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Best Poems Written by Lim'rik Flats

Below are the all-time best Lim'rik Flats poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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I search for you eagerly
in the shadows of your words

                                                                  hoping to find the meaning I desire.

In the love-glens of my fading memory
smoldering ashes of distant fires linger,

                                                         glimpses of you with deep-rouged cheeks.

Mere recollection of your scent assassinates 

                                                                                                       my heart.

Across the vast wilderness of separate lives we’ve wandered apart crippled by our moments in other lovers' arms.
Do we share desire? Is it too late? I search for you eagerly, in the shadows of your words.

Copyright © lim'rik flats | Year Posted 2016

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with passion’s brilliant mediocrity we sparked a flame with tragedy it was our common fantasy what a candid lie we chose to sing while watching worlds were turning we rubbed two thorns with yearning we set emerald cities burning what a candid lie we chose to sing adoration reeked of haughty claim adulation played a sordid game affections viral... would not tame what a candid lie we chose to sing
what a candid lie we sing in the graying dawn of age as with our trembling hands we turn a bitter page you gaily pierced the side of me a garden weeps inside of me anguish eats the soul of me since you have forsaken me
what a candid lie I chose to sing worlds keep on turning affections keep on yearning young men keep on learning candid lies they gladly choose to sing
your last kiss came on my last dime a greyhound bus rolled down the line empty seats filled up with time maybe yours maybe mine

Copyright © lim'rik flats | Year Posted 2016

Details | Lim'rik Flats Poem

Oatmeal Sunday Morning

I feigned taking a bite
attempting, of course, to convince her

oatmeal was yummy, "good for her"
necessary               etc.

I made rhymes of moons 
                                        and spoons

oats and boats,
little girls wearing coats

She smiled, but refused to take a bite
as she had nearly every day now
for                                                       months

I turned to reach a paper towel
to mop up the inevitable drips caught in the palm of my hand

spoons and cupped hands
they are the same thing, right?

I never heard a death rattle
of course, these old ears of mine...

The hospice nurse gently closed her eyes.

I said, "Goodbye Mother,"

and wondered how it had happened so quickly,
those sixty-nine years we shared.

Copyright © lim'rik flats | Year Posted 2017

Details | Lim'rik Flats Poem

one veteran's day

firkins and gherkins and whistles and shoes
cluster bombs, punji stakes, death in the news
choppers chattering
napalm splattering
a carpet bombed mind with asian war blues

cracked vinyl records and medals unworn
black and white photo, ex-soldier unshorn
wheeling chair
graying hair
a beaded necklace with peace sign well worn

tobacco stained fingers shake with a curse
lips pull a drag with help from a nurse
flares ignite
will he fight?
a battle goes cold, memories submerse

wheeled to a corner, he stares at a wall
that others can’t see, for him it is all
locked within
he can’t win
a war without end... unspeakable gall

Copyright © lim'rik flats | Year Posted 2016

Details | Lim'rik Flats Poem

Women in Military Service for America Memorial

Oft overlooked veterans,
of EVERY American war
The Medal of Honor, 
one woman only ever wore.*

Women in Military Service,
a concept slow to grow.
Unrecognized, under-compensated,  
yet, always there, always ready to go.

A Memorial to Women in Military Service,**
a concept slow to grow.
In every war, everywhere,***
they are always ready to go.

Please join me in well-deserved salute
to these mothers, sisters, lovers
and wives; usually unarmed, always brave.  
Many died alongside men — the traditional soldiers.

*Only one women has been awarded the United States of America's Medal of Honor: Mary Edwards Walker (Civil War).  How Many more deserved it? 
**Located in Arlington National Cemetery
***If you are not US Citizen, please recognize the women veterans of your country, I'm sure there are many.

Copyright © lim'rik flats | Year Posted 2017

Details | Lim'rik Flats Poem

the big apple

I made a trip to New York
and surely looked like a dork
staring at the sky
scrapery so high
(and sometimes ogled a nork*)

I took a walk to the dock
heard so many kinds of talk
from seething masses
(and some were asses**)
all I could do was just gawk

I went out to Ellis Island
'cause Woodie*** says it is myland
and it is yours too
it just wouldn’t do —
to exclude folks from the high lands

deserts, swamps or wherever.
I think we should endeavor
(since most of us once,
were just immigrants)
to welcome them forever

or give it to first peoples,
tear down our pious steeples.
Stop saying we care
(if it is hot air)
Stop our slaughter of sheeples!

I tend to ramble a lot.
My trip to the melting pot?
Was a WOW I’d say
and maybe one day
I will return at a trot.

