artist you could see
From chains with bells
To prison cells
He’d always set himself free.
Our Own Prisons
We rise with alarms – not bells,
In cubicles, tight prison cells.
We chase fleeting goals,
With half-buried souls,
And wonder if this might be hell.
Sanny M:
The scientist was working on a new pill
One to stop us feeling so ill
He’d divide the cells up
In a large paper cup
Till with coffee he happened to fill!
A biologist tripped in the dells,
While juggling petri dish cells.
They flew through the air,
Landed in her hair—
Now her shampoo’s giving her gels!
In cells sat a man named VanCleef
Who was known as an infamous thief.
He tried to escape
With a file in a cake
But was caught, to his great disbelief!
She sells seashells on the seashore
It’s illegal said the beadle
To sell seashells on the shore
They’re dangerous and bacterial
And from my cells you’ll sell no more
No more seashells on the shore.
The bees go to bed in their cells,
And huddle until it gets warm.
They sleep and they eat,
‘Till in spring they all meet
And buzz around my Canterbury Bells.
***
Esther Chilton 
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