Best Wolfing Poems
It was moms birthday she loved eggplant
I didn't hear the man as he began to rant
I was a cooked child kneeling on stoic air
in the back room I ate, without his stare
a purple eggplant was devoured as I trembled
wolfing it down, I quickly re-assembled
no I did not care, mom wasn't there
to see her child labor without fair, fare .
January 16, 2019
Categories:
wolfing, abuse,
Form:
Rhyme
Food, food, glorious food
Eating is such a wonderful thing
No matter what time of day it is
Wolfing down makes my dear heart sing
Why I get out of bed each day
The smell of bacon frying away
Follow my proboscis to the kitchen
Where Cathie's prepares brekkie each day
It's that oh so heavenly smell
Footsies don't even touch the floor
Gliding down the stairs like a nymph
So enthralled like many mornings before
I sit down and dear dear Cathie
Serves me brekkie that's fit for a king
Burst out with, “What a Beautiful Morning”
As we both raise our voices and sing
A delightful scene, albeit unusual
It's how we Ellisons start off the morn
Singing and dancing and kissing and stuff
Makes me so overjoyed to be born
Food, food, glorious food
Eating is such a wonderful thing
No matter what time of day it is
Wolfing down makes my dear heart sing
© Jack Ellison 2014
Categories:
wolfing, humorous,
Form:
Quatrain
Morning... the child awakes,
steps lightly 'cross the threshold of his front yard.
Windows of the mansion o'er the glen ablaze
with sparkling brilliance draw his gaze.
Suited for all-comers, with sturdy
leggings for his Big Adventure,
he takes on the day, as brave as good
King Arthur on a mission for the Grail.
Striding forth, his heart is beating
like a drum as he tarries by the river
to bathe his feet in icy water, wolfing down
the victuals made ready by his mum.
Trudging up the hillside, harder than
the journey down, wearying now his steps
are measured. He longs to claim his dream
though his eyes now see dull sockets where
the shining should have been.
Depressed, he sits exhausted to weigh
the reason why. As he turns, hungry for home,
his heart is leaping, for basking in the radiance
of the slowly dying sunset is his own lowly residence,
its windows glittering like burnished gold!
Categories:
wolfing, adventure, children,
Form:
Prose
There once was a mad-man with an ax.
Well known for some very shocking acts.
He runs down a church aisle
Chops the altar to a pile,
He hacks until their preacher reacts.
This mad-man went to a church Bazaar.
His bizarre shouts were heard from afar.
He walked in standing tall.
Waved his awl at them all,
Then, sped off in a get-away car -
One Sunday while wolfing a hot fryer,
The ax-man thought the Friar should retire.
He went to the Cathedral
I’ll say he was not cheerful
Town folks locked him away in the spire.
He stayed in that spire for awhile.
Hoping for a very speedy trial,
He sat on a bale
Then, cried out for bail.
He was exiled to a far away isle.
Copyright April 7, 2015
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Only Homo's Allowed
Sponsored by: Jerry T Curtis
Categories:
wolfing, horror, humor,
Form:
Limerick
...for the Rev. Eric Shirvell-Price
Morning; the child awakes,
steps lightly across the threshold
to the courtyard.
The wndows of the mansion
over the glen ablaze with sparkling
brilliance draw his gaze and
peak his curiosity.
Suited for all-comers with sturdy
leggings for his Big Adventure,
he takes on the day, as brave as good
King Arthur on a mission for the Grail.
Striding forth, his heart is beating
like a drum as he tarries by the river
to bathe his feet in icy water, wolfing down
the victuals prepared by a Queen.
Trudging up the hillside harder than
the journey down, wearying now his steps
are measured. He needs to claim his dream
though his eyes now see dull sockets where
the blazing should have been.
Depressed, he sits exhausted to weigh
the reason why. As he turns, hungry for home,
his heart is leaping, for basking in the radiance
of the slowly dying sunset is his own bright shining
dwelling, windows glittering like burnished gold!
Categories:
wolfing, childhood,
Form:
Verse
Calendared nature admits
winter has come and gone
and makes no apologies
for lingering chilled moments;
The audacious mendacity of spring
has clamped down a frost-bite
on the wolfing climatic ignorance
of ignoramuses who wallow in deceit;
Albeit it all, the cosmic deceit of nature
cannot be ignored by seasoned sufferers
and their sinusitis chains of oppression:
Now the winter of our discontent
must yield to a spring’s new awareness.
Categories:
wolfing, allegory, america, analogy, black
Form:
Prose Poetry
There's a story,
As old as time,
Cute little girl skipping thru the woods,
A big bad wolf who follows behind,
She's Carrying goodies for her Grammy,
She does it with love and because she's kind,
The wolf trots ahead,
He's a mastermind,
He eats her Grammy,
Wolfing her down with a glass of red wine,
Then making himself comfy in her big bed,
He Does this all in the nick of time,
The little girl knocks at the door,
"Come in sweet child of mine,"
The wolf yells with delight,
"What did you bring for your Grammy tonight?"
