Best Egging Poems
my husband and I used to argue
weeks after a verbal agreement should have been over
we were silly about it
heckling and harassing each other
over things that do not matter
ridiculously egging and goading
my husband told me a story about a soldier
the soldier kept beating his horse after it had died
his commanding officer said “the horse is dead, dismount”.
now when the argument reaches a silly stage
one of us yells “the horse is dead, dismount”
this has worked to end our idiocy for the last fifty years.
A pple pies, that's what I want to bite.
B egging my mom: "Mommy please, please..", as I
C ome closer to her..
D ancing a little to the left and right;
E very move a way to tempt my mom
F or that sweet delicious pie..
G iving her a kiss to her lips. And
H ugs so tight.. Finally,
I ris, my mom, said yes, yes we go and buy
J umping thrice for I am happy and thrilled, I
K not my arm to my mom's.
L ovingly, not wanting any other mom.
M oving fast as we could to buy not one or two but a plentitude of pies.
N oting, how generous is my mom for I was just asking for one.
O ven-fresh, my mouth waters as I smell the apple pies.
P icking one piece,
Q uickly, I took a luscious large bite.
R ich rumble rush of savory pie
S ated my appetite.
T aunting me to take more! more!
U nder my mom's gaze, Again I eat and eat.
V ery delicious, I said to my mom
W idening my grin and giving thumbs up.
X eric is my throat, I drink and drink.
Y ummy! So yummy, that I eat four pies in a row.
Z ipper of my pants, my oh my, I hardly can close!
*** Xeric means dry.
_______________________________________________________
Sponsor Carol Eastman '
Contest Name Your favorite Poem Contest
© O. E. Guillermo
9:36PM
October 10, 2014
They survived the Great Depression, my parents did
living from hand-to-mouth for over a decade
Took any job they could get, and were grateful for it
working 72 hours a week for a ‘salary’ of twelve lousy bucks
My father watched grown men cry and jump out of tenement windows
ashamed that they could not provide for their families – two or three a day, he told me
My mother heard ‘dirty Jew’ hurled at her so often
she became obsessive about washing her hands and face…
…Yet when it came time to serve their country
they were first in line for the privilege of seeing America through WW2
Fighting side by side with fellow un-hyphenated Americans
Jewish or Catholic, from Italy or France – didn’t matter
Americans all, they fought their hearts out for the Stars and Stripes
for the land of the brave and the home of the braver
******
And now, it pains me to see what we’ve become on the cusp of our 250th birthday
Capitalists fleeing our signature city, NYC, run by an unrepentant socialist radical
‘Woke’ Governors, Congressmen and Mayors giving away ‘stuff,’
Free health care, free college, free food, free rent, free bus service, free, free, free
The greatest public misfit of any age, Bernie Sanders, the cheerleader egging it all on
And the devil himself, George Soros, quietly financing the destruction of the country
America! that saved his life, granting him refuge from the Nazis
******
May my mother and father, and their entire generation, rest in peace knowing they made
America great once and made us all so proud.
Battle Rap With Brenda Chiri
Brenda Chiri don't try me
It's not old and told,
same gun, bullets roll,
pull it hole
strolling rhymes,
quick time,
literally laying these words at pace
while you take out a pen and paper
jotting down like a waiter,
rhymes to cater
couldn't be straighter,
down the line
the same constant whine
from the kind drinking wine,
out the bottle not the glass,
you aint got the throttle or the class
to spas alongside my asss,
I'll set you a task
watch you finish last,
dragging your handbag to bits,
alongside your sandbag tets,
I can do the splits and backflips,
you have splits in your hips,
see me now, I plough like magic,
your comebacks are plastic
made with fake fabric,
with laxative patches
you're like Bush giving a speech,
five letter words beyond your vocal reach,
needing a teacher like a freak,
I fight on the beaches,
I'll fight you and all your beaches,
egging you on,
like Brenda you strong
but your words make me mong,
so until next time for now I say to you so long.
My brother-in-law keeps egging me on
"Get active in political races
If you wait too long, your chance will be gone
Politicos hire familiar faces”
Tim always thinks he knows what’s best for me
And he just assumes I’ll take his advice
After all, he’s blessed with a PhD
Knows how to avoid paying market price
Though some pursue careers with great gusto
Following my heart is more important
Political favors I can forego
Pursue no payback; suffer no torment
If you become the devil’s advocate
You might lose self respect, lickety split
There was a party tonight
here in the park where I live;
a three piece band played
mostly oldies from the fifties.
Some couples danced
and that was fun to watch.
I even got up and joined the chorus line
of single women, movin' their moves
and struttin' their stuff,
after a glass and a half of
my favorite vintage Cabernet,
and after reliving a very brief moment
from at least one past life
as a belly dancer, for the old guys
who were egging me on...
One couple, maybe in their 80's,
danced like two people
who have danced together all their lives.
