Long Pickles Poems
Long Pickles Poems. Below are the most popular long Pickles by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pickles poems by poem length and keyword.
The spices release their scent to ease my heart,
numb ~ yet tracing glasses brimming with tears,
aching for a touch of chamomile wisps,
beneath a sky that reeks of regrets
and words unspoken ~ too afraid to rephrase,
like smoke incensed with sulfur,
like blue cheese and old pickles,
tickling the curves of this melanin melancholy,
urging these fingers to purge forgotten rhymes,
as if there is no ingredient for healing,
when loneliness creeps like a slow poison…
But must I thaw the ice within cups of compassion,
infused with clovers of peace,
when I am a mere reflection of your mistakes,
a table adorned with plates of bitter weeds,
listening to the sagas of the rain and sun?
They taste not my pulse of patience,
as I remain, the feeler of phasing appetizers,
rotting in ruins ~ objectified and rejected,
by the twisted tongue of vanity and silence…
Grab a crab, nab a snack.
Crack a claw, smack a stack!
Mayo mellow, a silky spread.
Ham piled high on crusty bread.
Salad stacked, crisp and bright.
Every mouthful is pure delight.
Best darn sandwich you've ever seen.
Packed with pickles fresh and green.
Watch them crab claws — They're set to go!
Grab too late? — You'll know your woe!
Toasted, roasted, golden brown.
Best darn snack in town, hands down.
Crunch and munch, chew with cheer,
Grab another while you're here!
Hands have fingers; crabs have claws.
Both love lunches—that's the cause!
Faces has smiles; claws have jaws!
So grab a crab and catch a snack.
Smack your lips and whack it back!
10 POUNDS OF GROUND BEEF
2 TABLESPOONS OF BLACK PEPPER
1 CUP OF SWISS CHEESE SHREDDED
1 CUP OF SHREDDED CABBAGE (SAUTEED)
1 CUP OF CRUSHED SUN DREID TOMATOS
3 MINCED ONIONS
5 TABLESPOONS OF McCormick SEASONINGS
3 TABLESPOONS OF GARLIC POWDER
1/3 CUP OF POWDERED BUTTERMILK CULTURES
1/3 CUP OF DICED GREEN BELL PEPPERS
1 CUP OF BACON (COOKED0 AND CRUSHED
(THESE BURGERS MIGHT NEED MORE SALT, COOK A SMALL PEICE AND SEASON TO TASTE)
MIX WELL, FORM BURGERS..
ON A COOKIE SHEET, BROIL BURGERS UNTIL, THE JUICES ARE CLOUDY, REMOVE FROM OVEN. FINSH BURGERS ON THE GRILL,.
SERVE ON TOASTED BUNS WITH LETTUCE, TOMATO, PICKLES AND CHEESE
OR MAKE MEATLOAF, TOP WITH A SPICY TOMATO SAUCE AND BAKE AS LOAVES.
Pickling with delight
purge fruits of no blight
plus condiments right
pepper, garlic white
pleasing appetite…
Pickled relish
prayer*-blest dish
prods diet wish
propels weight-swish…
Pickles’ glow
pot luck flow
plates follow…
pressing
passing…
picks!
*Philippians 4:6 ...In every thing by prayer... with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.
February 21, 2020
Diminished Hexaverse with rhyme and alliteration
Edited on May 6, 2020
1st place, "BRIAN'S CHOICE C,any form,any theme" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 5/14/2020.
(Harry says to Larry ) "We're going to have a pickle party, party hearty Harry !"
Pickle One: "Did you hear that Cracklebaum, they are gonna take us home!"
Pickle Two: "I hear I hear, we'll finally get out of this brine"
(Larry says to Harry ) We're gonna have a shindig, others will bring pickles too !
Pickle One: "Did you hear that Cracklebaum, there will be lots of pickles!
Pickle Two: I guess we will see all our friends there huh !
Pickle One: "Maybe we will meet Brad Pickle ?"
Pickle Two: "or Kelly Lee Kung Fu ?"
(Harry says to Larry) "Heh Larr, grab a jar or two"
(Larry opens a lid,) "Heh Harr, this one smells like Pepe Le Pew !"
Pickle One: " Oh Cracklebaum,... did you let one go?"
ILLUSORY
If I write fire, I become cold
if I write ice, I am burned
poetic illusion I write ...
CALL
When life calls,
death...
I just resist ...
BETRAYAL
The sea from there
salting you ...
The sea here is so blasé ...
Hiccups
Oh sea! me here,
she there, white moonlight ...
I here the solar ...!
FALSEHOOD
Insincere Siamese Sisters:
Left,
Right ...!
