Limerick Poetry Challenge
Write a limerick (learn how to write one here) about a famous poet or about writing poetry and post it in the comments section below. This challenge is brought to you by poet Roy E. Peterson, who wrote the three below sample limericks.
Wordsworth Love Daffodils
William Wordsworth well loved daffodils,
And once saw a bunch dancing up hills.
_Perhaps he was glad,
_Or else he was mad.
I wonder what kind were his pills.
Making Ink
When the poet’s pen lost all its ink,
He went to make more in his sink.
_He got some charcoal
_He smashed in the bowl
With vinegar, quick as a wink.
Poet Agents
The poet deemed his poems were best,
And decided to give them a test.
_He hired an agent
_And made his prepayment.
But they languished along with the rest.
A sad old Venetian Jew
Lent some gold to a merchant he knew
But the merchant defaulted
And the Jew was exalted
By the thought of the payment in lieu
Interesting selection.
From her balcony Juliet cried
That her Romeo was cruelly despised.
His Montague name
Was the cause of the blame
And the reason both tragically died
This one fits the story perfectly!
Hamlet was known oft to boast
That his father appeared as a ghost
It drove him quite mad
That his evil step-dad
Was the one who stood to gain mast.
I really love this one Iain! I know the last word “mast” should be “most.”
LONGFELLOW WRITING HIAWATHA
By Roy E. Peterson
Longfellow wrote of Gitche Gumee
While stuffing his mouth and his tummy.
He laughed with mirth.
His food fell to the turf.
He hoped we wouldn’t think him a dummy.
WRITING WITH ALLITERATION
By Roy E. Peterson (January 6, 2026)
The poet had a situation
To be solved with alliteration.
With first letter “k,”
It took him all day.
His poem received admiration.
WRITING AND RYE DON’T MIX
By Roy E. Peterson
The poet loved his apple pie
But then would drink glasses of rye.
When he went to bed,
He was out of his head.
The next day he read his sci-fi.
ROBERT BURNS FINDS THE MICE
By Roy E. Peterson
Robert Burns liked to plow up the earth.
He found some mice under the turf.
He said they could stay
But they ran away
They knew what his words might be worth.
Poe-tisserie Raven
I reckon ole Edgar was tokin’
to think that some bird he was quotin’.
Then he got the cravin’–
rotisserie raven,
and changed what it was he was smokin’.
Michael, I love the thought of roasting the raven and changing what he was “smokin.'” Very funny and beautifully done.
Sorry for the double entry. But heck, it’s worth a second read.
No problem. Glad you did. I almost missed it the first time as a sub-sub post. Likely most missed it.
Anna the Pest (Anapest)
The beauty who wears those tight dresses
is Anna the Pest of Lu Blessus.
That feminine ending
in rhythm–mind bending–
is worth all those turbulent stresses.
Great one, Michael! Super entendre and thank you for pointing it out at the beginning.
The Silly Cat
There once was a silly black cat
Who thought he could fly like a bat.
He jumped up so high
To soar in the sky,
But fell to the floor with a “splat!”
–©️ Rupali Mistry, India
Another funny one, Rupali!
Thank you so much
Hats off Rupali
I screamed as the lynch mob drew closer,
“I’m Cinna the Poet! No! No, sir!
I must have forgotten
You think my songs rotten.
I meant to say Cinna the Grocer.”
(See Shakespeare, Julius Caesar, Act III, Scene 3, based on Plutarch)
Well done, Morrison, and thank you for the reference note to help us.
POETS ARE LIKE A GHOST
By Roy E. Peterson
Poets are writers like ghosts.
What they mean may be lost on most.
Double entendre
May take men’s breath away.
The perception depends on the host.
POET’S BELIEVE WORDS ARE GOLD
By Roy E. Peterson
Poets believe words are gold,
“How great you write is what they’re told.”
They publish a book
Into which few look.
Many have their great works left unsold.
THE THESPIAN
By Roy E. Peterson
The thespian loved poetry,
Especially page fifty-three
It wasn’t too hard
To quote the great bard
“That which cannot be, will not to be.”
These are all great. The second one especially resonates with me. I have had two books published. Each time I’ve sold
75 or so copies. The first one was a bucket-list item!
In sharing a birthday with Nietzsche’s
I balance my rational features,
With the need to enjoy,
My sexy tomboy,
And her appetites lewd as a creature’s.
