Best Limply Poems
Nobody observes her leaving her room
wearing just her nightdress and red felt carpet slippers
Shuffling silently she slips out of the front door onto the street
Rivulets of rain start to soak her to the skin
Her straggly hair hangs down limply
It becomes so matted and twisted
Soon it looks like writhing snakes are alive on her skull
Her once pretty face is now lined and wrinkled
Rain drips off the crevices and onto her sagging breasts
Wandering off into the night she begins searching
Walking the empty streets with her arms outstretched
Searching, searching, desperately searching
Eventually she reaches the children’s playground
Sitting on a swing she rocks backwards and forwards
The rhythmic movement seems to calm her down
Tears form in her eyes and mingle with the raindrops
Strong arms hold her and she is powerless to resist
She hears voices telling her she must return home
‘We knew you’d eventually find your way here Maisie
It’s time to return to the sanatorium …
In future we will make sure the door alarm is activated’
10~19~15
N/A in previous contest
Submitted to screwed XI
Sponsored by Rob Carmack
Sponsor Nathan D
Title amended and submitted to ''P'' Contest, New or Old Poetry Contest sponsored by Constance La France
I’m sick of hearing from old Bill that I’m a whimpish sort of bloke,
Because I don’t care for rodeo’s and can’t relate to outback folk,
That I prefer to travel in a car, when I go from A to B,
When I should be riding horses like Billy does you see.
I’ve never been upon a horse; in fact I’ve never patted one,
But at times I’ve been a victim from the damage that they’ve done,
When they’ve thundered down a racetrack with double-digit odds,
To leave my pockets empty and the good luck with the Gods.
So it was just a whim and foolishness that struck me at a guess,
That could have left me comatosed and in an awful mess,
When in a flush of inspiration of adrenaline attack,
Without a lesson or experience, I climbed upon a horse’s back.
I threw one foot in the stirrup and threw the other one to straddle
The horse’s back now that I’m on, while sitting in the saddle,
But with the motion of a gallop at a steady rhythmic pace,
I started slipping from the saddle and I quickly lost me place.
In fear I’m grabbing for the mane, but I couldn’t get a grip,
So I threw me hands around its neck, but then began to slip,
And I could see the ground below me was aiming at me head,
So I grabbed its nose to stop it, but it bucked on me instead.
It was futile hanging on now so I made a desperate move to jump,
But instead of reaching safety, me body lurched and I went thump,
For me foot’s caught in the stirrup so I’m bouncing in the fray,
With the horses pounding hooves close to just a foot away.
Now limply hanging upside down from the battering I took,
In me haze of consciousness I saw a crowd had formed to look,
Then me missus ran to save me when she took off like a rocket,
Over there at K-mart where, she ripped the plug out of the socket.
I have caressed
in coffin draped hugs
those who defended me,
hung limply as taps
and tears flowed
across generations.
Known the thrill
of fireworks and jubilation
rose, full faced,
in sundrenched
wind starched glory.
Wept in “half staffed” darkened loneliness
as horse drawn carriages
moved through silenced crowds.
I am neither a cause
nor a solution
but a symbol
of our best….and worst.
I am but a flag.
I look to you
to raise me up.
John G. Lawless
©6/14/2021
It stood on the top of the hill
dominating all of its surrounds.
Its drawbridge these days lay open
spanning with ease the now dry moat.
Like a fairy tale fortress it had turrets
that soared up high brushing the clouds.
Its four towers majestic as blankly,
they stared, covering all points of the compass.
Slit windows peered out of casements
through walls up to six feet thick.
The massive double oak doors
fifteen feet high and twelve wide
stood thrown open allowing glimpses
of the enormous courtyard beyond.
Battlements led to each round tower
that once housed the nobles.
Old battered forgotten furniture
grandly carved four poster beds.
A sword or two lay scattered
amidst the clutter and bird dropping.
Wide stone staircases meandered
curling round and round the walls.
A gallery or two dotted here and there
perfect hiding places above the hall.
Some for musicians to play unseen
Their notes floating through the air
as below the dancers swept and strutted
as the ladies hooped dresses swirled.
Long tables once laden with food
stood a skiff with broken legs.
Wooden pint tankards higgledy piggledy
strewn about midst wooden platters.
Tattered standards limply lay motionless
against walls dotted with scattered torches.
The Lord of these lands killed in distant lands
leaving an infant son removed to the city
by his grieving mother who sought to forget.
