Long Egg Poems
Long Egg Poems. Below are the most popular long Egg by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Egg poems by poem length and keyword.
me and my friend in a bar,
with whiskey as referee!
debating the true answer,
to chicken and egg theory!
with slow slurred speech I said
look here my friend,”chicken first,
she grew and cockerel wed,
then came egg, you know the rest!”
he gurgled a laugh and shook,
“imagine the work involved,
feathers, beak, two eyes to look,
egg is easy! problem solved!”
Chef was amused at our plight,
he said “ one free of that came first!”
we quickly agreed I was right,
won free piece of chicken breast!!
Honourable mention
Written 19/10/2021
Difference in Opinion contest
Shreya LN sponsored
7 to 8 syllables each line
KIDS:
Hey, everybody!
Look who is hopping our way --
The Easter Bunny!
EASTER BUNNY:
"Happy Easter, y'all!
Welcome, kids and parents, to
The Easter Egg Hunt.
To see you guys smile
Gives me so much happiness
And joy in my heart.
Remember the rules:
Whoever finds the most eggs
Wins a special prize.
So look carefully.
They're hidden everywhere
So you can't see them.
I'm so egg-cited!
Okay. Now let's hop to it.
Get ready...set....GO!"
This groovy shindig
Went on for forty minutes
And thirty seconds.
When it was over,
The Easter Bunny counted
The eggs that were found.
EASTER BUNNY:
"We have a winner!
But I can't pick just one, so....
EVERYBODY WINS!
And now the cool part!
Here is your special reward:
THE GOLDEN CARROT!"
Some people said, "WHAT?!"
Totally flabbergasted
And really confused.
But the furry hare
Opened the golden carrot
And...a huge surprise!
It's Easter candy
With chocolate covered rabbits
And marshmallow peeps.
And that's no yolk!
This egg-stravaganza rocks!
Best. Easter. Ever!
~Have Faith ~
( Egg Timer )
Lord wants you live right
Have Love Faith Hope
Enjoy Peace
Always
Too
Too
Always
Enjoy Peace
Have Love Faith Hope
Lord wants you live right
Believe in God
Love with all heart
Worship and pray
To Him
Too
Too
To Him
Worship pray
Love with all heart
Believe in God
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2017
June.27.2017
So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.
1 Corinthians 13:13 (NIV)
-“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.
John 3:16 (NIV)
- Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer
Romans 12: 12 ( NIV )
-The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to be silent.”
Exodus 14: 13 ( NIV )
“Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.”
- Mark Twain-
~Author's Notes:
The " Egg Timer " is a poetry form or style created by Erich J. Goller.
Although
he could remember
a time when the egg had
not yet appeared in the clearing,
he could not recall any specific occasion
on which he had first noticed the blank,
porcelain -like ovoid, taller than a man, squatting
placidly on the grass, nor had he ever heard any passer-by
(for this clearing was not at all isolated) remark, "You know,
in the days before the egg . . ." Indeed, no one other than himself
paid it the slightest notice, although everyone was aware of the egg's
existence: anyone to whom he mentioned the egg would reply with a
smile and a brief platitude or small joke before changing the subject
or hurrying on. Only an occasional child seemed to think that the egg
was something special, staring at it long and long as if unsure whether it
was attractive or repulsive, until being hustled off by a parent. Surely there
was something wrong with him, that he alone inwardly made so much of the
egg, wanting to attack it futilely with a hammer, or smash open his skull against
it, desecrating its white perfection with his bloody brains, or drench the
ground around it with his tears, or seize every person who passed through
the clearing by the collar and hold them against the egg until one of them at
last revealed why all men but he had joined themselves in a conspiracy to
deny the egg's infinite significance. But he was as certain that everyone
would consider such behavior insane as he was that everyone felt
about the egg exactly as he did but refused to admit it. So now he
simply sits on the grass staring at the egg and wondering
whether sitting on the grass staring at the egg is the
answer, or whether perhaps wondering whether
sitting on the grass staring at the egg
is the answer might be
the answer.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Then the guns roared!! and it was hard to distinguish the
Hush from the roaring; the two seemed almost
Indistinguishable.
Was it the roaring, I wondered, or was it the hush that was
The more fragile?
In truthfulness I was disappointed when I got home and
Watched more of the same on the telly.
The British army is not what it was I have to say; the
Gun-Salutes did not appear to be well orchestrated to my way
Of thinking -- left one feeling all rather...unsatisfied.
Gone are the days of bright red tunics, golden buttons and
Tall, glossy white hats; and gone the long stylish sideburns...
How magnificent those lads must have looked on the march.
Gone also the days of the glorious campaigns. The valiant
Battles. The desperate, heroic actions defending some hopeless
Situation or some far-flung outpost that was deserving only
Of camel dung and fleas...and certainly wasn't for the lack of
Thanks we only ever got! ...same now for the Yanks I suppose.
But glory fades along with the ages...just as our long-gone
Age sank, ages back, into the fullest, mellow glow of the
Whistling scythe's last Harvest Moon.
For I am unapologetically an English man; and will die as
Lizzie died...
As English as sausage, egg, chips and peas.
And to hell with those who decry Empire and Nation Building.
We saved the best of it, and created many a Sovereign State
Out of nothing but mud and straw.
Lately I have pondered, that perhaps we sucumbed to what was
A natural culmination of too lofty an ambition?
Or maybe it was nothing more than a simple case of
Over-acheiving?
And if so, how do we arrive by the 'Grace of God' to all that?...
Could it be an inevitable fate which was pre-ordained?
But for the fact we had good glue we should have come unstuck
Many a long year ago;
But good glue we got...and still more to come I might wager.
