Long Eggs Poems
Long Eggs Poems. Below are the most popular long Eggs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Eggs poems by poem length and keyword.
Lake Wollumboola is intermittent.
A coastal dune lagoon, enclosed by berm of sand.
Its basin a drowned creek-scoured depression.
This tiny lake is perched above high tide, vulnerable.
Its survival lies at the whim
of wind-blown and sea-thrown sand.
It's long term fate short-lived as its filling up
with sediment, weed, detritus and muck.
This little lagoon among the dunes
is mecca for migratory birds.
The curlew and buff-breasted sandpiper,
The long-toed stint, pied oyster catcher and little tern.
These vulnerable birds depend on the vulnerable lake.
They arrive on-cue from long-hall flights.
Alight and feeds in the shallows.
Mate, breed and lay eggs in vulnerable places
on the open beach and shore.
They squat on eggs and fledge their young,
and when the time comes, migrate back
with young yearling in tow,
to whence they came.
They book return migratory flights to
Lake Wollumboola each year,
hoping it survives vulnerable
for another year,
and hoping its time is not yet up.
Debut of a Butterfly
Winged adults lay eggs on leaves.
Larvae glued on leaf- lamina to thrive and survive.
Later Caterpillar crawls out.
Ugly black creature with thorny spikes all along.
Caterpillar grows rapid chewing foliage!
Pupa or chrysalis confined in cosy cocoon
went on metamorphosis.
.
What a surprise beyond surmise !
Skin of pupa splits exhibiting adult insect
. with folded wings yet wet
letting to dry up and getting strong.
Then flies off in air flapping, fluttering wings.
It is a free frolic beautiful butterfly.
starting flight for the rest of life.
No chewing but sucking nectar
from flowers.
06/04/22
kids with clothes as bright as sun
eggs and chocolate lots of fun
but Easter means much more to me
then all of this frivolity
we condemned cursed sentenced Him
we scourged spit hung Him to a limb
our sins hung nailed Him to a tree
now there is life for you and me
He gave pure love from heaven above
laid down His life this beautiful dove
because He chose the tree you see
you and i can now be free
He did not cry He did not groan
He knew three days He rolls the stone
He did it one time for eternity
conquered death for love for all you see
we no longer hunger no longer thirst
because His love removed the curse
He does not follow He takes the lead
Rejoice, Rejoice, HE IS RISEN INDEED!
Tina lost her footing and fell and fell and fell and fell.
Where was she falling? Was this the beginning of hell?
What the heck? She blinked hard. Where was she?
A sign on a large table that was high up said eat me.
I’ll eat you! Tina said, when hell freezes over.
She marched to the door, wearing her pumps she called rover.
The door was locked, so she began doing her dance.
Rolling on the River, it always made her ex’s heart prance.
She got louder and prouder and the door exploded and melted.
She could have not been sexier if she had been kilt-ed.
Do proud Mary next! The Mad Hatter shrieked from the door.
Cheshire Cat and Tweedly Dee and Dum were there, by the floor.
Tina began to spin. Her short skirt showed off her sexy legs.
Okay she said, but after I do you will fix me some cheese eggs?
The whole menagerie was watching, and cheering, as Tina let loose.
The Mad Hatter ran over and gave her a pinchy-goose.
This stopped production and some of them gasped.
But Tina had seen worse, so she gave him a clasp.
She’s such a good sport; the best Wonderland had ever seen.
Off with her head! Yelled the Queen of Hearts, full of mean.
They hid her in a clamshell and served her breakfast too.
Tried to keep Tina Turner forever, just between me and you.
But she is a survivor. She always escapes a bad scene.
And she did it as a lady, showing not one ounce of mean.
I read the news today, oh boy
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha,
The fox in is charge of the hen house
Gates are secure but the creature is inside
Feathers fly in helter skelter patterns
“You’ve got to crack a few eggs” is heard
as those who see the commotion, scramble
A dozen or so duck the falling shells,
raining down from straw filled verses,
bland but obviously first in the pecking order,
hoping it all would be over…easy
While over on Broadway a church mouse sings off key
to a blindfolded audience
waiting to applaud until the curtain goes down,
so not to be seen greeting late arrivals
with luggage and tickets
hoping the next show is not sold out
for this standing room only presentation
Fortunately three, maybe four seats still remain unoccupied
as stale nachos and sticky floors beckon
The lights go down and the band strikes up
a rousing intro to what should be a good show,
at least that’s what the old reviews said,
“It was 20 years ago today,
4 stars, brilliantly directed, the best choice
for your daily intake of long haired culture…”
When a tuxedo with a smile and a black carnation
makes its way to center stage
and begins reading backwards,
“I buried Paul”
Boos ring out from the crowd.
“We came here for poetry!” was shouted in unison
But it just kept on, “Number 9, number 9, number 9”
The audience ran for the exit doors (stage left)
and as they hit the streets looking for something better
they encountered a walrus
wearing a sandwich board sign the read,
“Turn me on dead man”
Meanwhile, back at the chicken coop…
Nothing is more beautiful than the Tennessee Mountains in the fall.
