Long Pickle Poems
Long Pickle Poems. Below are the most popular long Pickle by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pickle poems by poem length and keyword.
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
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
Let’s all bring our mortar and pestle
And have a party of great papaya pickle
We call this a famous Thai ‘’som tum”
So delicious! Heavenly awesome!
Let’s first wear our kitchen attire
Dance the Thai music, don’t be shy
Then prepare all the somtum ingredients
For superb taste, a hundred percent.
Main is fresh green papaya, shredded thinly
Raw string beans, chopped evenly
Dried shrimps, fish sauce, limes and lots of chili
Tomatoes, peanuts and crabs smashed heavily.
Yummy somtum is always served with sticky rice
Paired with fried chicken—get more, twice, thrice…
A long table party, others can sit on a mat
While enjoying somtum scrumptiously hot!
Aug. 28, 2022 10.20pm
Note *hot =means very spicy (but yummy)
Please watch the video on YT on how to make super delicious Thai Somtum
It's A Pickle Party
Contest Judged: 9/10/2022 2:36:00 PM
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose
Place 5 (up to 9 single w)
Mr Dennis...grimace..what the Dickens is going on...the menace
Inevitability of a celebrity on every terrace at the tennis..
The profanity and insanity of rampant vanity..
The gist..a D list tryst to bathe in the narcissist mist..
Blame.. tame or maim same lame fame name game shame..
Rich pickings at.. every look at me.. Wimbledon balcony..
Phew..is it too late for me lanky mate Stew..
Can't be ignored...a SW19 ticket you scored..
Hard to beat....pip..a meet and greet with the cheat elite..
Don't scoff...hats do doff...before we skip off on a toff trip to Crete..
A bit cranky..give me a hanky...he's gone a bit swanky.. wa**y...
Great..hanging out...lurking on board with the flawed fraud..
Applaud the encored smirking adored or abhorred hoard
Bored.. tanned trolls..champagne sippers in velvet slippers
Vain planned inane scrolls..no proles lost souls or nippers
Just skanky Yankee dolls & spank me molls maraud..day trippers
My Lord..thought your were berserking..working class..
Not the farce of up its own a**e..shirking VIP pass..
P.S just for you Stew..an ickle fickle tickle josh.. off my trolley volley..rhyming sickle...about you at some jolly posh tosh.. in a golly gosh wally folly pickle..
But still.. luv you bruv..you are the Guv..
An unsophisticated feller attending an auction could find himself in a pickle!
The nuances, subtleties and gestures used in bidding could cost him a pretty nickel!
A city feller decided to attend a farm auction to see what it was all about.
Alas, he accumulated a heap of needless stuff before he could figure it out!
He was fascinated by the tractor, manure spreader, horses, hogs and cows,
And the chickens, goats, manure forks and hay to be auctioned in the mows!
The auctioneer began his alien spiel and the feller couldn't understand a word,
But farmers in overalls and John Deere caps knew exactly what they heard!
Bidding began on an old steel-wheeled 1925 Model D over-used John Deere.
The feller watched others offer their bids as he reached to scratch his ear.
The auctioneer yelled, "SOLD to the man scratchin' his ear over by the fence!"
He was the stunned owner of a tractor - it happened so fast he didn't have a chance!
Next up for bid were a fancy chamber pot, two horse collars and fifty feet of hose.
The feller in all innocence swatted at a pesky fly that had landed on his nose!
The auctioneer yelled, "SOLD to the guy who swatted his nose for fifty dollars!
Son, you got a steal! That's an antique thunder mug and so is them there collars!"
The auctioneer opened bidding for twenty bales of newly cut alfalfa hay.
The feller was distracted for a moment and waved at a pal across the way.
"SOLD" said the auctioneer, "Please write a check for this stuff to my able aide!"
