Here are a few of my limericks that I started writing as responses to Esther Chilton’s weekly one-word prompt on her blog. Each section is headed with that prompt and I’ve added a few at the end that just popped into my head as I walked along or lay in bed.

Esther Chilton


Bony Tony was a splendid fella
And, most would agree, a great storyteller.
He would spin a yarn
With plenty of charm.
His tales of space travel were more than stellar.


Bony Tony loved his punctuation.
His prose had rhythm and great fluctuation.
It just wouldn’t rhyme,
But that ain’t no crime,
As he knew the right POINT to STOP.


Seaman Fred would swing the lead.
Bosun’s face would turn beetroot red.
“If you don’t work hard,
You’ll swing from the yard,
Then your body to the fish in the Med will be fed!”


Bony Tony went right off his rocker
Listening to jargon from teachers and chalkers.
“You’re fusing my brain.
Why can’t you speak plain?
I’d like you better if you’d be straight talker.”


Happy Birthday Bony Tony,
Always straight and never phoney.
Two years departed,
Still never outsmarted.
Let’s party with pizza calzone.


James Bond was his name, born in Auld Reekie.
Best acted by Sean, who was ever so cheeky.
He liked shaken martinis
And girls in bikinis,
Yet, as a spy, he was always so sneaky.

Bony Tony marched with fellow campaigners.
For the long walk he wore his comfortable trainers.
The Yanks said, “Jeepers!
We just love your sneakers!”
Said he, “Tighter shoes would be such restrainers.”


Knitting with steel was doomed to fail,
Or, so I was told by my girlfriend called Gail.
But she thought it was funny,
When I made plenty of money
From my jumpers for soldiers I called chain mail.

Bony Tony was never for quitting
And you’d often find him while sitting
On his favourite bench
With his favourite wench
Eating cake, spinning yarns and . . . knitting.


Bony Tony told me to use my loaf,
And he must have thought me to be such an oaf,
When, instead of my head
I used a big chunk of bread
To solve his puzzle with the speed of a sloth.


Bony Tony had some dangerous traits.
Taking risks on routes meant he’d seldom be late.
Then came the day,
With a cliff in his way,
His quickest way down sealed his final fate.

I bought a horse called Sleepy Joe.
His legs were short but I thought that he’d grow.
His fate was sealed.
My deal was unreal.
No cups could be won by a horse so slow.


Bony Tony was a professor of data.
In Spain, he’d sort them and get paid in pesetas.
Once he’d collected his fees,
He’d ask for some cheese
To melt over his hot baked potatoes.


Bony Tony was ever so fond
of a fictional spy called James Bond
who liked girls in bikinis
and cocktail martinis:
shaken not stirred, tout le monde!


“Tease me. Hold me. Crush me. Squeeze me.”
Bony Tony would often tease me.
He’d hold me close
As I perched on his toes,
And he would never fail to please me.


Bony Tony often played snooker
Even with a painful verruca.
He could kiss off the pink
Sink black with a dink,
And he was also a jolly good looker.

“I love your caresses; that’s clear.
But, where will you kiss me, my Dear?”
She held on to me tight
As she squealed with delight,
When I told her, and showed her, “Right here!”


John Williams wrote many film scores.
Movie directors would always ask him for more.
Many Oscars he won,
And he always had fun.
Durrh duh, durrh duh went his theme tune for Jaws.

Bony Tony was never a bore.
Statistics he knew by the score.
Tell him a fact
And he’d answer back
With much more than you knew, that’s for sure.


Haste ye back, Bony Tony.
We miss your wit at the Frog and Pony.
Although you’re a ghost,
We raise you a toast:
Single malt and a glass of Peroni.


Lowbrow Sarah likes her eyebrows lush.
Highbrow Helen paints hers on with a brush.
Helen is dowdy
And Sarah’s so sexy.
Her sensual top waves give us all a hot flush.


Does Santa Claus have CCTV?
For if I’m naughty, he knows it was me.
I tried to be good
And not quite so rude,
But Bony Tony was rude to me!


Bony Tony was winning the race.
He had Carter the Farter beaten for pace.
But Carter let rip
Causing Tony to slip
And cross the line in second place.


Bony Tony was seldom glum
He’d oft go out in search of fun.
With David Nobbs
And Big Bad Bob,
They’d bash their drums, pa rum pum pum pum.


