Best Eggs Poems
Benedict was tired, he’d been driving all day.
This was his last delivery, 2 tonnes of eggs delivered to Safeway.
The kid came out of nowhere, stared Benedict in the face,
He tried to brake, then swerved, in the wrong place.
The scene was chaos, emergency services scramble into action,
Ambulance officer, Florentine put Benedict’s legs into traction,
loaded him in the ambulance and quickly whisked him from the site.
The bystanders hoped that Benedict would be all white!
Sergeant Skillet arrived on the scene, he was feeling a little queasy.
A witness came forward and told Skillet the truck went over easy.
Skillet gleefully took a statement, finally a case he could crack.
He poached a pen from Constable Quiche, wrote it down on his back.
The clean up took some time, it was a delicate operation.
The fire brigade, were walking on “eggshells”, had been since they left the station.
Scene commander, Dumpty, directed the crew from a nearby wall.
If things went wrong, he knew he’d be the one to take the fall.
A nearby, protest group, trying to shake loose the yoke of oppression,
were called over to help, clean the streets, for these young folk a good lesson.
It’s not all about being self, centred from the cradle to the casket.
And to remember the old adage, Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.
Last year, her imagination went double
so she ignored her previous schedule.
She put all her dreams inside of clear jars,
decorated with different, assorted stars.
She believed if she always kept things rounded
she would also succeed in keeping life grounded,
So, she would circle every found square
believing it demonstrated her constant care.
Plastic, colored eggs hung from her ceiling
to keep her floor from creaking and reeling.
Pale pink and bold gold stripes on her wall
recorded every received telephone call.
She worshiped and loved both the sun and moon,
but only from inside her living room.
She feared really being observed outside,
a place where stray cats were known to hide.
She always loved to dance, but during this year
she’s been dancing to music only she can hear.
All these things bring her secure nuances near,
but make her sanity less and less clear.
Like Easter eggs and seashells,
I collect them
scattered dubloons in gypsy gold
Brushstrokes of verse by hands more able
to decorate, and brighten
My barren table
Bountiful fruit from other fields
As smiles compel,
As lament heals
They are the beauty I borrow
The flowers I water
They are gems of titian embers
The ascension
Of alpine timbers
They are starshine's lilac eclipse
A caravan of kinship
At my fingertips.
12/5/19
Easter morning- children grown
a pair of cold white eggs
sitting in a silent bowl
Edible, plentiful,
Easy to prepare, and
Extra tasty when fried;
Easter bunny brings them.
Eager children find them.
Elliptical shaped shells
Embody earth and life!
Written Sept. 18, 2016 for Kim Merryman's Pleiades E Poetry Contest
When love lies in a crypt unnamed
And it's fire lives on lips untamed
And the wild fury wakes from it's sleep
to find the who or what it seeks
With thirst and hunger of the starving
Armed with strength men find alarming
and the valor of a silent knight
Antisipating whatever unknown fight
built for battle and not for flight
Searching both the days and nights
for the thing that illudes the sight
Made of love and things measured
identified by hopes and things treasured
Found only by the eyes of the soul
to satisfy an insatiable goal
Where only grace can intercede
and the lonely has met its chosen seed
To give to it's own special need
That one of which the dreamer dreamt
That angel for whom the eyes have wept
The secrets that one's heart has kept
All fulfilled to the deepest depth
To the place where inspiration ferried
and to the person imagination carried
All wrapped in things called thought
Inescapable this thing where it's caught
My heaven, where my paradise is you
My perfect, is everything you do
My soul has found its rest
with love, that turned my crypt into a nest
With you, my soul has been blessed
with peace, and this is happiness.
Heckle and Jeckle, jellyroll jam,
Ponce de Leon’s Fountain of Youth.
Little kids like to eat green eggs and ham;
So do you – now tell me the truth!
One fish, two fish, red, white and blue fish,
Old glory is waving on high;
A moss-covered, three-handled family cradunza
Might suddenly take to the sky.
Tiddly-winkle little starfish,
In a show starring Bullwinkle Moose;
Rocky the Squirrel shares raspberry jam
With Old Mother Hubbardy Goose.
Goosey Lucy and old Turkey Lurkey
Hiding out in the Wise-acre Wood;
Lambchop takes tea with his jellyroll jam,
While jammin’ with Johnny B. Good.
Humpty Dumpty, coddleston pie,
Three little Pigletty pooh;
Jam up jelly tight hot cross buns,
Magpies eat jellybeans, too.