As Auden has previously sung,
Death visits the beauteous young.
The sweet as pure honey,
The smiley and sunny,
And those with a heavenly bum.
Saucy and satirical but sad state of affairs. Nicely done. Note: You will find my comment about your Nietzsche poem a little later. The site did not show your other limericks when I wrote that one. I just returned to find two more.
A pretty young nun from Hong Kong,
Said Auden’s blue verse was quite wrong;
The bishop she knew
Was short by a few,
And finished her off with a song.
You have made me scramble back to look at Auden’s blue verses. This is another good contribution.
Mercy, Clive! Interesting intersection of your birthday with Nietzsche’s along with your tomboy’s appetites!
‘Jaws’ Filmerick
The Mayor is a miserable toad;
The Cop has an honourable code.
The Expert gets beaten,
The Captain gets eaten,
The Shark? Well, it gets to explode.
This one sent my mind “reeling.” (I hope the entendre comes through.)
JOHN BARLEYCORN
By Roy E. Peterson
Burns wrote about John Barleycorn
Who grew knee high and then was shorn.
The catcher of rye
Drank the pitcher dry
And then rued the day he was born.
Poet Note
RE: Robert Burns Poem “John Barleycorn” and the book,
“Catcher in the Rye” by J.D. Salinger.
POEMS OF e. e. cummings
By Roy E. Peterson
A poet who was e. e. cummings
Flaunted rules of writing becomings.
He thought he was slick
With his crummy shtick
But nothing he wrote is welcomings.
VILLAGE BLACKSMITH
By Roy E. Peterson
“Under a spreading chestnut tree,”
The blacksmith pounded angrily.
Then he had to gasp
When he lost his grasp,
For he was sweating heavily.
Emily met with her kind cousin Guy
Who consoled her soul in its fear to die–
When, she heard a buzz,
Asking, “What’s that cuz?”–
And he answered– “Why it’s only a fly.”
“I Heard a Fly Buzz – When I Died” is one of Emily Dickinson’s best regarded poems. I love your limerick on this spoof.
Not Again!
Today I’ve no cause for elation.
My inbox brings deep consternation.
Three emails I see
say, “Your poetry
is not right for our publication.”
Tell the Truth!
Some poetry publishers say,
“Send ALL types of poems our way,”
but they print not ONE rhyme,
just free verse all the time.
The full TRUTH, their rules should convey!
Coleridge
Some drug addicts wallow in grime
or fall into mayhem and crime,
but some rise to fame
as poets. One name
stands out. This one wrote a great Rime.
Janice, these are wonderful limericks. The first two ring so true. I used to send to poetry publishers some of my poems only to discover they only print poetry that doesn’t rhyme (or rime) as the case may be.
Janice, these are wonderful limericks. The first two ring so true. I used to send to poetry publishers some of my poems only to discover they only print poetry that doesn’t rhyme (or rime) as the case may be.
Roy, thank you so much for the positive feedback!
I CREMATED SAM McGEE (Robert Service)
By Roy E. Peterson (April 6, 2026)
The cremation of Sam McGee
I did to him in Tennessee.
He sought to keep warm
From the cold and storm.
He burned in the furnace happily.
CROSSING THE BAR (By Alfred Lord Tennyson)
By Roy E. Peterson (April 6, 2026)
There was no moaning at the bar
When patrons thought he had gone too far.
He slurped his last foam
Before going home.
And then he was plastered in his car.
THE OWL AND PUSSYCAT
(Mother Goose)
By Roy E. Peterson
The owl and pussycat went to sea.
In a boat that was small as can be.
The cat got hungry.
The owl got owly.
How scary was that nursery.
TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD
(Harper Lee)
By Roy E. Peterson
Tom wanted to kill
(Harper Lee) a mockingbird
Outside his window; the noise absurd.
Tom set out some ale
In a small tin pale.
The bird still sings songs but they’re slurred.
WHERE THE SIDEWALK ENDS
(Shel Silverstein)
By Roy E. Peterson
Where the sidewalk ends, the mud begins.
The kids fall in it up to their chins.
Skateboarders skin knees
With ripped dungarees,
They pay for sins and shenanigans.
Metre Maid
To prepare your poetic bouquet,
You need names that are easy to say,
So if you feel a tactile,
Need for an antidactyl,
How ‘bout Edna St. Vincent Millay?
Aaron, that is a great one with a great title!