Best Pickled Poems
A huge Alsatian barks at a passerby stranger
as the pond geese honk sensing grave danger
Trudges back home a rangy lone ranger.
Big and little aubergines cast a purple shade
In the twilight birdsong begins to fade
Night makes navy-blue of the greenery's jade.
Wolves howl in the distance
Panthers prowl near pig pens
Ocelots growl around the dens.
Dolphins perform in the aquatic circus
Kids count on the time-old abacus
All in all the miracle of creation's fabulous
Elsewhere the morn dawns upon wee ladybirds
And shepherds go about grazing their hungry herds.
A rare sight of starfishes settle upon beach pebbles
Pink salmon in a see-through lake breath out bubbles
Bombed by tech; corpses found in debris and rubbles!
Wild species lurk in the murky forest
Stands tall and hovering high mount Everest
A chance to enjoy nature at its very best!
Admit it O' mankind no one can ever be
at par with your and my versatile Creator
The billions of species is far too extraordinary
He single-handedly created all that variety in nature.
For even the clever human who invented the radio
did not as well model the computer.
The one who designed my dresser couldn't design my patio
It'd be rare for a shoemaker to also be a tutor
But God He made both ant and elephant
and there's absolutely nothing that He can't.
Categories:
pickled, allah, nature, social,
Form:
Triolet
A pickled earth soured
As the soil is deflowered
Tons of weeds uproot
Categories:
pickled, nature
Form:
Haiku
From the dark vaults of Nottinghamshire's rich history
Full of intrigue folklaw and mystery
Comes a rather gruesome tale
About a unlucky drunkard who drank too much ale
While frequenting a local drinking inn
In a drunken stopper
The man fell down the stairs
And landed head first into a barrel that he fell in
And drowned.
What a way to go
Was it ale or gin we may never know
Proof that drink kills
A grizzly tale
To give you a chill.
Peter Dome. copyright.2015. July
Categories:
pickled, drink,
Form:
Free verse
Here lies a fickle mind: Death finally decided for her
**for Andrea's Poetic Epitaph contest :)
haha! I Just HAD to enter this because I am Soo fickle minded,
I have so many lines which I want to enter here, I am going to be
conceited and pretend I have a lot to choose from ^_~
I can't choose one Unique Line, so NP (as in No Problem! hahaha!)
anyways, I find this unique in a sense that I thought of this line in seconds,
just *boom* like that when I saw Andrea's blog about epitaphs, I hadn't even
thought of entering this initially, but I just Loved it so much ^_^
Categories:
pickled, death, funny, life,
Form:
Epitaph
Used to know a girl
Was obsessed with pickled beets
Her skin was beet red
© Jack Ellison 2014
Categories:
pickled, humorous,
Form:
Haiku
Now, wasn't it sad about Snyder,
The light hearted, fun loving spider?
He got a gnat in his eye,
While pursuing a fly,
And fell into a barrel of cider.
Categories:
pickled, animals, children, funny,
Form:
Limerick
Leaving work for home, my job stress still fizzled.
The long drive included bratty rain drizzle
and windshield blades needing my constant fiddle.
My stress spittled as rush hour drizzle-tripled.
Some driver's fingers waved from their hand’s middle
but I thought how my nights were far from simple
with dinner and other children committals.
I must stop and tend the food list I’d scribbled
so I gave my gearshift some tension wiggles.
Once at grocer’s I saw my food list whittled,
placed bags in car without a single wrinkle,
then backed out of parking space like a missile …
… so … my stressed ear’s received a crash transmittal
while in rear mirror my eye’s saw boots wiggle,
noted they were stilettos so not nimble
yet back and forth they wriggled on legs riddled
before boots, wrinkles and white hair sunk crippled.
Without quibble I gave cops a phone jiggle,
ran to my victim and knelt by her middle.
Her eyes were open but she seemed struck simple
so I sympathized and smiled with full dimples
while thinking this could become civil dribble
ending in a court where lawyers would quibble.
Yes, stress had pressed me inside guilty’s pickle.
Categories:
pickled, anxiety, children, judgement, old,
Form:
Free verse
Caged magnetic daydreams of lucid migration;
I’ve been there before. It’s forbidden:
Orchard carved calligraphy crisply cut -
Spiraled surface-scratched immortality
Dimly azure, aglow on videotape,
Red, blue, green. Nature’s baby grand.
An organic player-piano ceaseless
In mellow tone, perched potpourri hillside,
Plucking raspberry notes of beautiful song;
Translucent aches nestled by slippy wake
That ricochet ripples, careening whispers
Through rendezvous dreams.
Seductive susurrus, sentient, shadowy,
Teasing temptation longed to taste;
Siren’s breathiness gurgles in devilish dive,
Swooshes, swoops, swallows. Tickles.
Siren’s breathless gurgle chokes drowned lies.
But…so serene. Feather soft tranquility.
Lyrical folly forbidden. Salmon pink.
2/3/2017
_____________________________________________
Writer’s note:
Told as a pet parakeet (while his owner listens to Radiohead’s song Videotape) whose cage is hung in the window of a cottage overlooking a stream through an orchard while the sun goes down who was a fish in a past life but, sadly, drowned due to a mental disorder which caused him to believe he was a bird and, consequently, spend all day trying to fly out of the water…until the day he refused to use his gills to breathe since, after all, birds don’t have gills.
