My Weekly Writing Challenge

Is inspiration failing you this week? Then why not give my latest writing challenge a go?

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

Option two: Write a poem on the theme of FEAR

Option three: Write a twenty-word story using all of the following words: BARBARIC, ECONOMY, NUN, TRIVIA, QUANDARY and LOVE

Last week option one was to write a limerick with the word PARTY featuring in it somewhere. Here are the results –

I could read a whole book of Keith Channing‘s limericks and still want more: 

First we must invite Russell Harty
And never forget Moriarty.
Once we have that pair
We’re near halfway there
To the world’s most exceptional party.

When moving into a new city
You must choose a house that is pretty.
A party’s a must
To gain neighbours’ trust
If not, your new life will be… erm… gritty?

When faced with a boss who’s imperious,
Whose attitude is deleterious,
You must remain hearty,
Accept life’s a party
And not something that should be serious.

The parties have made their selection
After round upon round of rejection.
The doves and the hawks
Both accept money talks,
But they’ll still never win the election.

A shrewd speculator invested
In a seat that was safe – uncontested.
The party believed
That it was well conceived,
But it hadn’t been properly tested.

And my weekly challenges aren’t quite the same if Graeme Sandford doesn’t treat us with his own unique limericks:

Party Limerick #1

If I write you a Limerick about a party
And it’s good I will feel such a smarty
But, if it’s not
And the party is grot
Then I may just have to go back to the starty.

Party Limerick #2

A party once held in East Finchley
Was never mentioned in Limericks
I wonder why
Maybe it’s because
East Finchley is not that easy to rhyme.

Party Limerick #3

The cake and the jelly were flowing
The music showed no sign of slowing
But, then, the worst
The big bubble burst
And the politicians denied what they were knowing.

Party Limerick #4a and #4b

Parties come and parties go
Some in the sun some in the snow
By the pool
Act the fool
Jelly and ice cream, cake and co.

That’s not really a Limerick about a party
I was just being clever, trying to be a smarty
But, you know it’s my way
It how I am on my birthday
Oh, no, that is next week, silly tart, me!

Party Limerick #5a and #5b and #5c (parts 1&2) and #5d

I’m on the party line listening to your conversation
The year is nineteen seventy one in this nation
I was calling my girl
Now my head’s in a whirl
As I struggle to comprehend your elation.

You had a cake and some jelly
Watched the black and white telly
Played games
Kissed James
But, not Nigel, because he is smelly.

I’m Nigel and at your party I had some cake
Sang ‘Happy Bugday’ and stepped on a rake
Fell into your pond
And of you, I was fond
But, I think that I made a mistake
By spraying myself with Mum’s perfume
From a bottle I found in her room
Channel no.5 it did say
So I did gleefully spray
The whole of myself – thus my doom.

Is to be thought of as a smell and to annoy
Whose reeking was not greeted with joy
That’s why outside
I was seeking to hide
Until I floated in your pond like a buoy.

Party Limerick #6

There once was a man at this party
Who looked just like the late Russell Harty
I said ‘Are you him’
He said ‘Are you dim?
He’s been dead for some years – but, hey, in his honour let us party!’

It’s my great pleasure to welcome Al Lane for the first time, with an entertaining limerick:

A peculiar man cried “Pinch me!
For it’s Christmas and I’m feeling all Grinchy
I haven’t cracked a smile
In a good long while
But apparently that’s normal for Finchley.”

David Harrison has been away but is back with two laugh out loud limericks:

A lobster in mood hail and hearty
Pulled a mussel at a drinks party
But she said “I am
Engaged to a clam
He’s slimmer than you and more arty.”

At a bash the Labour party
Invited a girl very tarty
Then Jeremy said
“Ask Yvette instead
She’s clever and far less warty.”

Option two was for a poem on the theme of SUMMER. Enjoy this thought-provoking read from Rajiv Chopra:

In the West, they love the summer
In India, it can be a bummer.
They love the sun right after the winter,
But here, it burns us to a small cinder.

This year it is hot – hotter than ever,
Memories of pleasant days have gone forever.
Our world is burning, who is to blame?
God, The Devil, or man – who bears the shame?

We blame El Nino, we blame the sun,
Then we blame Nature for spoiling our fun.
We drain the taps; we think we’re cool.
Then cry when there’s no water to fill the pool.