The hapless guy was wondering how he'd explain to his spouse the purchases he'd made!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
within the under belly of
this hob bull ling Leviathan beast
induced roaring hungry soundcloud issued
within abdominal folds
finding they in creased
never diminishing, matter
whether I turn north, south, west or east
this adult desired,
soon after he envisioned
buttered crispy dish eyed fancily feast
culinary cut throat Michelin meisters
(pit a less lee) pitted
against Pillsbury doughboy greased
imaginatively gobbling hectare
thousand island inlaid
juiced kickstarting least
unable to pay thee Monsieur's consigliere –
damn, hard cold cash just shy by a nickle
aye first taken got taken hostage
as a wreck loose poet,
the anti write cadre
strip searched
every stitch of clothes I wore,
then subjected me to an aye tip pickle
pun hush ment,
where this deplorable basket case
stood aghast as hounds from hell
got loosed by thee Don Rickle
lathered canine chops
slapped by foamy salivating tongues
poised to ham er and
make mince meat out this pop sickle
but...lo and behold, as vicious
snooping doggy dogs
approached within a hair breadth
minecrafted fingers fluttered
in the air asper ready to tickle
whereat the snarling killers (bon jove)
rolled with faux pas in the air
kicking, laughing (or a similar
fox simile thereof),
inciting Major Domo tuff flair
his nostrils (like...well
an amazing dragon)
with blood red eyes didst glare
while fur sprouted over his bare skin
honor ably dispelling every last hair
which bizarre circumstance, an opportunity
to escape from this thieving Magpie lair
approved by the ghost of Rossini,
who suddenly prestidigitatiously
magically brought to my defense William Tell
(in the guise oven
instant activating App) pull lick caisson
thus juiced by a whisker avoiding a scare.
Perhaps the realm where dormant ideas germinate
will coalesce into sturdy tomes even if posthumously late
recognition gets affianced with a memorialized slate
where no body will lie,
cuz this mortal will get his ashes sprinkled
intermixed with wildlife,
who will unknowingly consecrate and sanctify
rack and pinion traction,
where dost dust will fertile lies
to become reincarnated
via blessings sans creatures who defecate or urinate.
Enervated and energized after cold shower
the perfect tonic to gin body though o'clock
wee hours August thirty one two thousand
nineteen - natural buzz to stave off relished
sleep, thus refueled with zest able to chop
chop thru printed material (dictionary seat
of pants newpage turner with a-z characters)
and no crock, but refreshing douse of chill
kept mien ole body electric able to dial back
feeling akin to soap bar man tiredness life
came to buoy quite some hours with joy de
vivre vigor analogous to morning dove (or as
if submerged smooth as ivory into Irish Spring),
until... bubbliness peaked than plunged yours
truly into fast shuteye descent lulled into land
o' dreams courtesy double fan tussy "white
noise," until I awoke with a start, (albeit heavy
grogginess clinging fast - thick spidery whirled
wide cob webbed glommed threads) unable to
offset toe tilly stark realization bare little feet
(plaintively oinking higglety pigglety) felt like
ice cubes, whereby skimpy blanket inadequate
to allow, enable, and provide adequate quality
sleep, hence inspiration piqued to attempt cob
bullying poem gifted (thank you watermelon
pickle) despite raggedy state, not optimal state
string words together rendering sense and cents
ability birthing feeble attempt to sweat out small
medium thoughts lodged within fifty plus shades
gray atrophied matter - begetting literary stillborn
whereby intensive care unit medical team resorted
to heroic measures applying revolutionary punk
chew weighted equilibrium until state of the art
poetic license intervention wrought sudden jaw
dropping miracle – whipped courtesy last ditch
Shakespearean divine resuscitation, (plus all the
king's men and all the king's horses) rendered
dead as a doornail absolute zero metaphoric
lifeless limp bizkit verse, neither lickety split
rhyme nor reason could explain tectonic shift
witnessing pluperfect (donned with little non hex
pence booties) manifestation vital signs, but
metered metrical blue feet in toto - oz needed
close monitoring to ward off 10,000 maniacs.
