Long In a pickle Poems
Long In a pickle Poems. Below are the most popular long In a pickle by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long In a pickle poems by poem length and keyword.
I was picken' pickles from the barrel,
I did pluck pickles from the barrel deep,
When the sun beat on my face,
Methought myself entangled in a pickle.
Fresh and crisp, pickles are tasty when I'm feelin' fine.
They're homegrown pickles, such delights,
Humble yet divine.
Sour at times, earthen green,
Still doth their savor in mine heart combine
Today's a day for sweet pickles.
Don't forget that tasty bites are comin' round.
This day, my pickles do bestow
Tang and coolness, both sweet and sour,
And you're gonna be fooled
By old country spices dashing up my caprices
Such bite-sized pieces are rolling down the road
Such rustic spices cheer the weary whilst rolling forth.
Sweet and sour, a country maid doth bless
Each pickle she beholds; her joy she doth confess.
Every pickle is flavored with a dash of truth.
Every pickle takes her to the Fountain of Youth.
Let the tasting now begin.
Each delight, youth's fair fountain draws near.
Each pickle is seasoned with fear.
The world's like a green pickle
Tangy and cool, sweet and sour, but
You're gonna be fueled by
Bites for your savory day.
So let's taste them along the way
Fresh and crisp, the pickle pleaseth me always.
People are fickle
A bothersome tickle
You open the door
To wind up in a pickle
A dreaded half smile
They stay for a while
You’re too polite
And in denial
Instinctively nice
Prone to sacrifice
It gets out of hand, and
Infests you with lice
Your genuine heart
The tip of the dart
That punctures your skin
And pierces your heart
You’re better alone
And crave to be home
Which is why you avoid
The dreaded phone
When put on the spot
It’s as if you’ve been shot
You do as expected
What I’s shall you dot
Which explains your dismay
Too quick, to obey
You’re dying to leave
While agreeing to stay
. for public domain
All Day Tomorrow
( a cast of characters in song )
Homeless Jo and Jane:
We've got all day tomorrow,
to wait by the New Jersey shore,
to beg for a nickel
'cause we're in a pickle.
No end to us being so poor.
Tonight let us rub off our bruises,
tonight let us sing bright and gay.
We filled up our bellies,
the storefront has telly.
Tomorrow may bring a good day.
Parson at the pulpit:
We've got all day tomorrow,
to dry all the tears we will shed.
Our Blessings are fickle.
'cause we're in a pickle.
We can't count the hairs on our head.
Tonight let us kneel with our Savior,
tonight pass on worries what may.
Hand all of our cares
to Jesus upstairs.
Tomorrow may bring a good day.
Children:
We've got all day tomorrow,
for skinning our knees out at play.
We've no butter brickle.
We haven't a nickel.
We're poor as the kids in Bombay.
Tonight all our bellies will grumble,
tonight, while the folks are away,
we'll run through the halls,
and mark up the walls.
Tomorrow may bring a good day.
And so on, and so forth with Parents, Fire Fighters, EMT's, Police Officers, Imam's, Rabbi's, Old West Gunslingers, Suffragettes, Pig Farmers, Bankers, Bad Guys in dark alleys, Peppermint Patty, Goldilocks and the Three Bears, Odin, Cats, Screen Guild Members, and the Shadowy Neighbor next door who no one wants to meet.
A ball of ripe green lettuce teases Miss T. Goat
She studies it from afar, nothing in her throat
Along comes a handyman who is fixing the moat.
Do you want it down? He asks Miss T. Goat
Miss T. Goat is not the kind to make up her mind.
She sits and stares, until her ideas unravel and unwind.
The handyman moves on, to fix the moat, of course.
Along comes another helper, G. Wiliam Til, a loud horse.
Shall I get it down for you? Asks G. William Till now.
Miss Goat is in a pickle, she does not know how…
To ask for help, so she shakes her head “no”. To G. William Till.
As far as I know the lettuce is hanging there still.
oh, how I loved my mother's garden
where I would run and play all day
and in the nearby forest explore with father.
