Picking Poems | Examples

wind is picking up

Wind is picking up my notebook today
Just ripped a page, it has floated far away
There goes my dog followed by my cat
Baby tornado? Asked my best friend Pat
My shed just blew into the lake next door
I don’t really care; it was a huge eyesore.

Picking Up Cues

Children pick up cues from all
The people that surround them,
Formulating ways to interact
With those around them.

As they grow, they learn how some
Behaviors will affect them
And also how their actions
Might cause people to reject them.

But on the other hand, they find
Some manners to embrace,
Expecting adulation, though
That might not be the case.

Our personalities evolve
From witnessing those cues
And learning which traits help us
And which others we should lose.

Yet sometimes we are clueless
Of the way we are perceived,
For early interactions 
Weren’t trusted or believed.

To some, life is a struggle,
Trying way too hard to please,
While to those who are oblivious,
They never need appease.

Picking Flowers

We judge ourselves by how well we can carry  the swords that have pierced our hearts
Our paths lined with forget-me-nots, we collect the memories, lining our pockets with petals and pain
Precious pain
Who are we without our suffering

Picking at Scabs - Apr 9

—it’s the black boil on bursting, boiling ribs—
on my midleft chest, brewing bungled churns,
[tighteningmybreath], again, again, it yearns,
it begs*, “just one (just two) more (well-earned) rub(s)!”

—giving in, it’s just picking at the scabs—
first brief relief(      ):the itch at once returns 
as soon’s the finger’s left the welt; it burns
and gnaws more hotly—awful pangs, sore jabs!

now, Doctor says I’d best not touch it if 
I’d like to heal—“lucky to leave just a scar”—
only, I hate the texture of the crust…
why’s my mind got to be so god,damned,stiff?
though abstinence feels so blunt, so bizarre,
I’d like to heal, I give his word my trust.

PICKING AT SCABS

PICKING AT SCABS

There’s a link between smart and dumb
Like just when things start to get better
As if a wound on the skin as it’s healing
Picking at the scab feels quite appealing
But is not following process to the letter
Such choices made are worse than some

It happened whilst fiddling with a knife
Now just stop digging if you’re in a hole
A scab is the body’s protective response
Yet it may not be what the instinct wants
It’s the way we feel when not in control
That resonance between instinct and life

Picking At Scabs

A musky, burnt haze sears slowly into my nostrils.  
The twilight hour pulses steadily, bathing stark walls in an eerie gloom.  
Too awake to drift to sleep, yet too tired to drag my bones off this sinking mattress.  
Thoughts cyclone like a tsunami within a withdrawn mind,  
picking at scabs; the half-life of my darkness pools in red droplets.  
Licking the wounds, the taste of metallic and melancholy blends.  
Loneliness wraps its arms around my dejected shoulders like a winding sheet.  
A howling wind rattles the paper-thin glass making up my windows,  
as I ponder how I became the living dead.  
Traumas poisoned my sanity,  
slowly paranoia replaced reason,  
delusions became my nightly bedfellow,  
whispering sweet unpleasantries into tainted ears,  
leaving hallucinatory trinkets in my repeating nightmares.  
The world is shrinking, withering,  
yet as I am becoming paralyzed by fear, I am unequipped to stop it.  
Like a freight train derailed,  
bellowing at full speed towards the inevitable,  
I too am racing at the speed of light towards oblivion.

MY MYTH

I've got this taste
Always wishing for the best
Not to be better than the rest
But to better myself 
Just wanna live without stress 
But never to settle for the less.

My family never digress
Without giving me their best 
Even amidst the stress
They're always coming first 
Always picking me up from the dirt.

My family, my inspiration 
Always giving me motivation 
Without hesitation 
They give me vision 
To fly over every nation and stagnation.

picking up the pieces

you can't turn me on and off
like a lightswitch
i don't work that way
you're hot you're cold

you're unpredictable
it's wearying to live in limbo
i'm the elastic that's been stretched
till it can give no more

my compass has lost its north
i no longer know what i feel
if anything at all
i'm the candle without a wick

i'm spent and empty
hollow and fake
i smile but my eyes don't lie
the eyes never lie




AP: Honorable Mention 2025

Picking up the pieces

You've shattered my heart 
 let me here to sort things out 
as you said goodbye

Picking Freshly Flowers

There's no beautiful
Than picking freshly flowers
In every morning.

apple picking

not for short people 
 better to just let them fall 
to bend than to jump

Dermatillomania

Am I a freak? 
I pick my skin until I bleed
It brings me peace and comfort 
Google says it’s my mental health or OCD 
It goes away for weeks, but when it comes back I have to feed 

My fingers just pick my skin without notice 
Now my thumbs look atrocious 
I’m an addict minus the drugs and liquor 
Now I’m officially a bloodsucker because of this disorder
I need to sleep 
But I don’t stop until I feel the need 
Can they tell? 
I just picked my skin until I bleed

They ask “What happen to your thumb?”
And I turn numb 
This is embarrassing 
Enough is enough 
Sadly I wish that’s all I could say to make this stop

If I’m sad or upset
I would pick my skin until I need to rest
What’s wrong with me?
I think I need help

Back when I was unemployed and depressed
I picked my skin to ease the stress
But it got so bad I couldn’t walk with sense 
Yea it’s official 
I need help

Nowadays it’s not as bad
But I still keep a box of bandaids on hand 
I wish this disorder was fake or a fantasy   
Unfortunately, it’s my reality 
I think it’s because of my anxiety 
I try to stop but it’s like trying not to pee as soon as you wake up 
I need help with my sobriety

apple picking time

In July the apples are falling off my tree
I begin to pick them, they are fresh, you see.
Baskets fill up with flavor, so beautifully.
My kitchen is yelling “apple pies for me!”

Picking Apples

On a cool, crisp mid-October morning,
the sweetness of apples flavors the air.
And a chevron of geese honk their warning
that Winter is coming; stay if you dare.

I loved picking apples, but I was small
and only picked those I could reach by hand.
I didn't like using ladders; after all,
the orchard was my childhood wonderland.

Dad had a burlap bag rigged to my back
that allowed both of my hands to be free.
I'd put as many apples in my sack
as possible, wobbling from tree to tree.

I was told that apples were nutritious,
and yet, they're oh-so-sweet and delicious.

Ripe For the Picking

In the infancy of spring,
An apple orchard raid.
The trees are bearing blossoms,
Teeming with fruit;
Some ripe ones on the ground.
The gang, excited and well-prepared.
Jimmy is up one tree 
Shaking the branches 
As apples fall every which way.
Apples here, apples there,
Apples everywhere!
His friends get busy picking them up.
There's more than enough 
To fill up all the buckets and bowls
"Jimmy, try one, they taste so good!,"
Exclaimed one of the pickers.
"Not now, they must be washed first!,"
Replies Jimmy.
They go tree to tree 
Plucking low hanging apples.
Oh, the varieties! The varieties! 
Granny Smiths,
Twenty Ounces,
Rubyfrosts, 
Yorks,
Galas, 
Golden Delicious.... 
Yummy looking apples! 
Lots and lots of collected apples 
To be enjoyed!

• Short Picking Poems
• Famous Picking Poems
• Best Picking Poems
• Read Picking Poems
• Long Picking Poems
• Picking Quotes