Category: Limerick Poem

We live each day until we croak,

Eternity is a myth, a heinous joke,

Be yourself as best you can,

Live according to your own plan,

I used to think I had a handle on life, then it broke.

The autumn air reeks of stink bugs and skunks,

Foul-smelling pretend gladiators and weaselly punks,

Drooling politicians, truth and dignity they drench,

No election is untouched by their fetid stench,

Every candidate, the test of worthiness flunks.

You are mine to hold so dear,

You fill me with poetry like Shakespeare,

Your kiss is sweet as a cordial cherry,

Each sip of you makes me merry,

A Manhattan cocktail always brings me cheer.

No sooner we tip our hats to this year’s fall,

Glorious colors, bright sunshine, it has it all,

Fat pumpkins, ripe apples, golden stalks of corn,

Trees surrender their leaves, yards they adorn,

But soon we shall hear winter’s blusterous call.

After a colorful October weekend, ’tis Monday,

For all the working stiffs, ’tis not a fun day,

Being semi-retired and limericks to write,

I work on my morning poem till it’s just right,

This one, I fear, start-of-the-week foreplay.

By my window sat a plump morning dove,

Her mate clumsily landed, giving her a shove,

Two birds of a feather,

Cold rainy weather

A sign this day will need a whole lot of love.