10 Best Famous Lima Poems

Here is a collection of the top 10 all-time best famous Lima poems. This is a select list of the best famous Lima poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Lima poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of lima poems.

• All Famous Lima Poems

Written by Jack Prelutsky | Bleezers Ice Cream I am Ebenezer Bleezer, I run BLEEZER'S ICE CREAM STORE, there are flavors in my freezer you have never seen before, twenty-eight divine creations too delicious to resist, why not do yourself a favor, try the flavors on my list: COCOA MOCHA MACARONI TAPIOCA SMOKED BALONEY CHECKERBERRY CHEDDAR CHEW CHICKEN CHERRY HONEYDEW TUTTI-FRUTTI STEWED TOMATO TUNA TACO BAKED POTATO LOBSTER LITCHI LIMA BEAN MOZZARELLA MANGOSTEEN ALMOND HAM MERINGUE SALAMI YAM ANCHOVY PRUNE PASTRAMI SASSAFRAS SOUVLAKI HASH SUKIYAKI SUCCOTASH BUTTER BRICKLE PEPPER PICKLE POMEGRANATE PUMPERNICKEL PEACH PIMENTO PIZZA PLUM PEANUT PUMPKIN BUBBLEGUM BROCCOLI BANANA BLUSTER CHOCOLATE CHOP SUEY CLUSTER AVOCADO BRUSSELS SPROUT PERIWINKLE SAUERKRAUT COTTON CANDY CARROT CUSTARD CAULIFLOWER COLA MUSTARD ONION DUMPLING DOUBLE DIP TURNIP TRUFFLE TRIPLE FLIP GARLIC GUMBO GRAVY GUAVA LENTIL LEMON LIVER LAVA ORANGE OLIVE BAGEL BEET WATERMELON WAFFLE WHEAT I am Ebenezer Bleezer, I run BLEEZER'S ICE CREAM STORE, taste a flavor from my freezer, you will surely ask for more.

Written by Maya Angelou | Momma Welfare Roll Her arms semaphore fat triangles, Pudgy HANDS bunched on layered hips Where bones idle under years of fatback And lima beans. Her jowls shiver in accusation Of crimes cliched by Repetition. Her children, strangers To childhood's TOYS, play Best the games of darkened doorways, Rooftop tag, and know the slick feel of Other people's property. Too fat to whore, Too mad to work, Searches her dreams for the Lucky sign and walks bare-handed Into a den of bereaucrats for her portion. 'They don't give me welfare. I take it.'

Written by Margaret Atwood | In The Secular Night In the secular night you wander around alone in your house. It's two-thirty. Everyone has deserted you, or this is your story; you remember it from being sixteen, when the others were out somewhere, having a good time, or so you suspected, and you had to baby-sit. You took a large scoop of vanilla ice-cream and filled up the glass with grapejuice and ginger ale, and put on Glenn Miller with his big-band sound, and lit a cigarette and blew the smoke up the chimney, and cried for a while because you were not dancing, and then danced, by yourself, your mouth circled with purple. Now, forty years later, things have changed, and it's baby lima beans. It's necessary to reserve a secret vice. This is what comes from forgetting to eat at the stated mealtimes. You simmer them carefully, drain, add cream and pepper, and amble up and down the stairs, scooping them up with your fingers right out of the bowl, talking to yourself out loud. You'd be surprised if you got an answer, but that part will come later. There is so much silence between the words, you say. You say, The sensed absence of God and the sensed presence amount to much the same thing, only in reverse. You say, I have too much white clothing. You start to hum. Several hundred years ago this could have been mysticism or heresy. It isn't now. Outside there are sirens. Someone's been run over. The century grinds on.

Written by Bertolt Brecht | Questions From A Worker Who Reads Who built Thebes of the seven gates? In the books you will find the names of kings. Did the kings haul up the lumps of rock? And Babylon, many times demolished Who raised it up so many times? In what houses of gold-glittering Lima did the builders live? Where, the evening that the Wall of China was finnished Did the masons go? Great Rome Is full of triumphal arches. Who erected them? Over whom Did the Caesars triumph? Had Byzantium, much praised in song Only palaces for its inhabitans? Even in fabled Atlantis The night the ocean engulfed it The drowning still bawled for their slaves. The young Alexander conquered India. Was he alone? Caesar beat the Gauls. Did he not have even a cook with him? Philip of Spain wept when his armada Went down. Was he the only one to weep? Frederick the Second won the Seven Year's War. Who Else won it? Every page a victory. Who cooked the feast for the victors? Every ten years a great man? Who paid the bill? So many reports. So many questions.

Written by Kenn Nesbitt | When Frankenstein was just a kid When Frankenstein was just a kid, he ate his greens. It’s true. He did! He ate his spinach, salads, peas, asparagus, and foods like these, and with each leaf and lima bean his skin became a bit more green. On chives and chard he loved to chew, and Brussels sprouts and peppers too, until he ate that fateful bean that turned his skin completely green. He turned all green, and stayed that way, and now he frightens folks away. Poor Frankenstein, his tale is sad, but things need not have been so bad. It’s fair to say, if only he had eaten much less celery, avoided cabbage, ate no kale, why, then, we’d have a different tale. So, mom and dad, I’m here to say please take these vegetables away or my fate could be just as grim. Yes, I could end up green like him. So, mom and dad, before we dine, please give a thought to Frankenstein. --Kenn Nesbitt Copyright © Kenn Nesbitt 2012. All Rights Reserved.

Written by Rossy Evelin Lima | Broken bones I am a beautiful broken woman, my arms separated in three levels. Thunderous is my independent torso, my torso of perfect size, my torso a treasure box, an unrestricted treasure box in which I keep the thirst that I resist. My legs, also cut in three, are the trinity of my dismembered temple, transformed pieces made unstoppable, they are the flow of the sea and they sail at will. My shattered hands are deer crowns, rooted stems that whittle their own path. Hands so free! I am a beheaded woman, a glorified decapitated woman. My head is a nimbus, for I am the queen and my body is the empire. I go on limitless, vacant in all my sovereignty. The shackles that once held me slid through my broken bones. I am the liberated severed woman, the woman without yoke or tether.

Written by Rossy Evelin Lima | Tempus Fugit I have the cadence of a serpent, I slither, time caresses me softly and hides peacefully in my labyrinth skin. I glee among the rocks. The wind that carries me is poetry living solely within my chest.

Written by Rossy Evelin Lima | With the Storm I carve mockingbirds and quetzals, my saliva sends the tones to its wings. Seawater sprouts from my throat, the orange sun, the green jade; I hand them over after chewing them for five centuries. Once carved I let them free, astray in this errant world. I leave my cry in every one of them, and the animals that don’t walk turn to muck with the storm.