Best Limber Poems
“A Flowers Wilt”
Witness the small existence
that abides the beauty of-----------
Freelancers all around,
Just to get a good look.
A baneful abrasion, the flower took
It captivates you -------------
Reels you, steals from you,
WAITING,
Until you pick the right flawless touch.
Dandelions swaying thin,
Here we fall like petals.
Ready to exploit, the beauty of-------
Inhale the fragrance,
Courtyard azure eyes,
Embarking in a wishful eternity,
A crush they become, when loveliness up and left.
A bully against arrogant threw feminine perfumed veils
Tulips waiting for the better auspicious sky
Asters claim the eclipse's,
-dinginess censors it from the brilliance of the sun.
~
A lonely rose
In My Helix World-
The out-and-out are born.
Cries in the dimness,
A sweet Lotus echo
Slight yelps of agony carried off by pollen breeze.
The earth revolves to fast,
Injections of herbal essence in the wind
For a split second, we feel pixie dust
Channel the essential, it fades
Earlier beauty, calmness-
A flourish smile,
Rusk of flower, a bluebird’s bread.
Like candles and dew, they stream and limber energy
Opposing others of its humanity,
Against the command of its importance,
Pierced by its own elegance,
Thriving slowly of its own will,
A short story, gone astray!
Tonight, we plant a tree,
The Flower wilts
The gardener cries
By day she goes about
the weary business of her dreary life:
a housekeeper, bookkeeper, shopper, chef,
chauffer for two active teens, and
hostess of her husband’s dinner parties
is she.
In the middle of her day
she naps,
for in the night. . .
when her work-obsessed spouse
soundly slumbers
and the kids at last are fast asleep,
she goes into the darkness
of the woods
behind her house.
The mask of this woman
falls without a sound
to the leaf strewn ground.
She raises her face to the moon.
In its light, the stripes
of a tigress are revealed!
Her legs feel strong and limber.
That ferocious appetite
for something that she stifles
flees away
as
she
runs.
Among the pines and midst the sounds
of the woodland’s crepuscular creatures
she runs and runs and runs.
She is running after something
she cannot put a name to.
She’s a good woman.
She would never use a bar or night club
as her jungle.
Now - with her tigress face -
swift, stealthy, and strong -
but above all,
not beholden to any body
she is simply free to be.
After an hour of running,
the mask of the housewife
is restored.
Then she collapses, exhausted on her bed,
where she dreams refreshing dreams -
which are necessary -
for tomorrow
she begins again
the weary business
of her dreary life.
10/26/2014; Now used for Skat's A poem you are proud of #3 Poetry Contest
Wrinkles and gray hair
get me in a rage
and I say to myself,
“Why don't you act your age!"
My poor aching feet
remind me to wear sensible shoes
but these black stilettos
take away the blues.
.
I wear glasses to see
but they're tinted green
and make me look
cool and mean.
I have a million pills to swallow
and sometimes I think my head is hollow.
I forget my keys, my purse and my coat.
Where in the hell did I put that remote?
Once I was so limber
I could touch my toes
but I refuse to talk
about my ills and woes.
When pouring the tea
if my hands shake
I simply say,
"Another earthquake!"
What was I thinking
When I bought that new car?
My old one was fine.
It just couldn’t go far.
I’d go on a trip
if it weren’t for my hip.
Maybe I'll give up drinking.
Well, I’ll just take a sip.
Okay, I’ll take my pills
for all my ills.
I’ll take a walk around the block
but I will not wear those damn compression socks!
Well, I guess I’ll hang in there
as long as I can
just to see my grands
build castles in the sand.
I'll exercise each day
while in my head I’ll say,
“I still feel like I’m only twenty-five.
Thank God, it’s great to be alive!”
By: Carole O’Terry Duet
Copyright: 6/20/2020
“All Rights Reserved”
To enchant the eye and tickle the tongue
with levels of nuance like well-aged wine,
to engage the ear and limber the lungs
as sea winds seasoned with fragrance of brine.
To hearten the soul or tear it apart,
to start with a sigh and end with a gasp,
to sharpen the mind and quicken the heart,
to aim one's reach to outdistance the grasp.
To roar like a lion and ever stand fast,
to bring out smiles and mitigate pain,
to tell the legends of histories past,
and teach their mistakes, not do them again.