Categories:
pickled, bird,
Form:
Free verse
Solo and Ensemble contest was this Saturday
And I was asked not to go
My youngest daughter had a part
She sang her pretty songs.
My pickle is the bitterness in my heart I hold
Is more or less a cancer for my soul
And it’s turning my personality ice cold.
I had it in my mind exactly what I was going to do,
The pickle was that I was angry
And revenge I wanted to exact
But I stopped and cried and cried
Because I really wanted a broken relationship back.
I know why it broke,
And I can’t say I am not to blame
The problem I have narcissistic, by psychological name.
And my pickle is that I can’t change the past
And so my thoughts spiral out of control.
No one offers hope when you are down
Good luck to fixing that
Because she is hurt too
Redemption is not a thing I might get
And its not something I expect to ever find.
Like the sour pickle sits in a bath of vinegar.
I don’t expect a relationship pure,
But I hope for a do over
I know it’s much to expect.
Do you know that I live with regret?
Categories:
pickled, mother daughter,
Form:
Free verse
Pat loved pickled onions,
She ate them every day,
She had an addiction,
That kept her friends at bay.
Pat ate them in the mornings,
And every single night.
She did not smoke cigarettes,
As she might set herself alight.
Pat did not swallow pills,
Or narcotics of any kind
She was seldom ill
And she possessed a sound mind.
Pat did not overeat,
Or drink wine or beer at all,
Pickled onions were her passion,
Which led to Pat's downfall!
Categories:
pickled, 10th grade,
Form:
Rhyme
No bash so far, beats the one in the jar
Emcee DJ Green spins for the jarstar
No ill will to spill, just dancing on dill
When the lid comes off it’s an open bar!
So relish your time and come get your fill
No asparagus juice here, that’s just swill
That’s the best party perk of a gherkin
Gettin’ sliced on garlic, Oh what a thrill!
The sweet ones are in the corner lurkin’
While that gherkins workin’ it and twerkin’
I’m already so brined out of my mind
And the bread and butter kind is smirkin’
I’m so pickled my vision has declined
To kaleidoscopically half blind
Stumble and bump into pals in numbers
A hullaballoo of the tangy kind
Off to our shelf in the door we lumber
To catch some refrigerated slumber
May have had too many vinegar shots
Since yesterday…. I was a cucumber
August 15, 2022
It’s a pickle party contest
Sponsored by Mystic Rose Rose
Categories:
pickled, humor,
Form:
Rubaiyat
Pickled okra, pickled beets
Pickled corn and pickled beans
Of all the pickles that I see
Cucumber pickles are the best
Dancers, players, pickles
Celebrating, showing their
Vinegar tails, their garlic
Smells – dill with a zest
All the aspects of becoming
A pickle worthy of munching
A pickle devoured by the ones
Who pick these pickles
From the depths of the jar
Where they linger, awaiting
The chomping away, the day
When they make their way
To the stomach, consumed
By the appetite of a soul
Who knows that as pickles go
This is the one who has found
Its way to the final round
With visions of vinegar seas
It says its last goodbye to me
The hands who picked it
Then flavored it with vinegar
Awaiting this moment, this time
When it would find the last sign
That it was the beloved pickle
Who would forever be considered
- The king of every other pickle –
This is the rock n’ roll pickle party!
It's A Pickle Party Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose
August 13, 2022
Categories:
pickled, celebration, fun, funny, giggle,
Form:
Free verse
I am poetically pickled pink; my muse is finally full of ink,
Thanks to Nina I’m back in sync, within a quick blinkity blink…
A pickleworm or picklepuss or maybe an obsequious octopus,
A pickledly positive plus, satisfying my dormant distant discuss…
Like a pickleball and pickleweed, exercising eagerly to exceed,
As picklers pick and proceed, a piercing prick to make me bleed…
A prickly pickelhaube on my head, spiking words as I spread,
All the verses that I shed, making fame when I’m deadly dead.
Feb.15.2020
Placed 9'th...Thank You
Categories:
pickled, confidence, dedication, meaningful,
Form:
Rhyme
walnut tree in fruit
best pickled green eat with cheese-
carved Chinese treasure
Categories:
pickled, nature,
Form:
Haiku
Men of affairs, scientists, gentlemen collectors,
researchers, technicians, plankton detectors.
Ladies, when permitted, provided manful help
Wading shorelines intrepidly for variegated kelp.
Be-whiskered men off charted shores
their Science to be applied.
From blindest depths defy stern jaws
to reveal a great divide.
Thus predate all faith - shift their cores –
expecting the spring tide.
Knowing their names, seeking their protection.
Categorised, specified, a literal dissection.
Must now each specimen elders plucked, and carefully
selected,
be hidden forever, politically corrected?
Dead-eyed and soaked, deep in their jars.
Pickled in formaldehyde.
Gentleman, killer? The choice is yours,
Think well before you decide.
Is the Creator of countless stores
Dr. Jekyll or Mister Hyde?
Categories:
pickled, allegory, animals, faith, history,
Form: