Best Dill Pickle Poems
Whilst walking down the street one day,
I saw upon the drain,
A little green dill pickle,
That was beaten by the rain.
I picked it up and took it,
To my house upon the hill.
I placed it in a tiny bed.
I named it, Baby Dill.
I nursed it back to bright green health.
Its flesh was plump and firm.
Whenever I would touch it,
I'm sure I saw it squirm.
One day when I noticed,
My babies wrinkly skin.
I grabbed a jar of pickle juice,
And I promptly threw it in.
Within a couple of hours,
I thought I'd better check.
My baby dill was missing.
I was just a wreck.
That's when I saw my brother,
He was sitting in his chair.
Eating my dill pickle.
As if he didn't care.
This was the hardest lesson,
I've ever had to learn.
Now I can't eat pickles.
They make my stomach turn.
If your feeling a slight bit fickle,
consider then, eating a pickle,
they glide down your throat,
a shiny green coat,
ending up a dill pickle tickle..
There once was a man who loved garlic dill
Holding them in his hand gave him a thrill
Doorknobs are fermented
With garlic tormented
His wallet and all of his precious bills
spawned in the summer of 1853
these sliced succulent deep fried wonders
resulted from the demands of a complaining customer
whose ******** led our man, a one,
mr. george crum
to do his best to satisfy the putz in question by
replacing the humdrum n’ waterlogged n’ sodden,
slithery,
pommes de terre
with
his
new
&
improved
(as thin as could possibly be imagined),
drenched in salt,
deep fried & sizzling,
immaculate conception.
and as you can imagine, mr. cornelius vanderbilt
(said unruly customer),
whom mr. crum felt would most assuredly send back the creation he just made,
again,
for his money back,
instead
had something of an ****** of the taste buds!
and so these
“saratoga chips”
came to be the next big thing---
satisfying lovers of starch, grease & salt, everywhere.
it didn’t take long for word to get to canada where they buried them things in
dill pickle,
ketchup,
jalapeño & cheddar,
salt n’ pepper,
roast chicken---or to
austria where they soak em’ in garlic, bulgaria, where paprika is the taste of the day—
& colombia boasts
mayonesa y limón,
egypt popularized the kebob & stuffed vine leave essence of zest,
you got oregano chips in greece
you got the overwhelming majority chomping down the tayto’s in ireland
whereas in
russia
it is caviar, crab and
shashlik
which make the people salivate.
regardless of where you are or what you are doing
you can get some kind of potato chip
yes,
you can suck down that sodium & grease
mmmmmmmm
i
myself
am currently in something of a sour cream n’ onion phase---
and i must say
i praise the day
that crum went back in the
kitchen
&
angrily
whipped up a batch of
yummyness
for
vandy
to
suck
down---
commencing
la revolución de patatas fritas.
If I had a shiny new nickel
I'd buy me another dill pickle
My wife thinks she knocked me up
Made me go pee in a cup
But pickle juice came out in a trickle
Puggily Smidgeburner always had trouble with his name
Bless her, his dear mother was totally to blame
She thought it would someday bring him great fame
Then one day Prettisome Guru he happened to meet
He thought a name as bad as his a tremendous feat
With great joy his new friend he was thrilled to great
The two friends decided to open a business together
“Puggily Prettisome & Co”, a purveyor of feathers
They were open rain or shine no matter the weather
As you might guess the business was a great bust
It seems the pair was allergic to the feathery dust
Now they’re making pies with a dill pickle crust…….
Wrote this because my wife and I both love dill pickles and eat one before bedtime most
every night.
Haiku:
Cucumber on vine,
Pack them, process them, spice them
Birth of a pickle.
Here's another version that I like also. Second line was suggested to me by Tim Ryerson so
thank you Tim:
Cucumber on vine,
Plucked and peeled, sliced up and dilled...
Birth of a pickle.
Free Verse:
Cucumber patiently growing on vine
Plucked, processed with Mother Nature's abundant spices.
Viola, birth of a dill pickle, Heaven!
We push to imitate nature's
flavors, both sour and sweet;
compare the taste of lemons
to that of a lush, ripe peach,
or the nectar of pure honey
to the tang of a dill pickle.
The fruit-flavored snack-pack
spilled into my hand,
perceived imitations of the real deal:
One shaped blackberry (hardly)
Two round orange slices (scored)
One green apple (Granny Smith?)
A bunch of cherries (close)
Two raspberries (not)
I popped rubbery orbs into my mouth,
closed my eyes and chewed slowly,
seeking the flavor of raspberries
like those growing on vines
just beyond the entrance to Castlewood State Park.
The cherry almost succeeded
in replicating the original;
all others were blatant counterfeits.
I once met a Flavor Chemist.
How many blackberries must he consume
before he can approximate the taste?
He answered my question
with a smile, and a bottle
of imitation vanilla flavoring.
I can still smell the scent of pickling spice drifting through the house-
a pickle is just a cucumber, whether it is a cuke, spear, or coin
in a brine of white vinegar, water, spices and pickling salt
and left to ferment for days, weeks, sometimes years
but still remain always cool and so crunchy
forever crispy- no matter the length
delightfully sour, the most is best
low calorie snack for anytime
or addition to a sandwich
and just plain delicious
oh, I crave a pickle
_______________________
February 21, 2020
Poetry/List/Grandma's Dill Pickle
Copyright Protected, ID 20-1227-376-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Submitted to the Standard contest, Your Fav poem not for a contest
sponsor, John Hamilton
Seventh Place
I bought a pickle ornament for Spence.
The boy just loves his pickles, makes no sense.
So with this glass dill pickle
His spirits I will tickle.
Hope this is among his best ornaments.
for PD's Pickles & Tickles limerick contest
Dill pickle hated him so
Because he stank badly
Dill pickle screamed just go
Blue cheese wept thus sadly
When I leave the fridg, bro
I'll stink ever much mo
Dill pickle grew older
Fermenting like a bozo
Then opening his holder
A stink scent deathblow
I want a freshly baked kaiser roll
Sliced in two with nice lean roast beef
Laid between so I can call it sandwich
Swiss cheese, tomato, Vidalia onion
(Sliced not chopped) with a dab of mayo
And horseradish sauce or hollandaise
Vinegar/salt chips and crisp dill pickle
I have no money or tummy only me
Alone with my empty ceramic center
Dangling on the rail of a high rise complex
Waiting for a breeze to push me on or off
I am a pretty pink vase so have mercy on me
No ferns or flowers inside for company
I am hungry for something good to eat
Curios but mostly epicurious in nature
Give me a sandwich for free as a favor
Perhaps I can pay you back on Tuesday
I can wish for something different
Vases have dreams too to fill the hollow
I love the smell
Of a dill pickle
It reminds me of
Living in the country
On a scorching hot day
With me sitting in
My rocking chair
Taking a big bite into it
As the pickle juice runs
Down the side of
My mouth and ends
Up all over my clothes