Bony Tony really loved to ski.
The swish of the snow filled his heart with glee.
Down the slopes, black or red,
His sons and daughters he gaily led,
Over the jumps, he’d call, “Follow me!


Bony Tony was a naughty boy.
A prank as a lark was his favourite joy.
Stink bombs he dropped
Until he was stopped
By a teacher who Tony annoyed.


Her sexy eyebrows gave me great hope
That some fine day, we might elope.
My proposal rejected
Left me very dejected.
I freely admit: I can hardly cope.

Her sexy eyebrows gave me hope
That some fine day, we might elope.
Had she hair
Or was she bare?
Alas, she gave me no chance for a grope.


My owner thinks I’m just really dumb.
But truly, I’m having great fun.
On “Stay!” I run,
And I leave on “Come!”
Training treats are filling my tum!

We boarded a train going to Dehli.
The driver was giving it welly.
We’d not been going long
Before we were singing this song:
We’re going too fast. Our legs are shaking like jelly!

We went out for a dinner in Staines.
I chose chicken Madras for my main.
The weather was foggy.
And my rice was all soggy,
So I sent the dish back to re-strain.


There was a proud soldier called Hitch,
Won V.C. for brave act at Rorke’s Drift.
His medal though lost,
Was bought back at a cost
And displayed at museum: a gift.

I once had a gift-horse called Dennis,
Who refused to visit the dentist.
His teeth were so hairy
That his mouth was quite scary,
And worse, he had bad halitosis.


Captain Tom, who was seldom wrong.
Taught me to sing some very rude songs.
But ‘Eskimo Nell’
Stretched me so well.
A great ballad . . . but EVER so long!

Said Ernie to Eric, “Here’s a play what I wrote.”
Said Eric to Ernie, “Don’t gloat.
Your grammar’s all wrong
But it’ll do for a song.
In the Euros it’ll get plenty of votes.”


There was a young farmer from Cheddar,
Who fancied a girl called Jane Pedder.
He went down on one knee,
Promising limitless cheese.
She screamed, “YES!” and he went on to wed her.

“Avez-vous de bons fromages en France?”
“Bien sûr, Monsieur. Les meilleurs du monde!”
“Stilton? Wensleydale? Kings among cheeses.”
“Ooh là là! You English. Such teases!
But we agree. D’accord! Of cheese, we’re fond.”


Mum always told me that “Cash is Queen”
But that too much money is seen as obscene.
My Gran had other ideas of what makes wealth.
“Be happy and look after your health.”
A great lesson to learn while still a mere teen.


There was a grey parrot from Cork,
Whose talk sounded more like a SQUAWK!
But his manners were good,
Especially with food.
For his seedcake he’d use a small fork.


A rambler called old Bony Tony,
Walked the Peak paths, which were often quite stony.
But then he fell sick,
And, despite needing a stick,
He’d still roam the hills on his pony.


There was a young dolphin called Flor,
Set off on her own to explore.
Getting lost like a fool,
Then returning to school,
Promising, “Mum, I’ll explore no more.”


My best trip with Dad, Bony Tony,
Was to Derbyshire caves; very stoney.
Down Blue John Caverns,
Then on to a tavern,
Two beers and then home: Shanks’s pony.


Said Eric to Ernie, “You’re no mug,
But it’s plain to see that you’re wearing a rug.
Syrup and fig,
Cheap, nasty wig.
It slips off to one side with a tug.”


Young Lanny Boy’s a cheeky chap,
Likes a sandwich filled with pig’s chap.
“Apple sauce and crackling,
Makes it more than snacking.
We Dee-dars call that reet nice snap.”


Our headmaster was old Mister Burke.
Behind him with stink bombs we’d lurk.
One day he stepped back
And the glass, it went crack.
All the boys in my class, we did smirk.


By trade I’m a dragon slayer.
I ride on a wing and a prayer.
A scorch could mean death,
So I dodge fiery breath
To survive as the oldest sword player.


Always smile before you speak.
You’re bound to start on a winning streak.
Your mood is good,
And if he would,
You’ll soon be dancing cheek to cheek.


A circus performer called Claire
Could breathe fire with incredible flair.
Her kiss burned my lips
And our sex life was bliss.
We enjoyed a red hot affair.

Use this map and a finger to measure.
Dig deep in that bush for my treasure.
If you touch it like this,
The result will be bliss.
We’re both guaranteed much more pleasure.


“What’s up your kilt?” I asked him one night.
“Look or feel, with reciprocal rights.”
I saw and I touched
And he did the same.
What did we find? Your guess might be right!