Salute to souper Ilene
(a fan of, I’ve always been)
and to that Billy
who is so silly****
They live in that crazy scene!

asteriskus explanus:

*aussie slang word (google it)
**not all were asses — overall I found New Yorkers much less rude than I had expected (based on what I’d been told) 
***Guthrie - the folksinger
****According to hisself, souper Sillybilly Thekidster

Copyright © lim'rik flats | Year Posted 2016

Details | Lim'rik Flats Poem

Collaboration Can Be Fun join in here

I'm a firm believer
In limerick fever
(This isn't news)
"It'll cure the blues!"
Says Jan (who is no deceiver)

Written by Jan Allison:

Writing limericks is a fine art
Yes I write about poop or a fart
But show me someone
Whose not dropped a ‘bomb’
then from poetry soup I’d depart!

Written by Lim'rik Flats:

Does art mimic life or life mimic art?
Don't ask me, I'm not too smart.
It seems the soup
Has the same poop
As watching the news (or a fart).

Drama and trauma, factions and foes,
Smiting and fighting, (hard on the nose),
Saves me the trouble
Of viewing double
Saves time, and less grief I suppose.

Written by Ray Gridley:

Raise a toast to this collaboration
Whatever your race or your nation
Just write on a whim
Lim'rick Flat's bound to grin
They are all going to be a sensation!

Written by Daniel Turner:

I know a guy called Lim'rick Flats
Writes limericks at the drop of a hat
Jan is his pal
She's quite a gal
They met in a laundry mat

Jan makes jokes about poop
he puts them in alphabet soop
drinks from the bowl
with no self control
which makes him a nincompoop

Also written by Daniel Turner:

Write all the limericks you want
but don't fart in a restaurant
people will laugh
call you riffraff
even if you're a debutante

Written by John Lawless:

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 

Written by Terry Reeves:

Late for work she flew out the door
Took an express elevator to the 29th floor
Let some discreet killer farts
Nearly stopped all their hearts
Left them gagging; she'd evened the score

Written by Tim Smith:

Nonsense is here found out in the alley
Five funny lines we'll add to the tally
a smile or two
we laught till we're blue
so put out your best and join in our rally

Written by Alexis Y:

Hey what's going on in the soup?
Lim'rik Flats I want the scoop
What do you have to say?
You got poem of the day
Congrats, I shouldn't have flown the coop

Written by Jean Murray:

John is always fun.
His poems and their puns.
If you need a lift.
He has the gift.
Lim'rik Flats is number one.

psst.  How could I not add this to the string?  ~ john

Copyright © lim'rik flats | Year Posted 2017

Details | Lim'rik Flats Poem

eight days a week


maudlin Monday's mostly mud
halts the weekend with woeful thud
laughs and sillies
get the willies
on maudlin Monday, what a dud


tintinnabulous Tuesday
is the second paying-dues day
we head uphill
but it’s no thrill
'cause we’re not there, but we’re on our way


wadd'lin Wednesday straddles the hump
wiggles and shakes like a wide-angle rump
it’s a little too slow
with way too much show
wadd’lin Wednesday makes us “harumph”


thoracic Thursday we’d like to send west
we want to get Thursday off of our chest
we’re not so sure
we can endure
thoracic Thursday'd be a good day to rest


finally Friday, when it gets here
makes one take a look in the mirror
to practice a smile
to reclaim a style
time to get ready for giggles and beer!

sleep in

sleep-in Saturday comes with the blues
has way too many of those chore-ing to-do’s
so get outta bed
with hung-over head
and put off whatever you choose


shuff'lin Sunday saunters along
changing tempo, just like a song
pretty soon then
it’s time again
for Monday and that is just wrong!


elusive, the eighth day hides from the rest 
we like to think we’d like it the best
but we’d probably waste it
and then we’d lambast it.
an eight day week the Beatles addressed

Copyright © lim'rik flats | Year Posted 2016

Details | Lim'rik Flats Poem

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.

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.

Copyright © lim'rik flats | Year Posted 2017

Details | Lim'rik Flats Poem

if I were an elephant

If I were an elephant I’d shave off my trunk.
Shave off my trunk!  Who woulda thunk?
Cause a really long nose
reaching down to my toes
is an ostentatious piece of junk.

But wait, how the heck would I shower?
I’d need a huge hunk of hydraulic power.
to rinse the plaque
off my big back
and time-wise, it’d consume half an hour!

So I guess my trunk I’d keep.
So I could shower on the cheap
and pick up the soap
or salute the Pope
if he paraded by in his Jeep

*no contest

Copyright © lim'rik flats | Year Posted 2016