My Weekly Writing Challenge

While I’m having a wonderful time away, in 35 degree heat, I thought I’d just remind you that My Weekly Writing Challenge is a rollover one. I set it last week and you have an extra week to send your entries in. Here is a reminder of your challenges:

Option one: Write a limerick with the word PLONKER (thank you Al Lane!) in it somewhere

Option two: Write a poem on the theme of BOOKS

Option three: Write a twenty-word story using all of the following words: WORDS, DOUGAL, DALLIANCE, ELIXIR, GAMBOL and PLETHORA

Have fun!



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9 Responses to My Weekly Writing Challenge

  1. Jason Moody says:

    You in Bognor again?

  2. Published today as Books, like the aardvark, never killed anyone.

    My love affair with books began
    Ere ever I could read
    The sight of mother, head in tome,
    Was what first sowed the seed.
    The words she read, sat up in bed
    Fulfilled a deeper need.

    She always seemed to be relaxed,
    Content and fully rested
    The house might well have been a mess
    But we never protested
    Because we knew that if we had
    We could end up molested.

    When Dad came home from his day’s work
    And looking for his dinner
    He’d often phone for pizza,
    Always a sure-fire winner.
    He had a special name for Mum,
    Called her a lazy sinner.

    But we kids knew that was a lie
    She really was a saint
    It’s true! It said so on the book
    In letters bold, not faint
    And when our father did complain,
    She said, “Your slave, I aint!”

    Thinking back across the years
    I come to realise
    The evidence I should have seen
    Was right before my eyes
    Twas not the book she carried
    That led to her demise.

    She always held the self-same book
    To read it took her ages
    And when she died we came to know
    How she got worse in stages
    Twas the bottle, not the words,
    That hid in hollow pages.

    I know what you’re thinking, but I never claimed to be a poet, did I?

  3. Bindu says:

    Books mean the world

    A column-full here, a laden shelf there
    A heap on the side-board, a pile on the floor
    They are housed within, multitude surround me,
    Books are what define me, for they resolve my doubts.

    Adding to my knowledge, helping me learn more
    When over many different kinds of books, I decide to pore.
    The fragrance of their print ink, the crispness of the page
    Creates a heady feeling, which no wine or drink can make.

    The yellow-white pages that constitute all books
    Bound by hard or soft covers that give it’s pretty look.
    Are slowly disappearing from the now declining stores
    As youth are caught up elsewhere and seek books no more.

    The pride of a library, a prized possession once,
    They made their presence obvious and were oh so distinct.
    Sadly, paper backs and hard covers may go out of fashion soon
    Maybe they are on the highway to becoming extinct.

    Many series, volumes and brilliant manuscripts
    Are now going digital, oh goodness what a slip!
    What is reading if not with a crispy book in your hand?
    Not for me the internet, it gives not the taste nor sound!
    Book me a Book!

    Limerick with Plonker:
    The good looking dashing plonker,
    Makes all the girls go bonkers.
    When he smiles his enigmatic smile
    His stupidity the box head does disguise.

    Short Story:
    In his dalliance with Daisy, Dougal employed a plethora of enchanting elixir words that made her gambol like a lamb.

  4. Rajiv says:

    Hi Esther, while you enjoy 35, we are being slowly baked in 46! My mongrel verse requires work, but here it is along with the 20 word.

    A plethora of fairies. A bit of elixir, and Dougal wants a wooded gambol, and a dalliance with a pixie!

    Poerm: I wanted to write a sarcastic one about how business people cook accounts books, butdecided to be sentimental instead. Still, it needs work.

    Come gather round friends, a story for thee;
    Tales of the mountains, and of the sea.
    Songs of the deserts, and rivers that flow;
    Odes to the winds that continue to blow.

    There are tales of Gods, women and men;
    Along with those of goblins, demons and flames.
    Stories of bravey, cowardice and vice,
    Love betrayal and hearts of cold ice.

    In days of old, beneath the stars of the night,
    Sitting around the campfire’s warm light,
    The Minstrel would sing, of Nature Divine
    The stories would travel to friend, kith and kin.

    Now found in bound books, these tales of yore,
    Thrill and enchant us, sadly no more.
    These tales and traditions continue to fade,
    Books themselves may soon pass into shade.

    Sounbytes replace the story teller’s craft
    And books shall soon feel Twitter’s cruel shaft.
    But all is not lost if we slow down a tad,
    To lose the stories that bind us, would be very sad.

    Come gather round friends, a story for thee;
    Tales of the mountains, and of the sea.
    Songs of the deserts, and rivers that flow;
    Odes to the winds that continue to blow.

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