PLATONISM
I love her without having her,
she has me and doesn't love,
ah! platonic love...
a jar of cold pickles
a bunch of needed napkins
memories of a time of less rust
when feeling safe was the norm
and flannel pajamas was my rave
a bowl of butterscotch discs
a big ole snaggletooth smile on my face
memories of a time of cheaper prices
when saturday mornings was a grand vibe
and flannel pajamas was my rave
an old fashioned southern breakfast grandma style
ice cold orange juice made from that frozen can thingy
memories of good music on one good radio station
when a candy store was either right up the street or right around the corner
and flannel pajamas was my rave
a trip to that duff's smorgasbord buffet restaurant
a good bit of naughty grease on the coat of my best sunday suit
memories of family focused on family and not plugged in or charged up devices
when familial love, togetherness, and unity meant something way deeper
and polyester pajamas was my alternative rave
If Money Grew
I would plant a garden.
I would make every row,
straight.
They would be perfect,
as hard work,
produces the best crops.
Grandpa taught me everything.
Ocra, grows high and must be,
harvested early,
or it becomes too hard to eat.
Summer squash and pickles,
just the same.
Tomatoes, small, red, ripe,
green, beef and/or Tomatillo flavors,
all the promise of food on the table,
and the bounty of God’s blessing.
Bright fresh flowers,
to cheer friends,
in need or in pain.
Delicious fresh herbs,
to flavor the cup for the weak,
and confused inside.
The cost of things given,
very little.
The cost of things,
planted from seeds,
lovingly shared with others,
perfectly coined.
The face…of God!
It's a PICKLE PARTY and you're being invited!
Return your RSVP saying you'll be delighted
to attend. Don't forget to bring your sunscreen
so, you can keep your lovely shade of green.
The pool will be open, so you can swim and dive
and a band will be playing soulful blues and jive.
I hope I haven't added too much salt to the brine,
but if it's not to your liking, have a glass of wine.
Some gherkins will be here that you don't know,
and there's Phil the dill, flying in from Kokomo,
and the green-eyed prissy one, Miss Polly Pickle.
Don't get attached to her, for she's quite fickle!
I've invited a few kosher friends from New York City.
Their garlicky aroma is a bit strong, but they're witty.
You can mingle or just hang with the other slices
who've been soaking in the spa with pickling spices.
Beware the boring Trish, who likes to embellish
the tale of how her parents became sweet relish.
Oh dear, I must sound like a fussy old schmooze.
It's not a BYOB party because I'm serving booze.
The Cornichons from France said they will attend,
but if you don't speak any French, you can pretend.
Whatever it is they're saying, they'll think you agree.
Just smile, nod your head and keep saying, "Oui, Oui."
If you tend to be a little shy, stay close to your jar,
but you might find it interesting sitting at the bar.
I thought of inviting pickled onions, eggs and beets,
but they might outnumber us and eat all the treats.
I hope you can make it to my first annual Pickle Party.
It's the anniversary of my marriage to Big Cuke, Marty.
He's such a hunk, and sometimes I can't resist a nibble.
But I'll never share him; a fact I will never quibble.
Please say you will come and join us in the party fun
and when you get ready to soak up the heat of the sun,
step out on the party deck to take part in the dancing.
If the right pickle tickles you, maybe some romancing?
August 16th, 2022
It's a Pickle Party Contest
Sponsored by Mystic Rose Rose
Man it is bitter cold, and the oar is gone floating down river fast.
My canteen has whiskey, so I take a swig; knowing it has to last.
Where are my matches? I ponder so I grab my Cuban cigar.
How many miles would I float down river before I reached that sandbar?
My moose tattoo gave a mighty laugh and held his teddy bear tighter.
The clouds were overcast now. I was not sure if I had a lighter.
The matches had gotten wet you see, when I leaned out to grab my oar.
I wish I had brought the other one with me when I left that sainted shore.
I took a puff of the cigar, ah heaven, but now I needed a snack.
I opened ma’s picnic basket, and drew out a white doily and a love sack.
She had thrown a flashlight in the bottom which I noticed as ate my food.
Chocolate donuts and ham sandwiches with pickles put me in a good mood.
Do you have your hatchet? My inner voice asked. Let’s chop ourselves an oar.
Carved myself a makeshift paddle out of canoe to take me to shore.
The moose tattoo was laughing, making her teddy bear chuckle too.
I got to land by eleven o’clock, the forest turning a nightly hue.
I barely had enough strength to pull the canoe up into the safety of the sand.
The cattails were impeding our way, my tattoo and I a pretty motley band.
Couldn’t you have just jumped in the water? My inner voice asked on a whim.
Forgetting for a second I guess, that this fisherman does not know how to swim.