often, I would lay spread-eagle on the grass
and sometimes I would creep among shaded trees
climbing the branches to fathers horror
where I would sit listening to the birds twitter
later, I would pluck some wildflower blossoms
and place them in a pickle jar for mother
and she would exclaim happily- thank you
and in our back yard I liked to watch
the birds play in the bird bath father put there
oh, I remember it all so clear
but now, the garden is but a thorny field
and mother and father have departed this realm
and I ... I grew up and found out that life is cruel
that happiness and delight are rare gems to find
yet, in my moments of deep solitude
I can be that child again
________________
June 3, 2021
Poetry/Verse/I Can Be That Child Again
Copyright Protected, ID 06-1350-961-03
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, All Yours (Jun 5)
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 06/05/2021
First Place
I am in a quandary
I am in a fix
My life in a predicament
I wonder what will happen next
Nothing doth run smoothly
So often things go wrong
It would be so refreshing
For a new day to begin
with laughter and with joy
and a large double gin
And as the sun begins to rise
And blackbirds start to sing
I’m looking all around
for a dilemma to begin
Breakfast comes and goes
Not a burn upon the toast
For today this day be Sunday
I look forward to my Sunday roast
A gentle stroll along the prom
Before it starts to go all wrong
But people smile and for a while
I even burst into a song
Back at home the leg of lamb
Permeates my nostrils
Pink and succulent with roasties
tender carrots and parsnips
lots of lovely fresh mint sauce
complements the lamb of course
I sit and tuck into my meal
lamb melting in my mouth
This is my favourite Sunday roast
But then disaster doth approach
My left front crown I'd swallowed down
My day had begun
far too good to be true
I am starting to choke
I am turning bright blue
Alone am I ~ am I going to die
No one here to pat my back
I am in a pickle
I am in a jam
In such a tight corner
In a quandary is where I am…
Written 2nd October 2021
Contest "Q" contest
Sponsor Constance La France
2nd PLACE
Contest A STRAND 1054
Sponsor Brian Strand
FIRST PLACE
I now must live my life by a code, "Trust No One."
I know the extent my government will go with their ruthless intimidation.
Your worst enemy in the world could end up being your very best friend.
Here is how I envision the possibility of this happening.
My best friend is in a pickle, major tax liability.
This debt has been orchestrated and exaggerated by the IRS agency.
He is about to lose everything and he's supporting his family,
then my government steps in very polite, but very intimidatingly.
"You do this for us and your country,
and we will leave you alone, along with your entire family.
We will negotiate a very reasonable plan to settle your tax liability,
all you have to do is help us and help serve your country.
Bring your best friend alone to this locality.
We will take it from there, and escort you home directly.
We appreciate all your help and your service to your country,
in our War On Terror and all terrorist activity."
The next thing you know I vanish mysteriously.
This Kind Of Thing Is Happening Presently All Across My Country.
Individuals on this god forsaken terrorist watch list,
have mysteriously, suspiciously suddenly vanished,
or have met premature uninvestigated deaths,
most likely because they all were very active activists,
successfully reaching the masses,
and my government doesn't tolerate this.
Since I'm too on this list, I must now live a life of complete isolation,
and never break my code, Trust No One.
Prime aka Amazon brought a new box.
I put it up high.
Not high enough.
Buddy is standing on table sniffing it.
It has dog food in it.
Get down! I screech.
He smiles at me with his wolf grin.
Who can get mad at that?
Can he smell his food through the cardboard?
Possibly.
We do not need it yet.
I have run out of closets to hide things in.
They are full of our shoes and underwear.
The things he likes to chew the most.
Too bad I bought two large bags of dogfood yesterday.
Joe bought one last night.
We were both afraid we would be in a pickle like new mamas.
The ones who are scrambling for baby formula.
After all, at seventy, these two dogs are our babies now.
She had so many chances
Yet she kept muffin it up
Butter intentions were good
Just not much coffee in her cup
Couldn’t make a good decision
Too much waffling back and forth
Always peppered with doubt
Should she head south, no maybe north
Still, she was fun at a party
I would say, hummus a tune
She’d say, "Icing because I’m happy"
As the words began to croon
Maybe that’s what’s most important
Omelet let her off the hook
So she’s always in a pickle
Doesn’t do things by the book
Once again, I’m gonna help her
Since she is such a good egg
I said, girl, you’d go much farther
If you weren’t such a nut Meg
WARNING: The following poem is a figment of the author's imagination and deals with fictional characters.....MEN! ;) (THIS IS FOR FUN, MEN, SO DON'T GO AND GET ALL HUFFY AND PUFFY ON ME!)
Fickle fickle…men are fickle
Get the women in a pickle
Sweet talk sweet talk…how they tickle
Treat a treasure like a nickle
Chat up chat up and then lie
Sugared bites of ego pie
Flirty flirty….brew a storm
Dissipate then like the norm
Riding riding on her wave
Naughty naughty to the grave
Feel up feel up where he can
Make her think that he's a….MAN
Swagger swagger, what a sight!
Thinking he's got dynamite
Tries to see how far he'll get
Up to third base is his bet
Fickle fickle, fizzle….pop
Mess with me, I’ll make you drop!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Never was good at humor! This is as good as it gets with me!