Long Peckish Poems
Long Peckish Poems. Below are the most popular long Peckish by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Peckish poems by poem length and keyword.
Bandicoot's bounce over my dead lead head.
Grim the outlook,
I am the grimness in my own storybook.
Moods are my mannerism's.
Gooey nose - a stonking flu
got me
now I mimic a monkey
with my bullhorn blowing.
When will the sun rise my eyes?
Blighted by sniffles, I dizzy and sway
to the 'Drug Mart', there to gag and goggle;
at so many meds for a bunged-up head.
Handfuls of hope
back to the laze-upon floozy chair
guzzling pills a popping.
Later, write this,
mayhap get pissed on some bitter brew.
Bandicoot's snoring.
A little peckish.
Here a glimmer
there it is, the shiny light,
feeling svelte in a sky bright blue.
Sniffing better, sleep later.
Roll In Sin
Rulers are just straight measuring sticks
Buddy clubs and straight jackets
Ladders behaving like flowers
Black rose bush learing over the pastel shined Tulips grown
A different life green and blue
People can represent and stay true
In a suit
What is common with people that don't have the loot
What did I learn
What did I throw away
Feel value
In the works
A peckish primal poverty
Needed to outlast Trump
More than guns at the border
Respect
I impost them
The 5a.m bunny rabbit has no clue
To the price of food
Who am I praying to
Don't I need to know what it means before I try to pray
APPLE PICKING
“Adam, are you hungry?”
Asked Eve, seductively.
“There’s a lovely juicy apple
On a low branch of that tree.”
“I must confess I’m peckish,”
Said Adam longingly.
“But God said that it doesn’t
Belong to you or me.”
“There’s on-one here to see us,”
Eve answered, craftily.
“Except for that old serpent
And he said it was free.”
“I’m still not sure,” said Adam.
What if God should see?
“He’d evict us from the garden
And then where would we be?”
But Eve could be persuasive,
As women tend to be.
And so they shared the apple
And the rest is history.
Rough night, sleepless night
Waiting anxiously for my change to come
Though without any redemption at sight
Yet I still wait until my change comes
Resting my rumps, peckish and famished
Scared of the dark, my mind wondered away
What is this place? oh my god, I'm finished!
My mind resonates with horrorfully beautiful sway
Lived in the darkness too long to face the light
My fears and curiosities yet unsatisfied
Yet unfailing my youthful strength and might
Soon will shine the Sun and my fate clarified
Though like a pilgrim, I've been target of furries and scorns
Still time and season in their course kept on passing
Yet another night of misprision, disputefulness and scorns
Then will I understand what exactly in favour fate is proposing
Suddenly my mind returned from the wonderland
Then I looked and saw fate pointing to the throne of success
Promising to lead until firmly I stand in my fatherland
Constantly reassuring that I am fated to succeed
Alone and hungry
left leg aches like a broken peg
in the mugginess of its left slipper.
Not a good day for fixing anything
but the sealed and over salted,
the quickly warmed and spooned
that can be mixed into a taste-less medley
with other sundry comestibles.
The pantry,
(a recessed place with shelf-space),
is a dimly lit store for long kept canned products,
a once carelessly gathered and undated harvest,,
a compulsive cartload
that should never have been bought
opened, and cooked
in any company but strictly my own.
In that larder molders a canned fodder;
here anemic asparagus stalks wrapped in tin
are jammed together with diced jalapenos,
or glossily illustrated kidney beans.
Tomato and noodle soups are haphazardly piled
atop of various loosely defined
stewed meat offerings, including canned Spam
naturally.
After the so-called cooking
(more a revealing of a much mushed-up
mixture of misnamed contents),
I sit down with the steaming plate
allowing the metallic aroma to entice
peckish yet suspicious taste buds.
Fed now with the quickly chewed-over
I’m both glad and grateful
that this ten minute feast
can be wolfed down in so much less time.
What would you do, if you did,
get up close and personal with a fish.
Would you ask him a generic q,
like 'where's the nearest public loo?'
Or try your best to respect,
his blubbering, southern dialect.
Granted I would be quite phased,
and think I'd gone rather crazed.
But once past that, I'd marvel too,
and tour the underwater zoo.
Find out just what fish do for fun,
take a bask in midday sun.
Or play a game they call flippers,
the trout are up against the kippers.
Just maybe fish could be my friend?
How though, when their day could end,
chomped down deep inside my tummy,
fish and chips, oh, they are so yummy.
I couldn't ever keep such truth,
about my peckish, junk-filled youth.
But knowing how they live and play,
such fun and laughs within the bay.
I think I'll leave it just for now,
if my stomach will allow.
Mind over matter, it can be done,
a meat free life can be fun.
And maybe I can bring a friend,
make talking fish the newest trend.
Help everyone around me see,
that fishes, are like you and me.
05.26.2020
Contest: Brian's Choice V
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Why did the chicken cross Abbey Road?
Because it was there,
but which came first?
Obviously, not the egg,
as it has no legs.
The first chicken to cross the road,
feeling peckish,
not one to throw in the towel,
when told, 'Walk, don't run a fowl,'
and, faster than a speeding pullet,
or so it is said,
was one giant leap for poultry,
one small step
for a Rhode Island Red.
But, by the look on the freckled face
of the old speckled hen,
arriving alive on the other side,
her tranquility was not expanded,
when she heard the words announced,
'The Eagle has landed!'
You’re such a loving charmed romantic soul
Feeling so blessed to have you in my life
To tickle cuddle nibble and cajole
It's very endearing to be your wife
You turn each day to a celebration
Joy is our day to day barometer
You and I in it for the duration
Clutching to passion's thermometer
When chimes the melodic stroke of midnight
Light sparkles green for a delightful kiss
Appetite sweetly peckish for a bite
In your arms tender times to reminisce
Break open that chilled bottle of champagne
We have nothing but romance on the brain
AP: 1st place 2022
Submitted on July 7 2019 for contest BEST SONNET 2019 sponsored by JOHN HAMILTON - RANKED 5TH
Turtle so slow
Has emerged from below
How does he breathe down there
Without any air
Don’t ask me how
At least not just now
I’m feeling a bit peckish
And could stand a nice fish dish
Earlier, I saw some bass
Hiding here in the grass
Ah, I see you there
Swum by with no care
I will have you my pretty
Though you are itty bitty
With a frawnk and a swoop
I will fly around my loop
What’s that in the deep water
By that pesky old otter
Shinny shad make nice meals
If I can just close the deal
It will never sense my presence
And I will leave only my oily essence
A last lunge and a lurch
And I’m off to my perch
I’m the most graceful of birds by the way
And really should be in a Monet
Dance on my corpse oh lady of the night,
Through life to me only you have been kind,
I offer no prayer nor see you in a holy light,
I ask none in return as time will not unwind,
As the quests of men change but not subside,
So do the seas resembling my raging love,
Free from earthly desire and nevermore to abide,
Now flows out to you unbeknownst to you thereof,
Let not the peckish crows mark my place of death,
Nor brackish waters seep into my rotting skin,
Had not the cold taken from me my lonesome breath,
But left it for view for who dare not make one kin,
If one wish be made for you and yours to keep,
Know me as a watchful sky not blinded in the deep.