Long Omelettes Poems
Long Omelettes Poems. Below are the most popular long Omelettes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Omelettes poems by poem length and keyword.
Could easily eat eggs three times a day
Love those little buggers so much
Thanks to the hens for being so gracious
Providing us with omelettes and such
Heard some people even eat 'em raw
Now that's not for me I'm afraid
Said I loved 'em but I must draw the line
Not for me even if I was paid
If hens could talk I'm sure they'd be saying
“What are you people doing
Eating 'em raw was never in the contract”
They'd be clucking like hell and fuming
My relationship with almost all of the hens
Is mutually one of good trust
I go by the rules, over-easy or omelettes
Respecting their feelings is a must
May think I'm strange talking to chickens
Have other strange quirks as well
But they'll have to wait for another day
My brain must rest for a spell
© Jack Ellison 2013
This is an age old story
it could be a country song.
Some may find it enchanting
while others say it’s wrong.
I like home automation
and the feeling of control
the response to simple voice
commands seems to satisfy my soul.
I got into it slowly
but it soon got out of hand
when on a cold black-Friday
I bought an automated man.
His physique wasn’t all that defined
and I wouldn’t have called him handsome
but soon I was trolling the aftermarket
for jail-broken enhancements.
He can’t take his eyes off me,
his omelettes are the best,
and when he puts his arms around me
- he never needs to rest.
My mom appreciates him,
his work ethic has her impressed.
She has no idea how handy he is
as he helps me get undressed.
My friends say, “Wow, you look HAPPY!”
I feel I’m blooming like a flower.
I anxiously wait for him to fully charge
and we have unscheduled hours.
p.s. I write short stories too =]
Last summer I planted five stars for you
Twice or so a day,I watered them
Winter has come and I'm ready to show you
Tonight,I'll make the omelettes
While you take a shower, darling
We'll postpone the eats
And dance a little bit
Listen to the rhythmic drumming of your heartbeats
While you bury my head in between your twins
"I love you,dear," my whispers.
Late night chats and a little cuddles on the couch
Slow kisses and caresses will do
Allow me mess up with your hair
Blouse unbuttoned!
Ripe wild oranges seen
I love everything that sparkles
Beauty rightfully possessed!
I'll carry you in my arms as we head outside
"You see those twinkling five stars? They are all yours, darling. You look alike, sparkling and lovely."
You're beautiful,this you know
But lemme plant beauty in your mind
I swear I'll always print smiles on your face
'Cos you deserve it!
John Lenda (Poetic World,2022)
I rejected form.
I rejected meter.
I rejected editing.
I rejected reading.
I'm a flash in the pan.
I'm fueled by emotions.
I'm emboldened by scars.
I'm challenged by time.
I wonder how far I could go
if I took the time to study.
If I sat down and honed my craft
and took pride in my words.
I'm certainly no prodigy.
Every verse came at a cost.
Perhaps I'm finally paying the price
by stagnating in my growth.
I let my fingers write.
My mind is actually blank.
It's just a silly white canvas
that never blossomed.
I never once toiled.
I never once struggled.
If it was hard I just gave up
and deleted the verse.
I'm told I write prose
rather than true poetry.
Maybe I don't understand
what the difference is.
I never had any talent.
Writing was my safe space.
Now I have to wonder
if it was ever safe at all.
Admittedly I rejected effort.
I didn't want to actually try
When the minimalist approach
seemed to work so well.
I'm not a prodigy.
I'm not a genius.
I'm not gifted.
I'm not published.
I dreamed of the glass ceiling
but I never dreamed of breaking it.
Maybe I'm just damned to always look through it
and see writers much more dedicated than I.
I made omelettes without breaking eggs.
I created houses with no foundation.
I sang songs without reading the lyrics.
I baked cakes without a recipe.
I don't want to sound entitled
but my writing deserves to be better.
In twelve years I should have accomplished more
than using these poems as tissue paper for tears.
In 2007 I was just a kid
writing five to ten poems daily.
That effort got me noticed
and I shared my verse with crowds.
I was driven by ambition
and fueled by emotion.
All I wanted was adulation
when all I had known was the gallows.
This is the last flash in the pan.
Fleeting emotions can't guide my pen forever.
I do not know what the future holds
but no longer will I be complacent.
I am a writer.
I am a poet.
I am a lover.
I am a fighter.
This is the swan song
of my old poetic style.
With eyes on the horizon
My pen will ever be furious.
We thought it would last forever,
not a kink in the endless chain of supplies;
Now more than the store shelves
are coming up continuously empty;
Still the menu is good to change,
maybe get out grandma’s old recipe;
No amount of money in the world
can buy you food that doesn’t exist;
We thought it was just gonna go away,
the trucks would always deliver more eggs;
Then omelettes became a luxury item,
‘Snickers’ were all we could afford or find;
Starvation ended with ‘We are the World.’
Western civilization? That’s impossible;
North America is flooded with resources;
Regrow endless crops on soil rich land;
No amount of money in the world
can buy you food that doesn’t exist;
Bottom of the barrel no trash to steal;
Private property gardens, no trespassing;
Outlaws armed with skills and dirty hands,
Off grid not for sale, can’t steal from them;
The wealthy can get whatever they need,
or so the one percent always thought;
No amount of money in the world
can buy you food that doesn’t exist.