Best Eats Poems
Sunshine Eats Its Armor
Night is an old fish
deep in a dark sea
racing ever upward,
emerging into light
slow to eat more
yet steady as she goes
ever changing its tails,
seeking life anew
anticipating,
a future never known,
breaking against all
speeding into a mist
longed for by many,
desires on every list
Night is a new fish
racing down to flee
sunshine eats its armor
deep, dark it wants to be
Robert J. Lindley
note: A little free verse tonight. Even as I try, poetic rhyme still sneaks in..
like a dog chasing a juicy bone..lol
She Eats Hearts and Worlds
In this world life stands still
heartache chokes in for the kill
Sidewalk leaps up to quickly slay
Fools racing all about every day
That pain sets just so damn well
she that strode from the gates of hell
Tarnishing all that gave in love
her sex fits tightly, like a glove
Those nights did so hotly soothe
she the sexy vixen so damn smooth
Always naked and steaming ready to go
no man could resist the sexual show
In her world you gladly die to play
such delights , pure passion every way
Then roofs came loudly crashing down
death came with smiles and no damn frown!
Robert J. Lindley.
a gorilla
eats a yellow flower - -
humming birds flee
lol, had to use that gorilla
jack horne for sidney’s contest
WILD MOUNTAIN Lion KILLS AND EATS DEER
unfriendly hearts love
shall a female, weak deer skips
whilst watching the lake
bright place for watching
a small, menacing deer runs
beyond the lorry
Highest bitter mount
when mountain lion eating
after kills eats deer
5/27/19
Dragons, how they love to eat;
What they eat the most are sweets.
Candy, baked goods, pudding drinks;
Rarely do they ever eat beets.
No asparagus carrots or broccoli;
They can be picky about meat.
No carrots, beans or salad greens;
Just the pleasant sugary treats.
The darnedest thing about it though;
Diabetes they never get.
Sweets never seem to stunt their growth;
But belly aches make them fret.
Occasionally dragons will eat fruits,
Because they’re a nectarous substitute.
By Elton Camp
Old Bubba had spent his life in the hills
Plain food and drink from whiskey stills
So to the big city he decided he’d go
For about other things he’d like to know
He spent the night at the local YMCA
For breakfast, to a café the next day
Soon, Bubba had a bagel on his plate
Because, on the menu, it looked great
He tried to take a bite and then to cut
“Man, thet’s shore a sorry donut!”
“I never seen one thet hard and tough.”
Bubba began to chew and had enough
To the waitress, he began to bawl
“This thang ain’t go no taste at all.”
“I see why city folks air sick an’ pale.
Th’ Devil made this donut down in hale.”
So Bubba quickly packed up his gear
“I hate sich food so I’ll git out of here!”
So back to his home in the hills he fled
“Don’t never go there,” to all he said
“Fer I jest half to tell ye th’ truth
On a donut I almost broke my tooth.”
Following the food truck trend,
Peruvian fare:
Beef, chorizo, hot dog, eggs
crushing the limp bun—
one “superburger,”
carne clogged.
Split.
the mockingbird eats
homemade cornbread, runs all birds....
rotund; cat's delight
Wow well that's clever. I mean really really intelligent. Must have done all the research well. And drawn exact plans as to not make any errors. Roaring fires sit down in an ice bucket whilst wild seas are placed in shot glasses. Wow. How rather remarkable. What a notion. Ideal isn't it? And squashing the elephant into a child's bathing suit and that mammoth into a negligée meant for a petite lady frame. And as for the wild rampaging rivers well they are meant to be channelled into one centimetre alleyways built with cardboard cut-outs. Dugouts are neither pull outs nor are they pop up books. And bookshops selling their hardbacks with cushions for pages and covers of corrosive substances. Hardly hardy and built to last are they? Which causes the pavements and other concrete areas to crack resembling an old man's face then weep like a memory of childhood dreams. Landscapes link lines and lines frown. And frowning is not a frolicking fauna nor fawn and a dawn would always say hello to the tops of the trees first. Backwards belonging being beforetime bringing basting battling bullfrogs being birthday babies. And a naivety is a navel in a crested guild sitting on the top of a carved antique cane then tip tap down the little streets of old intertwining with the modernity of fashionable shops, markets and bistro bars. Late night stink. Burping. Rather a percentage than a percent sign then. And numbers drawn on a scarf is a scar on a material that was a one off item never to be sold in replicas on shelves. So stick a pin to hold the water of sinks and baths for this is often better than using plugs. Put all plugs away. They are no longer to be used and are now banned in most countries. Pickup puck picked puck pucks picking prickling prickle pickles. Running. In formations on a shelf. And a dive bomber went zoom down the stairs in a five centimetre breeze block house with several rooms saying oh. Z multinationalism multicoloured disco pants and ballet shoes. Turning. Z Socialization Z at thirty-three garden gnomes catching six fish in a snowstorm. And a savoury dip in a kilt dancing with a cracker in a hexagonal hat. Hahaha xx xx xx Z
I cook but no one eats.
I bring my offerings to pot-lucks.
But no one wants to be lucky.
I take it home, without a spoonful gone.
I make surprise casseroles.
They are a glorious testament
To everything we have had to eat that week.
My husband eats before he comes home.
I bake and people laugh.
Once I made an inedible cake.
My twin and cousin rolled it into balls.
They bounced all over the sidewalk.
It was from a cake mix.
My mother asked how I had done it.
No one could eat it, but we played with it all day.
If I knew how I did it I would do it again, and often.
so cold confections
it's hot lovin' this ice cream
frozen ice sweet treat
there my mouth waters
oh, longing for chocolate
vanilla ice cream
6/10/18
written words by James Edward Lee Sr.
Copyright © 2018
abolished beheadings conspire delicately. egotistically fawning grooves hinder intricate juries.
keeping luxurious meanders. nocturnal outlets permeate quintessentially. random splurges
transcend universal victories. whispering xylenics yearn zoomingly.
It eats me alive, it does!
In this place
that does hold
Warm comforting
peace and serenity.
A time does arrive
bearing changes of attitude,
taking me to scary dimensions.
Where the intimidating
browbeat the thoughts
swirling in my free head.
Creating cloudiness, darkness.
I feel it now.
So cold, confused
and extremely agitated
wanting
To scream so loud.
Just take me away
from this place
carry me afar,
for I
Cannot stand it
anymore.
My heart asks,
“What is this experience”
My mind answers
“Well its cabin fever, and for you it shall pass”.
Grandson discovered a magical land called, "under the bed".
Unearthing a tin of jingling coins.
I told him: "The Big one is the king; all the rest are serfs".
He looked at me baby baffled, then let out a baby burp...
Without warning, he tried popping a serf into his mouth.
I pried it from his tiny mitt, and he cried.
so, I soothed him with a little lullaby..
~Little king-little king always love the serfs.
A good king would never eat the serfs. ~
Fear eats the solar system orbiting the hasty heart,
consumes essential logic and the reason of the mind,
corrodes a sense of clarity and strikes the sighted blind,
sucks blood out of the judgement bones until they fall apart.
Drives nails into the coffin that is buried premature,
confuses with an apprehensive virus of infection,
snaps it's jaws at empty air and advocates rejection
of all that is defined unknown, of all that is unsure.
Fear eats the solar system, hungry and a touch insane,
yet spares a lone manoeuvre that the hasty heart can do,
to hold and look into itself and to itself be true,
for fear faced and laid to rest allows the truth remain.
And in that truth the future lies entwined with what is known,
a context fashioned sensitive to love and life and faith,
is it to be or not to be, reality or wraith?
the answers lie in each of us, in each of us alone.