There was only one Fair Maid of Perth,
A Glover by trade and by birth.
Sir Walter Scott’s dream
And literary cream,
She just proved his scholarly worth.


I’m a headstrong young stallion called Bouncer.
My mistress calls me “Incredible Pouncer.”
Her heart loudly thumps
As she rides me at jumps.
We’d even shock most sports announcers.

There was a young lady from Tring
Who enjoyed the occasional fling.
Her assets she’d flounce
With phenomenal bounce.
She’d rebound as if coiled like a spring.


An adventurer called Phineas Fogg
Set off round the world at a jog.
He was quite often seen
Tasting foreign cuisines
His favourite was chilli hot dog.


I know that I didn’t oughta
But I fancied the landlady’s daughter.
To be out of reach,
We made for the beach,
And made love behind the breakwater.


Mum often complained, “It’s the hottest day yet!”
But it wasn’t the heat. The air was so wet.
It was far too humid
And she wasn’t so stupid.
She’d rather glow or perspire than break sweat.


I blacked out and when I came round,
To a tree in the woods I was bound.
Covered all over in gravy,
I was driven quite crazy
By those circling, ravenous hounds.


Enjoy your retirement our Tim.
You worked with vigour and vim.
We’ll miss you for sure,
But we shall endure,
While you sip aged tequila and grin.


There was an old Scot lived in Norwich.
In the woods he’d often go forage.
When it came to his lunch,
With green herbs in a bunch,
He just loved a great dollop of porridge.

Rust, Rage

Dylan and Dougal sat under the tree,
The organ was played by Mister Rust-ee.
While Florence danced
With Brian and Lance,
“It’s time for bed,” said Zebedee.

I travelled back in time to the stone age,
My historic curiosity to assuage.
But I met a t-rex
And became rather vexed,
When he saw me and roared with hot rage.

Moist, Damp, Wet

Wooden houses fail when the air is moist.
The doors don’t fit and it bends the joists.
Our roof was leaky
and our floors were squeaky.
When we moved to bricks and mortar, we all rejoiced.


As I drive along, I wonder why;
Why pheasants walk when they can fly.
Just saw one die.
Oh why? Oh why?
I must confess. I’m sad. I often cry.


Happy birthday to my friend, Niall,
A man with considerable style.
When asked, “What’s your cure?”
You said, “Bushmills for sure!”
Some cake with a dram makes you smile.

Pain, Heal, Nurse

Her surgeon’s name was Socrates,
Who studied under Hypocrates.
Her nurse was Jane,
Who soothed her pain.
With friends like these, she’ll heal with ease.


Her surgeon’s name was Harry.
In theatre he did not tarry.
In full command,
His healing hands,
Soon had Esther as happy as Larry.

Tony’s Birthday

Happy Birthday Bony Tony,
Always straight and never phoney.
Two years departed,
Still never outsmarted.
Let’s party with pizza calzone.


He was every girl’s hottest desire.
Set my heart and my belly on fire.
A runner was he,
With legs like great trees.
But the spoilsport would not be my squire.


Daktari’s lion was called Clarence,
Boss-eyed and strange in appearance.
Although mild he appeared,
When poachers came near,
His roars saw them off in the distance.


I entered your narrow, tight passage
In my ship far too big to manage.
Now I’m blocking the way
And I can but pray.
For to sail back out will take courage!


She starred in a series called ‘Suits’,
Fell in love with a prince in big boots.
Soon after they met,
In a castle they wed.
Sun snappers were there for the shoot.

Flash Jack did so fancy his tutor
That he wished he could be her life suitor.
He gave her a rose
And then he proposed.
Said she, “Top marks for your try. On your scooter!”


How brainy was old Bony Tony?
He’d often speak utter baloney.
His greatest advice?
“If ten words will suffice,
Use more and you’ll often be lonely.”

For my Dad, Tony Greenfield.


There once was a boss, Jurgen Klopp,
Well known for his terrible strops.
When players did fail,
He’d hand them a pail,
Yelling, “Here’s your new job. Use that mop!”


I set sail for fifty degrees East
In search of the wise purple priest
I found him in Baku
Where he cooked me a stew
Sharing his knowledge: a huge feast.


It’s terribly wet down on the Gower,
Where the forecast is always so dour.
It may appear to be fine
When the sun, it doth shine,
But we’re sure to be in for a shower.