A couple of weeks ago I announced I wasn’t going to be doing any more weekly writing challenges but that I was going to be setting some mini-writing competitions with prizes. Well, that didn’t go down too well, mentioning no names, Keith Channing, so I promised that I’d still set the odd challenge or two for him. Last week I set him the challenge of writing a limerick about dining out. I’m pleased to say both he and Rajiv Chopra took up the challenge. Here are their wonderful rhymes:
Keith is up first:
We went out for lunch yesterday
In the Auchan, up Montluçon way.
I took my mate Marcie
For a plate of Choux Farci.
We don’t eat like that every day!
In France, I thought it could be fun
To dine in a Formula One
We could have spaghetti
With Mario Andretti
Sitting out in the afternoon sun.
Some restaurants are crazily dear;
More than five flippin’ quid for a beer.
It really ain’t nice
To look at the price
You’re likely to come over all queer.
The theme today is dining out
And eating quite richly, no doubt.
If you say the word ‘diet’
They’ll think you mean ‘fry it’
And believe me, they don’t mess about!
The figures they give for nutrition
Are so small that it needs an optician
If you ask, “How much fat?”
They’ll just call you a prat
And treat you with utmost suspicion.
Now for Rajiv‘s poem:
The Man on The Moon went out to eat
He went to a place and ordered some meat
After this, he went and took his seat.
And then on the table, he placed his feet.
The Man on The Moon he ordered some wine,
And said, with meat, I must drink something fine.
To the beggars he said, the pleasure is mine
Eating and drinking is not a big crime.
If I can afford it, I shall bloody gorge
If you yelp and howl, your tongues I will forge.
Don’t look at me with eyes big and sad,
Your fake sorrow just makes me very mad.
I will drink my , without any haste
And my meat? Ha! You don’t get a taste
It is all mine, all mine you dirty rats
I don’t care if you are eaten by the cats.
The Old Man on the Moon ate his full,
Until his belly felt Newton’s pull.
‘Tis not Esther we speak of, but of Isaac
The gravity turned his mood very black.
He got up to leave, but fell to his knees
He had eaten too much, if you please.
Then begged the beggars to help him up,
Their grubby hands covered him with muck.
Back on the Moon, The Old Man cried
Earth is Hell, and I got deep fried;
I went for meat, and some wine,
They blackened my face and it did shine.
The people there are so very mean,
And I like to stay very clean.
They beg, they stare and my plate of food,
And they did ruin my wonderful mood.
The Old Man of The Moon did sulk and pout,
He shook his fist, and he did shout;
The beggars don’t care, and they can’t hear,
Nor see his face now filled with tears!
If anyone fancies a prompt for a limerick or poem for next week, how about FAME AND FORTUNE?