The little girl in her red hood,
Whispers, "something just doesn't seem right,"
Come closer my dear I could not hear,
Red yells,"Grammy your ears are outta sight!"
The wolf so cunning and clever replies,
"All the better for listening at night,"
"But Grammy I've never seen,
Such a glow in your eyes,"
"My child it's the reflection from the moon,
It lighted the way for you tonight,"
"Oh my Grammy, you have such big teeth!"
The wolf decided on a rhyme,
"Well if you haven't figured it out by now,
I'm not your dear Grammy,
You silly child,
I followed you in from the woods,
You came straight away,
As a good girl should,
Carrying your basket full of food,
In your bright red cape,
Under your little red hood,
I ate your Grammy,
I'm gonna eat you, too,"
"Hold it mister!"
Red interjects in time,
"I know the rest of this nursery rhyme,
You can't eat me because I packed,
A weapon in my little basket,
To handle big bad wolves like you,
So up against the wall,
And spread em mister,
Today's not your day at all!"
The moral of this story is tried and true,
Never take for granted,
A girls power,
Or intuition,
You bad, bad, wolf, you!
~Vickie Thayer~
Categories:
wolfing, bullying, childhood, cute, nursery
Form:
Rhyme
Cup Cake Insurrection
Evidence mounts as cup cakes bake in ovens
Camouflaged in chocolate brown
Revolutions start this way they say
Secured, metallic ready in tin pans waiting
375 degrees transformed
To something spongy to the touch
Perhaps we are over thinking this too much
Cup cakes are not the enemy, not out to get us
No one ever died of deliciousness I trust
Only a few pounds gained from wolfing down too many
Rising up while baking is not an uprising or revolt I'm told
They don't carry concealed weapons to my recollection
Or topple monarchies or kill government officials… I think
Topped with sugar icing, colorful sprinkles, innocent and happy
Deep inside I suspect strange things are happening
Cup cakes baked outside our country
Come here with unknown ingredients
Want citizenship with no visas
It is hard to keep the peace with foreign recipes
Cup cakes don't really understand our ways
While baking in tin pans
Categories:
wolfing, adventure, chocolate, fantasy, food,
Form:
Free verse
(alternately titled fancyfeast feeds finicky folky fungi)
No matter this omnivore
experiences stomach rumbles like birth
(pains) of a nation (loud enough to be heard
clear opposite side of Earth),
this self actualized (1% Neanderthal
ask my eldest sister while sitting close to heath
(genetic results from 23andme.com as proof positive)
thar haint no dearth
where genealogy traces origin of *****Sapiens, while girth
of Gaia swollen with present burgeoning population,
whose gestalt swings between moroseness, mirth
or emotional gamut, such sentient being such as mice elf
(i.e., a generic male)
undergoes self guided heightened sensory
quintessential existential awareness,
the effort wool worth.
the idea sans art of mindfulness –
analogous to a sixth sense
plus active listening (with consciousness) quite intense
said silent credo, dictum, ethos...fueling gutsy cents
and sensibility (without pridefulness nor prejudice)
herewith, this poem doth try to condense,
incorporating laser re: mental focus
involving munching or drinking favored beverage
at necessary survival at substantial expense
on food in mannered mien without offense
naturally with healthy, nutritiously plentiful,
quality meal in company of aye gents
provocateurs or alone, nonetheless
(consisting of adequate ruffage sustenance) dense
enough to satiate appetite,
and hence able to function utmost energy –
practice taking mouth-size bites, and dis pence
with hungrily wolfing incredible edibles –
rather I strive to measure core rents,
and paroxysms germinating deep
within bowels of this body electric,
implementing prolonged chewing whence
I (in presence of family)
usually heal chow digestion at light speed,
thus (no syrup rise) tend to be
last person to consume entire meal
enjoying tasting every last morsel
conjuring awareness to appeal
avast realm of numerous textures,
qualities, characteristics, et cetera
per culinary delight allows,
enables, and provides sensation feel
ling dissolution concomitant with each mouthful
prolonging basic function to appease
famished "beast" fur real.
Categories:
wolfing, appreciation, character, food, health,
Form:
Free verse
Waking to a world of pain;
truth cuts as deep as a blade.
My eyes squinting from the strain,
the sun rises, and dreams fade.
Held to ridicule and jest;
hunger haunts body and soul.
And I have no time to rest;
wolfing down what scraps I stole.
Searching faces with no name;
I'm seldom far from a tear.
And fending off guilt and shame,
I'm alone, bullied by fear.
Children laugh, and adults stare;
leaving me hurt and unsure.
Homeless; I am forced to bear
hurtful taunts I must endure.
I pray upon bended knee;
surviving the best I can.
So I ask, "Please, God, why me?"
I'm human, no less a man.
Categories:
wolfing, angst, emotions, faith, feelings,
Form:
Quatrain
My stomach's like a rumbling pit
That any moment may explode.
My stomach's like a roiling pot
That's holding way too big a load.
My stomach's like Vesuvius;
It will erupt--and soon, I feel
My stomach's very mad at me
For wolfing down a five-pound meal.