Breathtakingly beautiful, a magical forest of golden, yellow and oranges.
Charming roadside stands, antique malls, and pumpkin farmers greet you.
Bibbed overalls are the norm, but no one holds your Nikes against you.
The friendliness of Tennessee will last in your memory banks all your life.
If your car breaks down, six people will stop, and no one will accept money.
If you need a ride, you can hop in the back of any pickup truck.
They will go out of their way to make sure you are safe, and taken care of.
A country breakfast at the diner consists of waffles, eggs, and ham.
However, if you want Big Mama’s Big Boy special you can get
Steak, eggs, bacon, grits, and three enormous pancakes.
Everything will be smothered in homemade country gravy.
People from the surrounding tables will comment on your license plates.
Hey New York! They will say, “You visitin’ relatives?”
I do not mean just one table, for you will be included by all the tables.
These folk know each other, now they want to know you.
They will give you great ideas about what to see in Nashville,
Which country artist is their favorite, which restaurants to frequent.
Dollywood? No problem. They are full of ideas about that too.
Welcome to Tennessee. We’ll keep the light on for yah!
He is here, my wife warned me. So put on your shirt.
Who is it? I asked. Not realizing it was him from the dirt.
I saw him at the coffee machine and I grimaced, turned blue.
Frankenstein is worse in person than in theory I can tell you.
He turned and his cover up make up did not fool me a bit.
You are the one I have been waiting for, he said, you are my hit.
I will kill you after breakfast, and maybe again after lunch.
I am going to Franken-size you, so I can kill you a bunch.
I could barely eat my eggs, I was so nervous and sad.
My wife was glaring at me. She was truly quite mad.
You are the one who kept worrying, she warned, angry for sure.
You conjured up this dead thing; why were you not more pure?
Hey, I said. If I can worry you in, can I worry you out?
Frankenstein, the undead shook his head all about.
Too late now, he told me. Will it be axe or knife?
I ran like bells, leaving him alone with my wife.
Should greed or ignorance wear blame?
That Africa once sold her kin
Years ago she traded huge pots
For the satisfaction of a plate of food
Her gems she gave for painted steel
Sacrificing her bed for a one night stand
I heard she pulled her tortoise from it's shell
And drank the thought of a better home
Her green serpent preferred the mud
And bore a grudge against green grass
Her coconut craved a mango tree
And her sun called for the sky at night
She killed her hen to seek more eggs
And collected milk in exchange for cattle.
She slept with many borrowed beliefs
Betraying her husband and her ways
She spread her legs for convincing men
And each dug deeply to make her weak
She opened her bosom to greedy men
Who sucked them dry and left them sagged
Crown her the promiscuous Mistress expedient
For she sold tomorrow to buy yesterday
By: Adams Elizabeth Oyarese
Lizdiamond Poetry World
Sifted flour with sprinkled spice,
cinnamon will do.
Creamy butter, chilled and diced
eggs and raisins too.
Baking will complete ~
this tasty
treat.
17.10.19
An Epulaeryu poem is a poem that is entirely about food. It has seven lines with a total of thirty-three syllables. The meter of the poem is set so that it is, 7/5/7/5/5/3/1.
Welsh cakes are traditional in Wales and have been popular since the late 19th century. I have fond memories of coming home from school to be offered a warm, sugar-sprinkled Welsh cake fresh off the griddle! Delicious!
8/27/16
Just had shrimp and grits
Beside scrambled eggs whipped up with a whisk
Been a long time since
I've had some fish and chips
Went on many different trips
Some of which
Were on ships
And others were above waterfalls and cliffs
Back in the day always shot a swish
And used bats or baseball mitts
I've always been fond of any solar and lunar eclipse
Something I never again want to miss
In the burbs and sticks
I give you my word on this
Who exactly know what lies in every single abyss
And down the rifts
Sites where people worship
Things that still do or no longer exist
In the form of statues and sacred monoliths
Certain tools and items on the fritz
In dire need of replacement or a fix
She made a wish
Then gave me a kiss
With her tongue and lips
So many have said life's a ""
I'm so far from rich
So I put more effort into it
Regardless of if
At times it's hit
And miss
Never going to quit, always using wit
Around the splits and twists
The car starting to drift
As the tires work to find a grip
Been taking risks
From the first past the fifth
Eversince I was six
Haven't yet found my niche
Only caught a glimpse
Bought some new gloves and kicks
And gave my other ones away for free as gifts
One too many cysts
And hardly any zits
Above the wick
The flame flicks
On candlesticks
The path ahead was slick
Had to watch your footing or you could slip
Do you like the left or the right side of the Twix?
Will we ever fully understand the hierogylphs?
Now how many things have you accomplished
And checked off the list?
Under a full moon, she made a wish
That one day, she would find her prince
She found what she was looking for, and was in a state of bliss
Her spirit continuing to lift
Such a change and shift
By: Dalton Ogletree