In this week’s miniprompt, we got lyrical with our #FiveSenses prompt. Got one to contribute? Tweet us at @thepromptmag.
What the duck is that smell
It’s like baby wipes died in a well
I tried to summon the Cleaning Gnome
To sanitize this old folks home
But I’m trapped in my personal hell
The smell of turf and much sweat,
where concussions are always a threat,
but it’s nice from my seat,
where I feel no defeat,
or exhaustion, or injury or regret.
There once was a woman who smelt it,
But didn’t want it said that she’d dealt it.
So she made matters worse
And kept inside her purse
A huge block of ripe Limburger, melted. (cue the foghorn)
The once was a man with big ears
They heard everything, including the jeers
He was often lampooned
Like Disney’s elephant cartoon
And I’ve carried it with me for years
There once was a building I lived in
Where the walls between apartments were quite thin
When my neighbors boned
I knew from their moans
And took every chance to join in.
I’ve no reason to sit here two-faced,
And pretend that I’m cool with food waste.
Even if it seems old,
And is covered in mold,
I’ll eat it! You’re the one with no taste.
I hear what you’re saying, Kelaine,
and I too meet food waste with disdain,
so my spore-covered bread:
you can eat it instead.
Hopefully it won’t spout from your brain.
(Warning: Spoilers for Haunting of Hill House)
There was once a girl named Nell,
Her sleep paralysis gave her hell.
She would see a Bent Neck Lady
Who seemed very shady
But the Bent Neck Lady was Nell as well.
It’s invisible, unseen and unfunny
The product of lawyers—all rich and cunning
the Citizens United
our systems divided
This is the hue of dark money.
There once was a man from—ACHOO!
Sorry I can’t write a poem for you.
I trash-picked to find cans
but did not wash my hands.
Now I think I’ve come down with the flu.
I got my dog from North Carolina.
Is our relationship healthy? Kinda.
I mean, she loves me and such,
but not as much as the touch
of her tongue scraping her own vagina.
There once was a guy named Zach,
Whose 5 Senses poem took a strange tack.
The whole thing makes me feel squeamish 🤢
Which rhymes with—you know what, forget it.
What I’m saying, your limerick’s wack.
It seems the word picture I drew
Doesn’t sound pretty to you,
And perhaps I lack tact,
But to say that I’m wack
Is factually very untrue.
Please stop all this impolite bickering
And get back to on-topic limericking.
Please mend broken fences
And write about senses
So Kelaine can get Mini-prompt pickering.
There once was a writer named Jill
Who called out what SOUNDED too shrill
Zach’s dog’s weird self-cunnilingus
Left her appetite extinguished
And made the rest of us also quite ill
apologies to all of you wholesale
for the poor tone of my prior email
I truly bemoan
when I’m on my phone
I often forget the bcc detail
I think that it’s safe to assume
I could do better at reading a room
but the truth is shan’t
(which is different than can’t)
so I’ve chosen this hill as my tomb