Now ninety years later his grandson views
the devastation of years of neglect and vows
to return the castle to the glory of its heydays.
After three long years of often brutal work
removing shrubbery, moss and decay
Life starts to re-emerge Flags flutter
gaily high up on the battlements.
Chandeliers sparkle and the torches flicker
Tables once more groan with a feast of food
Happy shrieks of laughter fill the grand hall
And one would swear the castle wore a smile,
as children played around the buttress's.
Lyrics based on “The Poet And I” by Frank Mills
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4-f0YcZ-ECc
(Lyrics start after a 15 secs intro.)
Please, it's important to follow the music; thank you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
‘I love you’ she softly whispered.
Her hand lay limply in mine.
Then, she left in silence as the evening turned into night.
She left me alone with heartbreak.
There was no point of return.
Then, she crossed the water as the evening turned into night.
Since then I have lived with my sadness...the ache of longing won’t cease.
I belong to the darkness; the wind has lost its voice.
Memories....
Tears welled up...
Her hand lay limply in mine.
Then, she left in silence as the evening turned into night.
She left me alone with heartbreak.
There was no point of return.
Then, she crossed the water as the evening turned into night.
Since then I have lived with my sadness...the ache of longing won’t cease.
I belong to the darkness; the wind has lost its voice.
Memories....
Tears welled up...
There was no point of return.
Slowly she departed, mist enshrouded, slipped out of sight.
Then, she crossed the water as the evening turned into night.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Contest Form G or NA
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Placed 3rd
Contest: The Poet and I
Sponsor: Mystic Rose
© 24th January 2017
John Wulf, with his funny Limerick antics telling funny hilarious stories,
“viagraology
There once was a medical study
of things flapping flaccid like putty
those men given placebo
couldn’t enter gazebo
it drove the poor fellas plumb nutty
Copyright © 2015John Wulf”
but also has his very soft spot for all of us
Then there is my very favorite lady, Jan Allison, with all her humorous poems,
ANOTHER VIAGRA POEM HAS JUST POPPED UP - INSPIRED BY EVE ROPER AND JACK ELLISON
It hung so limply like Niagara
Doc told him to take some Viagra
Just one little blue pill
Gave his wife such a thrill
It sticks up so high it could stab ya
Copyright © 2015JAN ALLISON 18th July 2015
but lover her with all our hearts she is the sweeties of them all
Jack Ellison, teasing back and forth with his witty poems,
so who’s the greatest of them all,
OD'd On Viagra
Hickory, Dickory, Dock
Overdosed on Viagra, whatta shock
My wee fellow looked up
Said, “You ain't no pup!”
I cried, “This guy don't go by no clock”
Copyright © Jack Ellison 2015
But a jolly soul because his Santa Jack this year.
Then there’s our Mystic Rose that joins the group with her sense of humor;
A Little Viagra Goes A Long Way
Incline thy ear o-friend of mine
Me poor husband got it bad
He got a dicky that won't pine
Tis sad Tis sad Tis really sad
I heard yours takes Viagra pills
Malone's will not erect nor stay
and yesterday he got the shills
Just letting dicky out to play!
Would you be so kind to send
The medicine that made him sleep
I'll give my hon a pop to rend
His dicky joy, so he can weep
Few tears of joy alongside mine
Oh how my smile would shine
He got a dicky that won't pine
And that's a real bad sign...
Copyright ©Mystic Rose 7/19/2015
so much fun we have here on Poetry Soup
11/13/2015
Poetry Contest : Who Are those funny Poets
Sponsored by: Judy Konos
August’s dry winds scorch the landscape
While I sit here in the shade of a weeping willow
Watching tiny dust devils twirl and spin along the pavement
Living heat dances, wavering gently the scenery before my eyes
While poppies and gladiolas wither limply on their stem
But the peridot sweet, with its pale green color
Reminds me instantly of renewing spring
As the sun sparks a glitter from this
Precious gift I wear on my finger
Perhaps or simply perchance
It’s why it was chosen
This transparent
Semiprecious
Form of
Olivine
There'll be another empty cot on the camp ground tonight.
Alas, a gallant soldier gave his all in the frightful fight.
His anguished pleas for peace were unheard o'er the battle's roar.
Will humankind ever learn from the barbarous futility of war?
There'll be a pair of empty boots at his memorial service today.
His helmet, rifle and identification tags will also be on display.
