Short Flats Poems
Short Flats Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Flats by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Flats by length and keyword.
welcome to lim’rik flats
where boys wear only spats
it's in a valley
called nonsense alley
(psst... they also wear hats)
from down on the flats we can see
high-on-the-hills poetry
sonnets like mansions
sestinas in stanchions
they fill our dulled hearts with much glee
oh the limerick it ain’t quite a sonnet
and the learned, they look down upon it
for they cannot grasp
its head or its ass
nor the cleansing effect of its tonic
John G. Lawless
6/18/2017
Writing limericks is a fine art
Yes I write about poop or a fart
If you show me someone
Who has NOT dropped a ‘bomb’
then from poetry soup I’ll depart!
Inspired by Lim'rik flat's poem 'Collaboration can be fun'
06-18-17
quirky bats from lemon flats
rolled up into the orange mats
did not come out until Halloween
hidden until they chose to be seen
the children liked them right away
parents were not yelling “yes, hooray!”
but children are not fearful until they are told
by people who are prejudiced, staid and old
On Good Friday after church we eat
curried pickled fish and hot crossed buns
and drink black coffee because we share
in the painful agony of the Lord.
On Easter Sunday after church we braai *
meat and drink like fish and rejoice
in the victory over death and grave.
* (rhymes with "bye" ) - barbeque / barbecue
Wichita Flats was
a town that was once
out west long ago.
Just a sage brush
or two is all
that remains now.
Dance halls thrived
there from one
end of town to the next.
A Cyclone came to
town one day,
carried the town,
clear across Kansas
and beyond, now
Wichita Flats rests
at top of Pikes Peak,
for all to see.
written 4-23-11
Thirty-four people killed in a week.
The Cape Flats gangs are not weak.
They shoot to kill and maim,
to them, it’s all the same.
Let’s be real,
the gangs are a bad deal.
In them, there is no good.
To them, death is like food.
You must fight to live, every day.
Being bad is the only way.
They rule the street
and the innocent must take the heat.
Seven days a week
they feed on the weak.
The gangs have no love to give.
They don’t forget or forgive.
The other day I had a "first", two flat tires.
Could it have been worse?
I was on a narrow country road and
driving very, very slow.
Suddenly my car made a loud pop
and then it fell. The right side dropped.
I drove a bit further with a little hesitation
and fortunately reached my planned destination.
I got out of the car and said, "oh no,
on this lovely day I'll need a tow".
I must have hit a pot hole.
Two thousand dollars I had to pay.
The road less traveled can stay that way..