Tomorrow, no doubt, the crowds will line the hilly miles;
And later we will have our pomp and ceremony...
But what has gone comes but once.
Then the whole world will watch, gawking, when an entire
Race holds up their hands as a hurting child reaching up
For the comforting arms of their firecely protective Mummy.
“How long has he been here?” said the other voice which Dumpty could see now that the dawn light started to grow, belonged to a largish Owl perched on a tree branch, near the sleeping cat. “Oh, I dragged him in just the other day” replied Dumpty, “the poor thing he was holding onto that large green flagon over there, could hardly get a word out of him he just nodded most times, and he has a glazed look in his eyes, I would say he has been deeply traumatized.” “How is he normally?” “‘Oh he is a most cheerful soul, full of energy, helpful to others and so
on; and he can be quite brave, I can remember when the clog-dancing Dutch mouse, fell down the stair.. she had to have bed rest for 2 weeks, well he volunteered to look after her kids and he did! As it so happens Siegfried and Roy were touring, well one of their panthers got into the backyard of the mouse family’s home and he was there pegging out some washing you know one of those young mice came down the back steps and the panther headed toward it... well this guy here he sorta made every hair on his body stand out stiff he looked over twice his size, and then quick as a wink he jumped on that bad ole panther, he jumped on his head and got his claws up its nose, he hung on like glue while I flew off to raise the alarm, poor old puss here took some punishment but he saved that young mouse alright, and that old panther looked really the worse for wear when he was recaptured” well I can see he does not like bullies observed Dumpty with a note of admiration in his voice, I do so hope he gets well I
would like to get to know him..!
©JOE MAVERICK 1-3-2014
She lays eggs so very small
Rare eggs, seldom seen at all
Eggs the size of coffee beans
Spread in a tiny nest.
It is a miracle
That an egg, so very small
Has room for any internal organs
At all
This egg, when hatched
Will be complete with all attached
As you and me
Eyes to see to look around,
Two feet to put upon the ground.
A heart that beats and lungs to breathe
A Miracle indeed!
This creature will have other things,
Like coloured feathers, plumage, and wings.
So they can fly high and free,
To escape from their many enemies.
I don't know if you have ever heard
Of this tiny Bee Humming Bird
Who beats his wings eighty times a second,
Mighty useful when threatened.
Birds and Bees, Mice and Men
It's fascinating how it all began.
I observe this from way up high,
A mythical phoenix flying in the sky
There’s a rooster and a chicken both well fed
Ode poem to them for they created an egg
I love the egg well before it becomes a new life
I use it to make an omelette with poetry spice
Verbs splashes of red onion taste so good
Peppered prepositions used as one should
Buttery nouns sautéed until brown in the pan
Milky splashes of adjectives because we can
Cheesy punctuations used for emphasis
Plus some bacon not forsaken adding bliss
It can be turkey or from pork in limerick
And to finish add in spinach sonnet’s kiss
Ode to the chicken and rooster parents love
They created an egg
with which I’m fed
Can’t get enough I’m stuffed
A cigar and an egg
(a memory of a ritual encounter)
Pay Papa Death bell tolls
Dancing radiants of fluorescent sunlight
Incense choking the drums
Will it work? Perhaps.
Watch him collapse
That —
Monolith man obsessed with life and mammon
That —
Homunculus bastard born of a womb-less night
White ovum cracked on her arched back
Yellow vitellus crawls down her ass crack
The magician needs it all
Ingest
That Protoplasm trimester truffle
Before the god and his people suffer
Without need of the preacher’s seed
Oh, but the saints doth bleed
And hath bled
And doth live
And hath been dead
But the rite finds its purchase
The egg has been lost
Results are their purpose
But each with their cost
The price thus to be paid:
A dollar for a spell
And a life for a babe
Still and quiet.
What a joy it is to know nothing about my own nothingness.
Shelled in my own elaborate cave.
Hermetically sealed in a liquid paradise.
I revel in the nest of my own invention.
Or at least that is what I think it is.
But you’ll forgive my delusion for you have had it too.
Wrapped up in bed at night when all the tired slaves make their way.
Home at last to set an alarm to start another day of spectacular routines.
Comical disappointments and mundane miracles.
But I’ve always had it here, inside my fragile casing as pockmarked as
The moon yet smooth and luminous at a distance .
I wonder if I will see the light of day and I wonder, do I want to?
Break me, roll me over and crack me with a spoon? No.
I’ll hold still and quiet and not say a word.
Silence is my armour. A shield to wrap myself inside.
And bide my time for this journey I am going to take.
Listen. There is a clock ticking or is it sand trickling through an hourglass?
Is this the sound that makes the silence before the sound?
Trickling through a slender neck.
This is where I am, in between time when it is counted.
Just to make sure nothing happens twice or happens once again..
I am a yoke, a joke. But I am not not egging you on.
You wouldn’t believe what a song I have been singing.
And the music of the spheres that I have at my command makes me
Weep as if I heard Bach for the first time.
The dumb sense of infinity ringing in my ears that will create an ever expanding universe.
That is my ambition and nothing will hold me back from all the galaxies.
Rushing away from each other trying to be free, from me.
The singularity. The ineffable egg that I am. The same egg that is you.
Rolling towards the edge, the sun creeps up the sky.
Stars retreat to their slumbered beds and forget to ask why.
The midnight candle flickers and burns down to the wick.
The insect clock weaves a web, the spider makes it tick.
The earth makes its final turn and pillows its own head.
To listen to the songs of dawn. No longer filled with dread.
I hold my breath but how can this be?
I have no tongue to say these things nor eyes that can even see.
Because a serpent is coiling round my shell.
Waiting to happen. Happy to wait.
Still and quiet, while the roar of the universe rages on.