My sincere apologies to Dr. Seuss
I couldn't resist writing this one
Some of that tasty green ham and eggs
With a bunch of worms on a bun
Eeew! That sounds really quite gross
Dr. Seuss is turning over in his grave
Us poets call it artistic license
Sometimes it winds up depraved
Like how about this, lox in my socks
They'd get pretty stinky in a while
Or one knish, two knish in a dirty dish
Or yertles turtles in a pile
I'm really sorry, Mr. Theodore Geisel
That's Dr. Seuss' real name
Sure made our childhood a bunch of fun
But of course that was your aim!
© Jack Ellison 2012
Like a warm cotton bud used to give inner ears a clean
there is something comforting about routine.
Knowing where you stand and the order of play,
knowing what to expect at every point in your day.
Living to a schedule, everything has it’s time and place -
knowing the slots you have free for any plans you need to make.
Wardrobe colour-coded, in garment order.
Wallpaper with a matching border.
Appointments at ten to, five to, on the dot.
Check, double-check, the doors are locked.
Yellow ball, green ball then pot the brown.
Big box, little box, upside down.
I like to gaze into the sky and dream, of an afternoon.
Relaxing. Like the scent of a chaste tree, when in bloom.
A cold glass of lemonade, a long and foamy bath,
humming along to the radio, a love that warms the heart.
Reading the Sunday paper, and making it an event,
the delightful things the kids say, things only they could invent.
His reputation precedes him: a disruptive, class clown.
Never completes his work, he’s always mucking around.
A big-mouth, show-off with far too much to say:
He asks if I ever considered teaching him in a different way.
‘A physical learner’ - he’s heard about it on the news.
There could be something in it…but I’ve far too much to do.
Cars whiz about, people in a hurry.
“I’ve waited over an hour for my curry.”
Twenty four seven lifestyle, word abbreviation.
Text message becoming the preferred means of communication.
Everybody rushing, to keep on schedule, to maintain status quo.
Everyone a cog in the system: You’re whipped, if you don’t row.
Seamless is the transition between asleep and awake,
when you just let it happen, not worry about being late.
An unrushed project results in a rewarding prize:
taking your time meant you got it right.
So bin the itinerary, flout the rules,
just for once why don‘t you try something new?
Remember when grandma would boil the eggs?
There were no fancy color kits to buy.
She used crushed berries for the royals, purple and blue,
tea or coffee for sunny shades of yellow and orange,
and spinach for gracious green (the only way I liked it at the time).
Glorious golden and regal red – from onion skins! Oh my!
If she had eggplant or red cabbage, she made precious pink and purple.
What passionate pastels emerged and earthy hues of neutral nature!
colors of nature
repurposed from the heavens ~
two times the blessing
No chemical dyes with eggs swiftly finished and decorated in one sitting.
Grandma’s eggs took gathering the eggs from the nest,
food or food scraps, a couple of days, several helping hands, various
utensils and implements, and make quite the mess! A perfect process!
humble beginnings
after a long abstinence ~
a welcome reward
Oh, the love and joy from decorating those eggs.
No kit can ever compare.
spring
rose buds
robins nest
with spotted eggs
gingerly cared for
sun’s sweet smile
warming us
lovely
spring
Easter, and the mystery
unfolds in the hearts
of chocolate rabbits.
Some still believe,
in the capacity of eggs to
resurrect joy,
or they race within chicken runs,
to celebrate a pre-diabetic date,
while other's only offer up
painted shells.
The mystery will continue,
just as long
as we play these games,
of hide and seek.
Best sung in a country music way
with a redneck attitude , Hoorahhhhhhh
This is a work of fiction, and
any resemblance to anyone or contest
is purely coincidental.
All Together Now !
Oh, a Sponsor, Has done it again
Made a contest, I can't get in
But that's fine
I'll just sit here with my rhyme
They posted a contest, with a couple of rules
That make rhymers like me, feel just like fools
But that's fine
I'll let it go one more time
chorus
I could maybe pen a sonnet
Just to get my song in
Or try to write an Ode
Just for giggles and grins
But it's true and you know it
I'll never win
What a sin
Why don't we try it again
It's all about the form,of poems today
Not about the words that they have to say
But that's fine
I'm going to stay, true to mine
chorus
I could maybe pen a sonnet
Just to get my song in
Or try to write an Ode
Just for giggles and grins
But it's true and you know it
I'll never win
What a sin
Why don't we try it again
EGGS
easter bells
joy on high
blue robin’s eggs
Dave Austin
Easter Egg hunt
a hunt without guns
how many eggs you have?