Best Eater Poems
(Alternative Ending for Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater)
Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater.
Do you think he kept his wife so well
by putting her inside a pumpkin shell?
Inside that shell she had no room
to move around. A rotten groom
was Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater.
In the end, his wife could not be found
by friends or family. He’d thrown away the key,
and his wife was not allowed
to leave that stinking pumpkin shell.
Rumor is from loneliness she died.
Peter cruelly put all empathy aside.
Purple People Eater
My car.
It is great.
It takes me everywhere,
Like a roller skate.
I can not wait to go…
Again and again.
We travel from this side to that side,
The state is far and wide.
She is hard to miss.
The color royal, the top is black,
She is sexy.
Thats a fact.
25-30 MPG
10 gallons in the tank.
Do the math,
She is unstoppable.
My tracker, she is always moving forward.
Ever do I pray before we go…
but we do…
Go and go and go…
When I sing I sound like prehistoric creature
Fending off attackers, defending each metre
A scary old fellow
As I screech and bellow
So beware my friends I'm a ravenous eater
to feel another’s Pain is not enough.
you must combine your sympAthy
wIth your empathy,
until they are oNe in the samE.
you must tAke it,
devour IT,
until it becomEs your own.
now…
you can count it your loss, but foR their gain
Limerick : Once a tongue-twisting Pop Man-Eater
Once a tongue-twisting Pop Man-Eater
Went on rampage with just her Strummer
Tunes she hissed were so sweet
Crunched Frenchmen by the fleet
Watch Out ! ‘Merica ! for this Nor’-Easter !
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
A young boy ate ten pies
Now on the ground he sadly lies,
His face is green, his mouth is red
From where all the sauce has spread.
His mother warned him not to eat
Beyond capacity for a treat,
His stomach rumbles once again,
Next time he'll try one less than ten.
There was young “lady" of Chester
Who not only dated a jester
But also and baker n' smith
whom she all liked to kiss
she's known as the great man-molester
Limerick : Once Meat-Eater met a Veg-Eater
Once Meat-Eater met a Veg-Eater
And they got along fine in summer
Who d’you think stopped rains
And dried up all the drains
Meat-Eater slaked thirst thanks to Veg-Eater
Then the snows from Kilimanjaro
Blizzard-driven chilled bones and marrow
Rare preys made themselves scarce
Even ants froze their ass
Whose bones Meat-Eater drained you needn’t know !
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
How does it feel?
when I kneel
we make love
and confess all our sins...
Anoited in our sins
embodiment of our sins
rare gold in color
we always want more...
We sin of lust
swirl in amber
my tongue
licking your flesh...
Midnight wrath
we kiss
we coil
in a fit of redden anger....
"Peter, Peter Pumpkin Eater,
had a wife and couldn't keep her.
He put her in a pumpkin shell,
and there he kept her very well"
(The nursery rhyme that inspired this sonnet)
The Pumpkin Eater
He thought he loved with heart and mind, and so
his goddess wife he set high in a tower.
He cultured trees and ivy there to grow,
so then the keep became a hidden bower.
Ensuring love’s protection even more,
he made around their secret place a maze.
It wound for miles along the forest’s floor
and led all trespassers in different ways.
A fire, he would consume her, and she’d weep.
Deprived of friends and freedom, she would brood,
then into a depression sank so deep. . .
her love for him could never be renewed.
So Peter lost. He’d kept his wife too well.
His tower of love was but a pumpkin shell.
By Andrea Dietrich
For PD's Metaphoric Poetry Contest
The Constitution of a Aging Veggie Eater
I the aged, will do my solemnly best
to eat all my green like vegetables
and what every doctor Oz says is good for my body
and will affirm that in good faith, I give my word that, I will protect my colon and my heart
to the best of my ability, to preserve my health and defend my new way of life
no matter how young i may feel at the time...
P.S. But if a desert comes into view, I will not, do my Hostess best to walk away?!
but eat it with the vigor of a young woman, without a waist line!
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"Oath of office of the President of the United States"
"I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the Office of President
of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the
Constitution of the United States."
en.wikipedia.org/.../Oath_of_office_of_the_President_of_the_United_States
To gain insight about the world around,
I will eat the spores which sprout from the ground.
These fragments of feeling are so fleeting,
Which make up my entire being.
Knowledge or solace will surely be found.
Some new sensation will echo its sound.
In feeding the hunger, I’m all-consumed,
And still picking at my aging wounds.
Joy and agony are momentary creatures,
Details and lines in a portrait’s features.
Without my peripherals, context lost.
Focus turned inward toward abstract thoughts.
I find myself never lacking surprise.
Inspecting the world with blood-shot eyes
Eyes hypnotic, body exotic-
Envelop me in your embrace!
Oh, I fear your touches toxic-
They set my Heart to race!
As is my fashion, a hostage of passion,
And bathed in an amorous flood
And now I feel my feelings gnashing-
Like a shark that senses Blood!
Man Eater.
I was filleting a mackerel when I found a finger in its innards
not much left of it looked like a prawn shell with fingernail,
I said nothing dipped the fillets in flour and deep fried them
served with cucumber salad, boiled potatoes and melted
butter, just the way they like it in Sweden.
The finger was spotted again amongst all the stuff to be thrown
into the bin. great commotion, I said nothing, but have not since
been eating mackerels, they apparently feed on fishermen.
Mane Eater
With a still motion or walk
Prey you craftily stalk
Your eyes burning amber
As eyes of he from slumber
Hunting in Savannah grass
Tongue dropping clean as glass
Then, on the vermin’s neck
Crack! I hear bones break.
With a metal-strong jaw
You begin to lick the paw
To start your feeding day
On flesh of mortal prey.
Lying cold and supine
You begin to greedily dine
King of the jungle in his moat
By feasting to near bloat.
Your appetite turned grey...
With one look at the prey
Lackadaisically saunter away
To carry on with your day.
Not apathetic to your sway
Mane with blood of the play
You stop to preen the fur
Then melt in the Savannah bur.
JM
26th Nov’ 2013