Soon on the sofa I'll lie down.
I feel on me a hundred eyes
Of others shocked by what I ate.
My lowered head my shame descries.
Oh, fix an Alka Seltzer now
And bring it to me. Please be quick
Because this birthday of my life,
I've stuffed myself and am so sick.
February 24, 2020
entered in Richard Lamoureau's Warning Poetry Contest
The poem is a parody of the following poem.
A Birthday
By Christina Rossetti 1830–1894
My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a water'd shoot;
My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit;
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is gladder than all these
Because my love is come to me.
Raise me a dais of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.
Categories:
wolfing, birthday, food,
Form:
Rhyme
We weave webbed words while welcoming wisdom.
Whiny William Walleye Was Witnessed Wandering Westwardly While Wailing Wildly. We Were Warily Watching Will Wobbly Walk When We Winced Worriedly.
Why, We Wondered, Would Will Wear What Was Winter Ware When Warm Weather Was Weldingly Wounding.
Will Was Washed-out, Worse, We Watched Will Wither, Wide-eyed, Without Whispering Warning.
Why Were We Waiting When We Wished Will Well?
Waving, We Went Were Will Was With Water. Will Wouldn't Willingly Waste Well Willed Welcoming Water, Would Will? Will Weakly Wheezed While Wolfing What Will Wanted, Which Was Wonderful Well-Water.
Categories:
wolfing, word play,
Form:
Alliteration
Byte size food begets best bedeviled egg head benefits
re: visited today April 12th, 2023
Way before aye knew
the name Fletcherism applied
family and friends even
Smetana's bartered bride
would (tongue in cheek) chide
tummy uncommonly
(recherché) atypical dyed
ded if the letter “y” one did elide
in the wool feeding
and/or slaking thirst guide
did precepts sans hungry
deaf eating beast impossible to hide
(the ferocious growling harassing imp -
armed to the figurative teeth ready to pounce
viz casus belli sans reeling off
a pseudo say id dish us vicious jeremiad
me, this unrepentant conscientious masticator,
who re: lied
on self control unbeknownst
to this pumpkin eater
(me not named Peter)
unwittingly followed
the basic tenet of Fletcherism - custom made
modus operandi vis a vis exercising okayed
mandibular metered (when famished),
eyes kept closed while tongue gently played
adhered to practice of eating small amounts,
which discipline stayed
engorging self, and as a result
(consuming sustenance
only when hungry avoiding
(wolfing like an instantaneous blitzkrieg flash)
found me aware visa vis master car ding
marginal increase in pounds meaning
thy body electric weighed
approximately for long stretches
to enable safe passage for sturdy brigs
when a habitue at one or another dining digs
stuffed nibbling on hors d'oeuvre figs
adequately satiating with with oomf
when contra dance caller Scott Higgs
announced "hands four," which signal
helped get my mojo back
and reel lee deuce home jigs,
which indeed kickstarted and syncopated,
oft times espying Bobby Riggs
who years gone back whiz Vic Tory huss
e'en when donning apparel of Whigs
like colluding trumpetting molecules
that via tiff Fanny doth zags and zigs.
Categories:
wolfing, 12th grade, adventure, april,
Form:
Rhyme
...for the Rev Shirvell-Price, with respect and affection
Morning. The child awakes,
steps light across his garden.
Windows of the dwelling o'er the glen
ablaze with sparkling brilliance
draw his gaze, and peak his curiosity.
Suited for all-comers, with sturdy
leggings for his Big Adventure,
he takes on the day, as brave as good
King Arthur on a mission for the Grail.
Striding forth, his heart is beating
like a drum as he tarries by the river
to bathe his feet in icy water, wolfing down
the victuals made ready by his mum.
Trudging up the hillside, harder than
the journey down, wearying now his steps
are measured. He needs to claim his dream
though his eyes now see dull sockets where
the shining should have been.
Depressed, he sits exhausted to weigh
the reason why. As he turns, hungry for home,
his heart is leaping, for basking in the radiance
of the slowly dying sunset is his own bright shining
home, its windows glittering like burnished gold!
Categories:
wolfing, adventure, childhood, heart, heart,
Form:
Blank verse
Strange, funny even;
someone spending two hours
in the gym at noon, sweating it out
then defeats the purpose at night
by wolfing down 3 large slices
of cheese pizza for dinner!
Yet I hold my laughter and criticism
because I'm sure that at some point
I've been unknowingly guilty
of such self-sabotage!
I'm also sure it has caused friction
in relationships, even break-ups!
Head-scratching; a dyed-in-the-wool
pro-lifer vehemently supporting
the death penalty. I can almost hear
a thought out there going...
"What the? I don't get that one!"
Yeah, it's a head-scratcher for me, too
I bet it discombobulates even an oxymoron!
It will make sense to me when 2+2 is 5!
POLARITIES AND PARADOXES Poetry Contest (Winner: 4th Place)
Sponsored by Line Gauthier
Date written and submitted: 01/16/2020
Categories:
wolfing, confusion, emotions, humor, perspective,
Form:
Light Verse