Also shown is a photo of a lad in the uniform he proudly wore.
Will humankind ever learn from the horrible futility of war?
Empty arms now hang limply that once held him in fond embrace.
Empty hearts that can only be consoled by the Heavenly Father's grace.
Just a simple marble stone will hallow his name forever more.
Will humankind ever learn from the disastrous futility of war?
At the holiday table this year there'll be an empty chair,
Tho' he'll be absent, they will e'er feel his presence there,
As they reminisce about their hero in precious family lore.
Will humankind ever learn from the merciless futility of war?
Oh! That nations would simply follow the Master's Golden Rule,
Practice brotherhood and learn unto others to be less cruel,
And eliminate for all time such savagery to its very core!
Will humankind ever learn from the brutal futility of war?
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
How I wish I could have clung
to pathos of musings
on this bench in a park:
The same wooden one
which cradled my afternoons,
feeding little birds as memories
gripped the heart-
The sharp stingof her farewell,
right on this spot
drowned time's hands of fate---
that now I hold the seat's arms limply,
if only to recall how my fingers
twined buds in her hair.
All those stories floundering, done .
.
1/4/2018
Contest for Laura Loo
I do not want to simply fall -
to limply slip down from a tree.
I need a purpose to live for.
No Humpty Dumpty on a wall
that splatters down to earth for ME.
Oh, life, there still must be some more!
Some more to do – yes, do it all!
And in the doing – feeling free.
Death, wait a while. I first must soar!
Jan. 2, 2023
(a verse of rhyme scheme with stanzas of abc/abc/abc)
POTD
How I wish I could have clutched
vignettes of remembrance
on this bench in a park;
the same wooden one
which cradled our afternoons,
feeding little birds
as slices of pang gripped my marrow--
The sharp sting of her farewell,
right on this spot
drowned time's kohl of fate---
that now, I hold the seat's arms limply,
if only to recall
how we kissed in the dark
exploring east, west of mouths--
my fingers messing her hair
nipping quick hours of rendezvous.
I forget not the windswept look
of her distant eyes... hours I have
delayed with my misgivings,
my absence wretchedly crossed ---
and upon my woman's leaving
I on this park every sordid night
kiss her only in my thoughts ---forgive.
Lost and Found
Find me in the shadow of life’s archway
waiting…’neath the grey of dingy art work
pressed into the dark of passing's moment,
wilted roses held limply in old hands
clinging to the sounds of lovers voices
whispering to the darkness – “Please….find me.”.
1/17/2017
submitted to – FIND ME IN SIX – Poetry contest
Neither mad dogs nor Englishmen
rejoice as sunlight growing thin
allows the tidal sands to shift
through moonlight’s vapor growing dim
Yet still the beasts of lolling tongue
huddle with their shaded young
beneath a cloak of crimson red
abandoned nests now left unsung
Whilst I enjoyed this mingled tryst
as lovers passing gently kissed
and danced beneath a smiling sun
embracing moments others missed
Soft rustling limply humid leaves
deny the creep of autumn’s thieves
grey squirrels stalking acorn fields
from high upon a church apse eaves
School children race through tanning grass
rejoicing in their sunset dash
pursuing dusk into the dark
as dog day’s breath goes panting past
©9/3/2018
for The Dog Days Endure Poetry Contest
I stand with you upon the shore
of dreams that echo,
but are no more.
A yesterday where dreams once
flowed,
The ebbing waves that
finally slowed,
For dawn of dreams
unrealized,
We watched together
weary eyed.
Our arms once open
to the tide,
Now hang limply
at our side;
mirrored on smooth
waveless sea,
Unless perchance you wave
with me,
Bidding adieu the rushing
Streams,
That lead to oceans of our
Dreams.
Now hand in hand,
upon dried sand,
hearts flow to yesterday.
Echos in a concha shell,
we turn and fly away.
So, what would you have me write?
Dulcet words of limply lurid metaphor
stuttering staccato of acceptable alliteration
preposterously impersonal personification
drab and dreary diluted imagery
innocently innocuous innuendo
insouciantly inane sonnets
neutered non-rapier wit
squishy, soft white bread limericks
fettered faint hearted free verse
sanctimoniously soft spoken rants
devoid of do’s and don’ts, can’s and can’ts
all to fit in a box
with invisible locks
displayed on a Common
of “creative” stocks
John G. Lawless
©6/30/2018