There’s no such thing as hunger.
No grasping with tongs.
Like a spidery leg.
Meals.
Not restful, relaxing food.
Jumping beans and spidery baked goods.
Makes me upset like-
There’s a curtain endlessly.
Hunger sadness.
The reaching feeling.
To the top shelf where the cereal lives.
Spiders on top.
Jar of cookies too.
The freezer makes me depressed.
Like lonely iced tingling.
I like to gobble up the leftever ice cubes.
Nothing else.
Nothing else makes me as happy as-
Ice cream.
Scraping.
Tasting.
Hamburgers delight.
Nothing else.
Is like a meal while watching tv.
When she left two weeks ago…
I started eating the sickly leftovers.
Some are mine.
Others have always been.
She smiles like a mission statement—
all vision boards and decaf compassion.
Says she’s rooting for you,
then plants rumors like heirloom tomatoes:
carefully spaced, watered just enough
to grow wild in someone else’s yard.
You know the type.
Squeals I'd never
right before she does—
but soft, with mittens on.
The kind of sabotage that
leaves no fingerprints,
just your name
smudged under a headline
she pretends not to read.
It's embarrassing.
She curates concern like a lifestyle blog.
Screenshots your grief as hers
for group chat empathy drills.
Leaves the door open on purpose,
then texts you
how sorry she is
that someone let the cold in.
You never asked her to stay.
But you notice—
she always stands in the same frame,
just close enough
to gobble up the good lighting,
to crop you out.
there was a turkey named Tom
who loved to gobble up all of the worms
one bright Thanksgiving Day
he became the cause célèbres
and had with the ax come to terms
Come join us tonight people where the bright lights illumine.
Be sure to pick up a free multi-colored balloomin
While I showcase my special double self-lobotomy
Performed by just me in my new labero-totomy.
With a spoon, fork, and a knife - in full factuality,
I’ll cut out some noodle and some individ-ality -
And don’t forget to remember to gobble up your fill
At our fine and efficient, fresh fast-food hamburger grill!
An Orwellian Perception
“Don’t worry, the ‘Thought Police’ are with you.”
To bring stability, harmony, tranquility,
and hope for your offspring, fresh out of the fertility bank.
So be leery of persuasive genetic failures
who mate their genes for sexual gratification
to produce inferior genetic subhumans.
“For we are the chosen and are not to be manipulated”
by these mutant genes, which, like viruses, penetrate your heredity
and gobble up life at the trough without respect for the future
and will make you one of them—a cancer to the living chosen.
But we are here, and when you come to your senses,
you will agree to preserve the species here and hereafter.
“My presence is infinitesimal, and yet, I sacrifice willingly
prodo-genetics to ensure the survival of the species with prodigy.”
I asked a turkey how he felt
About Thanksgiving Day
He told me "Gobble, gobble!"
And then hurried on his way
So when I dine tomorrow night
I'll have the turkey's blessing
To gobble up his giblets
With some gravy, yams, and dressing.
We are the goof birds get out of our way
We are here to fly and fumble, said their daddy Ray
We are the goof birds, we’ll eat all of your feed.
Get ready, here we come, to gobble up your seed.
This was from our mama, the toughest goof we know.
She is determined and unwavering from beak to toe.
We baby goof birds are learning how to be impolite.
Loving our parents, who give most others a serious fright.
When I am an old man I shall wear purple
With a silk green hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my social security on brandy and fishing poles
And panties made of satin, and say we've no money for a proper burial.
I shall sit on the pavement when I grow tired
And gobble up free samples in shops and press her alarm .
And make up for the thoughts of my youth.
I shall go out barefooted in the rain
And pick veggies in other people's gardens
And learn to not be so patient.
You can wear those terrible skirts and grow even fatter
And eat three pounds of lobster at a single sitting
Or only cheese and bread for a week
And hoard my gold coins and silver and copper and things in unmarked cardboard boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the naughty children.
We must have friends to dinner and read our horoscope in the paper.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now.
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and thinking to wear purple.
Ujjal Mandal, India
On a spring morning the sweet
smell of newly clad blossoms
coated with dew and honey,
I saw a maiden tugging
a ivory comb through her long
and smooth tresses
beneath a tree;
I approached to her.
Oh, she was more florescent than the moon
of the night,
Flowers stoop to her beauty,
such beauty I never have seen nor
I felt before,
I agree to gobble up the poison
of her charm and daintiness.
I am not convinced a global reset is what we need
Or how it might be evinced, considering our creed
A selfish world unwilling to seek compromise, though,
Is not likely to quickly change the prized status quo
Or even consider the perspective of different cultures
More likely to gobble up the less elite like vultures
The idea of a One World leader is as old as the Greeks
Still most “civilized” people refuse to turn their cheeks
Most of the world’s population are doing rather well
Better if they live in a country like ours, do tell….
THIRD PLACE WINNER
Written June 10, 2021
for "Global Reset 21" Poetry Contest
sponsored by Joe Maverick
Dear Covid-19 vaccine
I am glad your on the scene
I hope you gobble up that bug
and kill that nasty thug
That kept us hunkered down
With a worried look and a frown
But with two shots in the arm
Your working like a charm
And now as we move about from place to place
we now are seeing a more smiling face
We sing our sixties folk songs
And live in our Woodstock memories
Dancing to Cher’s Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves,
Hanging on to our excitement at surviving the seventies.
Peace is our sign, with love beads and Go Go boots
Thanks to Nancy Sinatra and “These Boots are Made for Walk’n”.
Don’t squawk, youngster, go your own way. Be you.
Don’t just survive, thrive! Live your soul dream.
Take this guitar and travel the world. Take Route 66.
Here are the keys to my Chrysler. Sure she’s old, but she’s powerful.
Singing “Little Ole Lady from Pasadena” with Grandma is not enough.
You have to get out there and live. Your life is waiting!
Destiny is sending you a cookie cake. Gobble up those chocolate chips.
Like Auntie Mame said, “Life is a banquet,
and most suckers are starving to death”.
Don’t let it be you. Go out and grab your gusto.
Parade in your pizzazz.
Be your most delightful and delectable you! Live your ethereal truth, my friend!
If I were a Thanksgiving Turkey...
I would look both ways
I would listen for hunters
I would watch out for crackling sounds
I would want to live out my life
if I were a Thanksgiving Turkey...
I would smell for those humans
I would taste the ground they walk on
I would be stuffed with my head full of knowledge
I would wish for more time to hide out
I would gobble up my request Hey, would you just eat something else
(how bout chicken) gobble
gobble
gobble
11/24/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
No! not about pits
they’re removed
the fruit sliced.
ugly in effigy —
the air turns
their innards
burnt orange.
their rainier skin
scarred and pale —
tasty or not.
i’d rather them red
and plump, but
skinny enough
to fit into
the pitter
and for the pits
to shoot straight
out
not get stuck
like Winnie the Pooh
half in and out —
a honey of an incident,
embarrassing.
i gobble up
nature’s morsels
good for sleep
metabolism and
movements
which i
have a right
to let go.
Let’s not forget
the plastic covering
these incidentals
arrived in
and were shaken loose
from
into a collapsible colander
and given a sprinkling
shower; they shine
their famous; their mine
7/11/2020
why
does
love
gobble up
the
young lover's heart
with
all
the
hunger for love
where
we start
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.