© May 26, 2015
In the twilight of suspended star thunder
where the waking jungle and broken Temple of tradition meet one another
she moves with a panthera prana, pranayama of precise paradise, air of spaceless pleasure,
A lavender Tigress of effortless enlightenment
seeking sensations on the edge of eternity's cremation,
on her fingertips questions and answers dance to mudras of nimble demolition
as the triumph of truth blazes on the tip of her tongue's flavored amusement,
genetics of ginger helix she licks and sticks to the flesh of nude nirvana
limber in the moment of typeless titillation,
becoming an animal of fearless asana,
a creature of chaos prowling along the heartbeat of karma,
Brahma made her beauty from the diamonds of a billion deceased roses,
the ascetics recognize her as a child of Kali, gorgeous and gruesome in vendetta,
for the Brahmins she is a Mother of immeasurable mystery, a kiss on the eye of history,
worshipers whisper the wealth of her shameless and shapeless clarity, as charity of Parvati,
Heirlooms of sun blood and moon love decorate the tender truth of her body,
a garden of webbing galaxies, catching the notions of novas her mandala,
rain romantic in flying fall, plucking the Ganges sitar her mantra,
the movement of melange madness through perfect passion her sutra,
poetry naked on the nerves of nascent love need is her tantra,
chakras uniting to recreate the uncreated color of consciousness, crown her aura,
as the lotus of love blooms blue, she dances on the fragrance of freedom -
J.A.B.
I am dancing
Twirling and whirling
Hands and face open to the sun
Lost in the infinite You
Draped in gauze and silks
Whirling and twirling
To the sounds of chants and drums
As the deep tones of the monks
Melt into the tender tones of nuns
I am dancing, dancing
Yes, yes I sit here stiff and graying
But bathed in this golden light
In my heart I am limber and strong
For my spirit dances round and round
As I fold into this universal song
THE OLD FART SONG
(sing to the tune of "Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys")
Verse one:
Old men ain't easy to love and they're harder to mold,
so train 'em when young, girls, don't wait till their bones have turned cold.
They're slow as molasses, wear cheap reading glasses, they're hearing aids give them away,
they grumble and mumble, they bumble and stumble, what hair they have left turns to gray.
Chorus:
Ladies, don't let your husbands survive to be old men,
Their best parts get limber, their brains turn to timber,
they spend too much time letting farts.
Ladies don't let your husbands survive to be old men,
because when they're home, you will wish you're alone
and they think they have all of the smarts.
Verse two:
Old men like old stuff, ain't that some strange stuff, how antiques will make 'em feel young?
They whistle like thistles, sling advice like missiles and sing like their a**es got stung.
They're always ploying and tinker toying, they usually, always repeat:
What did you say dear? SPEAK UP NOW, DAMMIT! and, When in the hell do we eat?
Repeat Chorus
Verse three:
Old men like talkin' way more than go-walkin', but listening, well, not so much.
Don't try to change him or even "re-range" him, or mess with his habits and such.
Changes upset him, so you better let him, still think he has plenty pizazz,
or he will snuffle, kerfuffle and shuffle, doin' stuff that's a pain in the azz.
repeat chorus
Verse four
They say that old soldiers don't die, that they just fade away,
it's the same with your old man... remember each dog has his day.
Don't nickel and dime him, remember to prime him, be kind as he turns into dust.
Through thick and through thin and through silly and sin, you're together for better or bust.
FInal Chorus
Ladies, don't let your husbands survive to be old men,
let 'em be babies and let 'em be children
and let 'em be heroes again.
Ladies, don't let your husbands survive to be old men,
When they hit bottom, be thankful you got 'em,
'Cause soon enough it will all end.
In southern Colorado,
that old Rocky Mountain state,
beneath God's azure heavens
is a place called Turquoise Lake.
I'd been driving all around,
it was time to take some lunch.
The lake looked right for fishing,
at least that was my hunch.
After chow I got my gear
and headed for the shore.
I tied on a jitterbug,
who could ask for anything more.
Weedy cover on the left
set off a loud alarm,
but I was casting to the right
just to limber up my arm.
From behind an old man came,
he'd been watching for a while,
"Surface lures won't work out here,"
he mumbled with a smile.
"You know this is a trout lake,
they won't hit on surface lures,
so get yourself a fly rod
and you'll catch some fish for sure."
Now just as luck would have it
you know where the next cast goes,
it's just off of the weed bed,
how that water did explode.
A Rainbow Trout grabbed my lure
and started on a run.
I was fishing ultra-light,
it was really lots of fun.
The oldster stood in wonder,
said he never would have thought
that on a rig like I had
a Rainbow could be caught.
Reluctantly the trout gave up,
he came in without delay.
I gave him slack and he was gone
to fight another day.
Green!
Alive
on tall grass,
blithe, lithe, limber,
swaying long and lean
in their beachy masses.