Our need for goods just grows and grows,
To feed us, the factories, they blow the fumes.
We ask ourselves why – why is summer so hot?
In our web of greed, we are always caught.

“It burns us, it burns us,” cried poor Smeagol
No Elven rope, our deeds burn us all.
But we need our summer, the sun is good,
It feeds us, it nourishes us, and gives us our food.

So, let’s not blame God, nor The Devil himself,
Let’s put blaming fingers back on the shelf.
The animals and plants can hold us to treason
If we continue to spoil, this very special season.

I love this very British poem from Jason Moody:

I’ve waited a while
For you to show
We’ve put up with wind
Rain and some snow

We’ve been rather British
And simply made do
So we ask you again
What time are you due?

My swim trunks are crumpled
Asleep in a drawer
They’re doing nowt
Not what they’re made for

My milk bottle legs
They long for some rays
Sat on soft beaches
For long lazy days

So when are you coming?
This waiting is a bummer
Yesterday you teased
Now, can we please have a summer?

Geoff Le Pard has written one of his stunning poems. Please click on the following link to read it:

Option three asked you to write a twenty-word story using all of the following words: BOB, TIRADE, MYTH, NOSE, METTLE and CRESCENDO. Read the hilarious stories sent in:

Rajiv Chopra impressed me with his speed of entry:

The crescendo of cacophony voices broke Bob’s nose. The myth that he could hold his mettle against noise was shattered.

Jason Moody sent in a funny one:

“Argos. Terrible service, it’s no myth,” groaned Bob, nose slightly out of joint.

His mettle tested, his tirade, a crescendo.

David Harrison finishes the challenge with a wonderful story:

Bob was on his mettle when someone suggested his nose was big.
“It’s a myth!” His tirade reached a crescendo.



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56 Responses to My Weekly Writing Challenge

  1. Jason Moody says:

    Ailsa, the barbaric Nun, was sat in economy. Her love of trivia put her in a quandary about flying Virgin.

  2. Jason Moody says:

    “I’m in a quandary,” said the Nun.

    “I know. Your love of barbaric trivia has ruined the economy,” replied God.

  3. Bindu says:

    Economy love is trivia to a caring nun who views a picture of barbaric Hun and goes into a quandary!

  4. Jason Moody says:

    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.

  5. Bindu says:

    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”?

  6. Jason Moody says:

    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

  7. Jason Moody says:

    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

  8. Jason Moody says:

    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

  9. Jason Moody says:

    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

  10. Jason Moody says:

    “£1:50 for economy love hearts? That’s barbaric,” said the Nun.

    “That’s the quandary,” smiled the shopkeeper, no hint of remorse.

  11. Published today as Hubble, 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

  12. Jason Moody says:

    “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

  13. Jason Moody says:








    “Way off.”

    “I’m in a quandary. What is the password?”

    “Im not telling.”

  14. Jason Moody says:


    Sue was not pleased. She loved business. Mingling with the barbaric hoards? Ugh.
    What a quandary for a Nun.

  15. Jason Moody says:

    Ooh. Loved. Sssh. Don’t tell anyone.

  16. Jason Moody says:

    Lunchtime gossip was rife.

    “Barbaric? A Nun?”

    “She was in economy apparently”

    “She’s in a right quandary now,poor love”

  17. Bindu says:

    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?”

  18. Bindu says:

    Hope it makes some sense.
    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.

  19. EDC Writing says:

    This my take on fear…poetic prose, least my take on it….

    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.

  20. Rajiv says:

    Here you are Esther

    Story: The Nun was in love with trivia contests. But the barbaric economy put her in a quandary – to lose, or not?

    The 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.

  21. EDC Writing says:

    Couldn’t resist having a go at this 20 word thingy….

    Blue nun, a quandary, no economy of words, makes love sounds, creates barbaric images, trivia doesn’t hack it for her!

  22. Le Fragi says:

    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
    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.


  23. Le Fragi says:

    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.


  24. Jason Moody says:


    “Barbaric actions of the government leave economy in a quandary.”

    “Interesting headline, I love it,” said the Nun.

  25. Jason Moody says:

    “These economy tissues are barbaric on ones bottom,” said the Nun to the clerk.

    “Try these.”

    What a quandary.

  26. Jason Moody says:

    “Spell economy,” said the host.

    The Nun froze. What a quandary. Mind blank. What a barbaric embarrassment.

    The poor love.

  27. Le Fragi says:


    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

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