One could imagine that their dance
portrayed their life together,
honoring each other's individual movement while
combining them to create a third rhythm
and a dance all its own.
Neither of them alone
would have been nearly as captivating
as the two of them
were together.
Have you ever noticed that?
Waves of cinnamon thrill my childhood senses
down Eastwood’s stall for pancake’s fluffy batter
browned choco bits riding on syrup’s edges
and frothy heap of whipped cream topped on platter
Grandma’s chirped voice begins to dance in my head
her sunlit eyes egging me for rounds of treat.
Visions of youth bring me to days, warmly fed,
I end the meal pining for her cherished feast.
©
Sara Kendrick’s A Pleasant Childhood Memory
BEYOND THE SNOWS OF WINTER
You go on ahead, my son,
I’ll catch up with you when the snow reaches the end of winter
You have your life to live and worlds to explore
Where you are headed I won’t be going
Maybe I will be there in spirit ensconced in your memory
But I will always have the memories we built
The many baseball games you played and starred
Do you recall, I was there for all of them?
There were many pitching practices behind our house
And at Moore Field chasing fly balls I hit to you
I’ll never forget the day we went to Dodger Stadium and saw
Fernando pitch that perfect no-hitter, remember?
I’ll never forget you practicing the piano
And how good you were becoming
The teacher said that with practice
You could become a really good pianist
Those days are in our past
But our story goes way back
The playful reality we enjoyed became a nightmare
And those wonderful memories lie in the dustbin of my memory
Our relationship devolved through the years
You're more distant now; a father-son past put away
Never to return, never to be mentioned
Life is not fair they say and it’s true
I only remember the good times of those days
Our many laughs and slurpees after games
And how you developed into a fine young man
To become a well respected professional attorney
I wish you continued success, my boy
That’s what you have always been to me, my precious child
My pride and joy; you remain so to this day
as you always will
My days have come and gone and I will leave you shortly
To reach that plateau of respite I direly need
To dwell beyond the snows of winter in my long sleep
Dreaming of what it was and what could have been
I sense Time anxiously counting the minutes, egging me on
The Specter with the scythe beckons with its bony digit
Vigilantly, patiently waiting for my spirit to let go
To join the ethereal collective
Sorry For The Danettes
by Rick Rucker
I'm so sorry, neighbor Sun,
For what my little dog has done!
I don't see how it could even happen, that a dog that has to jump to pee,
Could impregnate a dog that, when standing, is five foot three!
Analyzing the "attack,"
Your dog must have been on her back,
Egging poor little Heinrick on,
Once started, I'm sure, he was gone!
Still, you must admit,
That they are quite a hit,
With all the local brats,
Who use them to chase the cats!
At two feet long, and legs real small,
They can hide behind a soccer ball!
Jumping out, running like the wind,
Those once-fat cats, are much more thinned.
Please accept my apology,
For Heinrick's lesson in Impossible Biology!
Pursuit for elusive prey
teases yours truly
into treacherous catacombs
dangerous mentally
challenging pitfalls,
sets small hairs of back
on camp creeks edge
of night, where dark shadows
evoke outer limits
of twilight zone
prompting me constantly questioning
purposefulness, qua hair raising pursuit
embarking these modern roman times
all for naught,
nonetheless I chide self
failing to heed
emotional, mental, psychological...fallout
in sum re: springing Jack in the box reflex
to sally forth and earn kudos,
asper potential Prince Valiant.
Thus situated with blank computer screen
capacious external Lenovo for myopia
(and incessant squiggly floaters to boat),
this literary glutton for punishment
feverishly fixates to plumb depths
measuring mor'n 10,000
leagues under the see
ming lee impossible mission
to ensnare nearly extinct
fluttering, lyfting, shutterflying...
smarts to outwit unsuspecting
beak henning quest
tendering, tasting uber victory
quivering crossbow
targeting yawping
zoological discovery - channeling
primed with taut fletched arrow
on high alert for stool pigeon
cautiously optimistic kickstarting
another futile attempt dagnabbit
experiencing prestige,
oh...and by the way...,
no animal harmed
regarding made for video poem
gamely capturing quarry scotched,
nor gruesome scene
synonymous quasi abattoir
representative bird den sum
bloodless coup deeming
endeavor par excellence.
Fingers madly scramble
to poach skittering idea
fry day most ideal
omelette ya know,
aye feel yolked to defeatism,
one after another faux
promising brainstorm egging
quickly flitting inaccessible
potential flash in frying pan
just as fast dashing
into bajillion pieces
shell shocked scrivener
scribbling lame as duck
goose laying golden egg...
dropping immediately out of sight,
maybe best resigning forlorn
inchoate never albumen,
albeit quite linguistic stretch for
(all be human success story)
prospects beyond reach
ova this wretch
New York Times
bestseller author jinxed
forever dooming yours truly
grinding poverty my ill fate.
