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.
Rumbles of boredom lead the mouth to eat
but then there are the unwashed,
the residue of the crumbling
and smeared. Greasy utensils
sneaking like sharks amongst the soaking dishes.
A need now to refresh this domestic pond
with chemical bubbles
yet hands are too dilatory
to be daubed by yesterday’s food.
One has to judge with perfect timing
whether to wash the plates or
leave them to poison the sink
for another hour or two.
The essential factors are smell
and guilt.
When the sludge of the once edible
blossoms rudely in an untidy kitchen
or the shredded rinds of a latent rigor mortis
coat themselves with the pimpled oils
of former slicks
only then is it time to reassess
just how peckish we are for leftovers.
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
Melting snow,
Cool breeze,
Crowded crows diving in a row,
Return of the unfriendly bees,
Colorful rainbow in the sky,
And the strange songs of the talkative parrot;
These are signs that Spring is around the corner.
Again, she has defeated Queen Winter,
With that incredible show in the parking lot.
She is now wearing the crown and three ostentatious rubies;
Oh my golly! She can also poise better than all of the beauties
Gathered during the Ms. Universe beauty pageant.
Sigh of Lent,
Palm Sunday,
Cheerful children at play,
Green gardens decorated with confetti,
Happy humming birds flying high,
And the young grand-mothers in bikini;
These are hints that the celebration
Will commence early this spring.
One duck is already being trailed by an offspring,
Meanwhile, the zebras are being chased by one peckish lion,
Which can no longer run like a supersonic train.
Amidst all of that, somebody is going to have fun.
Copyright© March 2009, Hebert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of many poetry books:
“Sparkles of Love and Etincelles de l’Amour”
“Mounts And Valleys of Love”
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.
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.
They might ask
If you know what the dance is like
If you know a devils peckish delights
But rarely do they ask
Rarely do they care
If the devil is true
And not some cheap imitation
Do they not know?
Fake devils breed nothing but fear
Fear and pain
Torment in the worst of ways
These imposters know nothing of delights
Nor a thing of dancing
If you ask me
They are nothing but an imposition
Something to through you off
Some sick joke is all they could ever be
So I shall ask again
Have you ever danced with a devil?
One how plays with flesh, only ever twisting the horrors away?
Ones who eat away the pain left by worldly wooes and dealings by feeding it something much more volatile?
The loving demons everyone wishes you to hate?
The ones holding back all the retched creatures?
Have you danced in circles and twirled for days just for the devil to hear your laughter?
To have a moment of beauty.
Have you seen them, those beautiful sins, be happy and merry, so filled with such delight you forgot they're a devil?
Nothing like the imposters sharing only anguish, their souls twisted like pitiful hate. Existing purely to spurn on more of their own. Never to comfort. Nor to create.
Now, can you answer?
Have you ever danced with a devil?
Maybe you should.
A feathered clutch once bewailed –
What can a sparrow do
in a sky full of raptors?
The red-necked puckers’ won’t arrive
until blood smells like copper pennies.
She was only one winter old,
cried a fuss-bucket booby.
Begone crone.
croaked a plumed strutter.
A fish needs a fish for its supper,
little girls should not roam
far from their nests.
One bold worm spoke forth
before the lollers and gawkers.
She ate only half of me
before the hawkish lout knocked her out.
Now I must bury us both.
Fellow travelers, both the peckish and the pecked,
we all belong to this green turning morgue.
All must ride the sky-wagons
where last breaths are turned to rainclouds.
What can we do?
Sobbed a brimful of hatchlings.
O what can we do?
Boohoo, boohoo, boohoo.
Woke up this morning, it's one of those days.
I see the bright sunshine through a grey, misty haze.
My head hurts, my eyes burn, I hurt in some places,
That used to be located in different places.
Hobble to bathroom to soak in the tub,
And take ibuprophen in lieu of back rub.
Shampooed and relaxed I feel a bit peckish.
Some scones and some tea would make a nice breakfast.
No flour, no butter, my cupboard is bare.
I tell you this morning has started with flare.
I just grab a bite on the way to work.
Paid for donuts and coffee, spilled the cup on my shirt.
Got to work late so I stayed overtime.
Didn't get home until just before nine.
'Cause I had a flat tire and had no spare,
So I called a tow truck and had it repaired.
My neighbor came over with all of the news.
Sometimes that woman just gives me the blues.
She'll talk about anyone who isn't here.
Wonder who she talks about when I'm not there.
I finally flipped out and just had a cow.
It's good that I did 'cause I feel better now.
Tomorrow will be a much better day.
Today was a bad day, what more can I say.
The sincere romantic gesture
a perfect smile
a glance while holding hands
a dapper looking style
The whispers though out the evening
a passionate enduring kiss
a twinkle from that in your eye
while talking, that peckish kinda kiss
The Pièce de résistance is simply
you and I
all we have to do is
stop and steer
The heart of the matter
We are the Masterpeice
the center of the stage
is ours
ten zucchinni slices
1 cup of cottage cheese
1/4 cupparmesan cheese
garlic minced
2 eggs
green onions chopped
1/4 cup of chopped portabello mushroom
1/4 of diced sundired tomatos in oil
1/4 teaspoon of anchovie paste
1/2 cup of crumbled bacon
5 olives chopped
mix stuffing and line a greased cookie sheet
and stuff or layer the zucchii bake
until goldedn brown top with a hot tomato sauce and cheese
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