My Weekly Writing Challenge

It’s Friday tomorrow and the start of the weekend. I hope your week has been a good one. Here’s my new weekly challenge for you:

Option one: Write a limerick with the word POTATO in it somewhere

Option two: Write a poem on the theme of DREAMS

Option three: Write a ten-word story using all of the following words: HOBBLEDEHOY, POP, HUGO, TACENDA and SPADE

Last week option one was to write a limerick with the words HULA HOOP featuring in it somewhere. Here are the amazing results:

Kim Russell has written a brilliant limerick:

The girl with the hula hoop hips
When ask for hula hoop tips
Said, ‘If you want to try it,
You must give up the diet,
Keep chunky with plenty of chips.’

Graeme Sandford will make you chuckle with his super limericks:

A hula-hoop from somewhere near Neath
Was fitted with a set of sharp teeth
This now dangerous toy
Was not purposed for joy
And was released into the wild on Blackheath.

There once was a hula-hoop named Clive
Who was taught to count up to five
“One… Two… Three… Four…
And if he added one more…
But, to jump through hoops is no way to survive.

A hula-hoop salesman from Kildare
Sold only hoops that were perfectly square
He sold quite a lot
But, for sport they were not
People used them as frames – which is fair.

For this one, for the beat effect, Graeme advises that the limerick should be read out in English with a French accent:

“La Houp is refusing to sing!”
“La Houp? That’s an unheard of thing!”
“He says he will not
Until he is shot.”
“Who? La Houp?”
“No! The conductor, Kerching!”

Here are four more from him:

A hula-hoop fanatic from Poole
Hula-hooped on a bike – what a fool
He tried looping the loop
No awards did he scoop
But, the speedway fans thought he was cool.

“Arrrrrrr!” (Poole Pirates they be called)

Whilst hula-hooping in space one fine night
The planet Saturn decided it just might
Stand on one leg
Whilst it juggled an egg;
To be honest it was a wonderful sight.

A French hen tried hooping la hoop
One quiet day when stuck in the coop
She hadn’t much space
But, with flair and much grace
She managed to dazzle the troupe.

A writer wrote about hula-hoop
Many times; in a sort of rhyme soup
Until, at the last
His necessity passed
And his hula-hoop started to droop.

David Harrison brings option one to an hilarious end:

It appears Betty’s sister Nula Boop

Had problems controlling her hula hoop

As she lay on the lawn

In a heap all forlorn

A Spaniard cried “gracias, whoop whoop whoop!”

Option two was to write a poem on the theme of BEAUTY. There were some thought-provoking entries:

Jason Moody has written two centred around beauty coming from within:

Am I too fat?
Am I Too thin?
Let’s all buy Company
The answer’s within.

It’s an age-old adage
So let me begin
It’s not what you see
It’s what is within

Hair will grey
Skin will wrinkle
Teeth will loosen
And lips will crinkle

Wolf whistles cease
The eyes look elsewhere
But inside you are gorgeous
Beautiful and fair.

Kim Russell has written a beautiful poem:

When you see beauty
You will know
The tightening of your chest
Will tell you so
It could be a winter sunset
Or the leafiness of a tree
The flight of a bird
Or its tuneful melody
The resonance of a word
A vibrant work of art
The colour of a flower
A sonnet’s rhyming couplet
Or the first stolen hour
With the one you love
You will know beauty.

Geoff Le Pard has penned a piece of wonderful Echo verse:

Beauty is in the eye
I
am always told.
Bold
claims perhaps for
chaps or
lassies whose sight
might
be not
wot
it used to be.
See?

Option three was to write a ten-word story using all of the following words: MARMALADE, SNICKERSNEE, NINCOMPOOP, SKULLDUGGERY and CORDELIA. I love the results:

Jason Moody brings you several delightful stories:

Cordelia, the nincompoop, dipped her snickersnee in marmalade. The skullduggery!

“Skulduggery, you nincompoop!” cried Cordelia,  her snickersnee dripping with marmalade.

“Marmalade skullduggery, Cordelia,” cried Blackbeard, waving his beloved snickersnee. Nincompoop.

Rajiv‘s is fun and will raise a big smile:

“What skullduggery!! Codelia, you nincompoop! You bombed Marmalade and Snickersee!”

David Harrison brings the whole challenge to an end with an amusing story:

With snickersnee and skulduggery, Cordelia stole marmalade from nincompoop Lear.

***

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40 Responses to My Weekly Writing Challenge

  1. teachezwell says:

    Terrific pieces of writing. I was laughing out loud at the limericks!

  2. AJ.Dixon says:

    These are all brilliant ☺ Loved the inclusions of ‘skullduggery’ and ‘snickersnee’!
    Once again Geoff pulled something terrific out of that hat as well.

  3. A bit short of time recently, I’m afraid. Here ar a few quick ones for this week (published at http://channing.info/wp/2016/02/26/you-say-potato/)

    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.

  4. TanGental says:

    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.

  5. kim881 says:

    Here are my limerick and poem, Esther. Have a good weekend!

    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.

    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

  6. Le Fragi says:

    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.”

    G:)

  7. Le Fragi says:

    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.

    G:)

  8. Le Fragi says:

    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.

    G:)

  9. Pingback: Dreams Haibun – WritersDream9

  10. Le Fragi says:

    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

    G:)

  11. Le Fragi says:

    “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, became Pomme de Terre de Terre.

    G:( poor Pomme de Terre

  12. Le Fragi says:

    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.

  13. Rajiv says:

    I wanted to do a bit of doggerel verse, but I ran out of inspiration.

    My 10 worder, is
    “My pop, the hobbledehoy”, said Hugo, ‘gave Tacenda the spade.”
    Not the most entertaining…

  14. Le Fragi says:

    A Stream-of-Consciousness Dream Poem

    I slept the sleep of man
    And in that sleep I dreamt
    I dreamt of many things
    Not all of which were true
    I dreamt of me and you
    But we, as now, were few
    And few, we know, will do.

    There were roads to walk down
    There were high mountains to climb
    Sometimes there were chasms
    And then again oceans we saw
    We crossed them nonetheless
    Because dreams could not stop us
    And so we continued.

    Mighty oceans crossed in time
    And new lands spread before
    We spoke in tongues of wonder
    Though never spoke before
    And friends were made
    And deals were done
    And all would come to nothing.

    Within this dream
    Of reality
    There seemed to be
    A ritual of alikeness
    Of being; but, not belonging;
    Of seeing and knowing
    Unknowable things.

    This is the way of my dreams.

    G:)

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