The deadpan sand eavesdrops as
breezes wave blades like silk banners.
Whispers whir with emerald voices;
long-winded grass gossiping with zephyrs.
Slipping on tinkles ain't easy my boy
When zippers get stuck it can be a pain
The thing that I hold once gave me such joy
Now it's just leaky and leaves a round stain
Golden years my **** that's a silly name
Now it's really dangerous to go to bed
I tell you that stuff is a young man's game
She laughs quite loudly "you can't raise the dead!"
A little fast rubbing might do the trick
Perhaps if she tries, it will be worth while
I'm not opposed to a lollipop lick
Three small inches might grow into a mile
Everything worked but then my back went out
What she thought was joy was a painful shout
Disclaimer: No old people were hurt in the writing of this piece. It is also not meant to offend any "Sexy Senior Citizens". Keep limber my friends!!!
His long cane pole limber and perfect,
Patiently waiting, his eye on the bobber
For his prey, he has the utmost respect,
The big fish almost becoming his cobber.
He’d seen it swim among the rocks alone
Unmindful of its nemesis on the bank
The water clearer, he could see the stone,
He longed to hook it firmly, give it a yank.
Four times before he’d watched it feed
Once in the rocks, thrice in the shallows
A great catch it would surely fulfill a need
To cement his place among his fellows,
But the sun now approaching mid-morn
Signaled he was too late to catch today,
Beaming on the fisherman with scorn
No prize catch would there be to filet.
Written August 15, 2022
My heart yearns to be reciprocated
Every good heart deserves to be loved
The passion is still strong yet dimly lit
Keeping the faith as the fate is growing
I’m feeling faint and falling to my knees
Loss of breath, depth, and height
I'm losing my firm grip slowly letting go
My palms are sweaty, my spirit is frail
Disconnected from the rest of my being
I’m weak, limber...fluctuating high and low
I am invisible, silent like dead flies
Falling from the night's sky like a tear drop
In mine eye, a red river is flowing
You can see lonesome shadows of despair
Hearing cries of help during the midnight breeze
Pain and agony, hurt and betrayal
Blank slate is naive too soon to prevail
Escaped from reality and plumeth...
Buried six feet under with soil and dirt
Ashes to dust like crumbling particles
My soul evaporates into thin air...
Was my identity lost or stolen?
You have one life to live so live it
To the fullest as if it were your last
Marigolds, bright spot of September,
When all around is drooping limber,
As life in accord with His plan remembers
To prepare itself to sleep.
You perk in yellows and burnished gold,
And tell us winter won't really blow cold,
And we won't truly grow old
As long as you are there.
You hold us in our dreary nature,
And our attention to you capture,
As holidays, parties and glories enrapture
Hot summer hearts with hope.
Tremble at this door child but do not come in yelled the Quent
she an ogress at the end of her wits wearing muslin and flint
was only looking for a King who could love her as she was
When the angry boombox voice gave her quivering she went
away, hunching her shoulders she glided away her ogre scent
A little latch opened a flash of blue a slant of eye then he re spoke
"do you clean Kingdoms and can you cook, for a jaunty bloke?"
"oh for the love of God" she cried, I got teacups bigger than this place
yes I can wipe your palace, dust your crocket, just don't look at my face
and so he let her into the Kingdom of JUA, and so began their chase
A little fairy magic in the soup was all he needed as he ate in one gulp
contented as a Mishka, he cried out, " my your skin is soft as pulp! "
From an Ogress to a Tigress, down she went like a pile of timber
while he headlong without haste planted a kiss so soft and limber
that it opened her heart, henceforth they lived happily ever after .
The End.
December 24, 2020
DATE: 27th June, 2022.
POEM TITLE: A Morning’s Play
In a misty morning simmer,
where droplets run along
blades of grasses in limber
to a game of ‘who grows bigger’
until a splatter rings a song,
a brief play date gone wrong.
Pearls on taro leaves form ripples,
upon the water's face,
rolling off like dimes and nickels,
as they bask in their clear flippers,
overlooking the country gnome,
“pitter-patter” they roam.
One eases it’s way out in orbs,
waving goodbye to friends,
translucent; it fully absorbs
the warm air as the body soars
along with the winds of July,
so long, fellow ally.
With the sun now driving it’s flares,
weeping flower heads rise,
nature awakes and dries it’s tears,
a new day presents new affairs,
another chance of a surprise,
like play dates of the skies.
CONTEST NAME: Dewdrops Poetry Contest
SPONSOR: Angel L Villanueva