Cuz the goddamn T-shirt says so!
Well, the first time it was Billy,
ball busting Billy, who said
“go ahead, just do it”.
To this day I am not sure
what caused me to follow
this instruction. The end result,
I had red finger tips
for three weeks
and my finger prints
are still on file
in the park
on that bench.
The opportunities
to “just do it!” came
more frequently when
alcohol was flowing,
or there was a cute girl
to impress with my
stupidity and daring.
Scars, bruises(physical
and emotional), a U-tube
moment with the half life
of radium.
Marriage was like that,
I mean the proposal part.
That was the only time
I was the one to say
“Hey, let’s just do it!”
Age hasn’t cured this anomaly.
At 68 I looked at a kayak,
that voice whispered
“just do it” – I did.
My hips and shoulders ache,
my kneecaps are sunburnt
and I pray there is no-one
around with a camera as I
try to get my old ass out
of my new kayak.
Ball busting Billy started it
and the goddamn T-shirt
just keeps egging me on.
6/16/2016
submitted to – If it hurts so bad, why do we do it?
sponsor – Silent One
You see me, I know
Caked with deepen shade
Everyone teased, but you hurt the worst
When you ignored and walked away
Now limping with a heartache
Disadvantaged with a broken soul
Those physical abuse wasn't their game
Teasing and taunts satisfied their toll
Thought you would stand up
And defend the scars under my skin
But instead joining in on the torment
Egging on bruises within
Trust was belittled
By the one that meant most
Dissolving friendship with a knife in back
Those things happen I suppose
The crude words spread
Like a diesese so untrue
But the worst ones that cut me
Were the lies sprawled out by you
I forgive you for punches
You seemed to throw when you spoke
And every kick your heels dug in
Solid as your choice words choke
Still have marks that had tried to heal
But decided to remain as scars
And inside my soul you'll see how
Still floating around are your remarks
Never crossed my mind
That we'd be like this today
The insults you breath in are dangerous
Bullying to fit in another day
Hellacious howls tickle and titillate
the trompeleil scene
in the pastel Court of Kings.
Flamboyancy rings as the
fluttering coo of a rapiers dance in the hands of fops,
through the high ceilinged corriders of castle in the chill air
buzzing past the ears
of the mischievous lillipitians, yearning,
egging on yearlings with antiquated filigreed foils.
Ludicrousity runs riot
trolloping in fandango-clicks of hooker-red
across the quilt-stitched batten puffed blazers
of Dukes and Pimpernels pompously prancing
before beatific, porcelain, wig-topped dolls
rouged and hollow-eyed.
Chroniclers cavort in the manner of angry bees
on spindle-pins, their stocking encased legs
pawing at pedagogs who gawk slack jawed.
Only the puncture of flesh-framed torsos
brings an end to the melee.
*Melee, generally refers to disorganized close combat
involving a group of fighters.
I see you walk with your head held high
Your heart is breaking, but you don't even sigh
Distancing yourself from all the painful memories
Trying to build a new life and pick the pieces
You tread the path path that was familiar to you
Where you had once held hands with your love true
Now all you see is desolation and your dream's ruins
Even the rain fails to put out the inferno within
You walk uphill to the temple, looking for peace to gather
Remembering the same journey, your loved one and you took together
Remembering his words of encouragement, when you were too tired to go on
His warm embrace and calm eyes, egging you on
But now despite the crowd, you feel alone
Thinking of the good times long gone
Nothing to fill the void you feel by your side
You wish he was beside you, as your guide
Deep in your heart you believe, not far is bliss
He will take you in his arms and your lips he will kiss
He will be there for you in your times of despair
Comforting you and, with love, stroking your hair
....My Poem....
I dare you not to like "my poem"...not to read my writing...but when you do...you passively read it like it's some child's drawing on the refrigerator....I dare you not to comment on "my poem"...but I know you read it...skimming through my words...waiting for a cute antidote to cure your reading mind....but still not
having the decency to leave a comment in kind gestures...this poem is for the suggesters who encourages me to keep writing...exciting the reader's mind with my pen to write a no comment response poem again...it makes me shed a tear
which falls on "my poem" and causes the fountained ink to leave smudges on the sheet of paper...think...this poem is for the poem contest judges...I hate ya...
I enter the contests....follow the rules...but I don't even get a good job comment
from your views....I dare you to skim through this poem...and not comprehend
that I can't stand it when I put my poems out there to make the world of poets
realize that I am here...aware that I am alive...well enough to write "my poem"
which gets no comments...but receives reads...4 of them are mine...
but at least i know they were read...thoughts of my words being copied or stolen
stay circling in my head...but I'll be fine...I dare you not to like "my poem"...but you read it fast enough to know that...I'm not begging I'm egging you on to keep me strong 'til I'm gone..or done with writing...pen to paper...reading mind exciting
mine to write..."My Poem"
By: Peter DeSpirito