Practically serious I said something weird.
No one noticed in this family so I put on my sumo wrestling diaper.
One grandchild began to laugh; the other nine rolled their eyes.
They had seen this before.
Who wants to have a pancake eating contest? I asked.
They started yelling “with corn, with whipped cream, with tacos.”
Pancakes with tacos? I took a good look at this grandson.
He was more like his grandma than I thought.
Sure I said. Why not? We scooted the pigs out of the kitchen
And began stirring up batter; from scratch, not a box.
My daughter tossed pickle relish and horse radish sauce on the table.
“The one who eats the worst tasting pancake wins a night with the pigs.”
I was careful to act too prissy to eat the horseradish-mountain-oyster pancake.
I had won a night with the pigs before, and they always took all the covers.
If you could sleep through the gas they passed, you might survive ‘til morning.
Want any help? My bossy co-work Yolana asked. Sure, I said
Eat that vapor cream, gasoline pancake.”
Bouncing off of the walls,
Blind,
Unwinding,
Dimes and nickels,
In a pickle,
The Reaper's Sycle...
Fickle but NOT sick as of yet,
Prick,
Just a bit,
Fizzy fizz,
Whizzing tricked,
Gipped NOT,
Grateful a lot,
NOT a robot..
I sought this,
Somehow,
I will still bow,
As of now,
As a cow,
Rowdy hound,
Another town,
I might drown,
Just at the sound,
Of how I know I am,
But am NOT a clown,
Crazy, hazy days,
Lost but found,
On solid ground,
Look at what I have to sow,
Maybe it will grow,
No one knows,
God does,
I up.
Still a Thunder Duck,
That is like it was when I took off my trucks,
Hopefully, there will still be some thrills,
Possibly good luck,
If NOT it would me being a deeming stuck,
-up,
In the gutter,
D.I.D, Stutter?
Or was that the other me...
There is no one.
I believe things come in threes,
On my knees,
If you please,
I will cease any decrees,
To say cheese one more time,
Hopefully more,
What is in store is NOT up to me,
I will say she...
Might still believe in me,
Geez,
The Bees knees are NOT what I got,
It is the lot of the hot propped galoshes,
That can wade through this storm,
Born and born again,
I will still be your friend...
No one would depend,
In the end,
But on me?
Yeah, let us see,
I can do better,
Every day and forever,
No ties hopefully have been severed,
If they have,
I know an architect,
Somehow, we MUST erect a bridge,
Let me move a fridge or two,
I will share what is in line with you,
I am with a new crew,
Do what you do...
Dude...
It takes two,
Tango,
Salsa,
Mango Creme Brulé...
What do you say?
Babe?
i am not thinking straight today
as i make myself a spaghetti sandwich
ever since i kissed the lips of loneliness,
i have been fasting for the reuniting of our chemistry
however the end result is always anionic bonding
my wish is for the cationic vibe and the freedom from the red rain
i add ice to the jar of pickle juice and wash the spaghetti sandwich down
then i grab the first of the two cookie shakes from the freezer
the blue warmth of my tears melt the usual deliciousness away
i guzzle it down as the cookie bits scratches my tonsils
then i grab the second of the two cookie shakes, but i never get through it
somehow i fall asleep dreaming dreams of time machines and aladdin's lamps
when i wake up to get ready for work, i realize that it is saturday
fully and heavily clothed, i carelessly plop down on the carpet
my rumbling stomach reminds me of where i am
i rush to the bathroom and empty the contents to the overly soiled toilet
i stare into space on up into the next day
i am impervious to the deprivation of sleep
it is in your flawless honor that i do openly weep
i so wish that your heart could have been something that i could keep
you took everything when you left with the black sheep
now i consider myself an extreme hoarder for your love
boxes of memories construct a quicksand sea in my mind
i drown intentionally to become carelessly and helplessly lost in it all....