Pickled Poems

Pickled Thoughts

Truth be told I knew what it was
When it was pushed to the back of “that” draw
That place where cucumbers of thought turn to mush
They once held value, that thought, that cucumber
Yet somehow slipped from the consciousness of concern

There will be no “oh, poor baby” recollections
No prodigal thought reunions
No recognition of what they might have

The Fickled Pickled Herd

So quick to judge any breach of etiquette
Such breaches at the whim of the fickled herd 
What is there to do but watch your back
Or compulsively stay in line
Or just say f*ck it! 
And be on your way
Because no matter how hard you try
The cancerous cancelling crowd will lie in wait
To pounce on what was

Pickled Onions

They don't taste the same
as the ones that filled
those big jars which sat 
in a cupboard serving out 
the four week wait.
My mouth still craves
for that first crisp bite, 
the tangy, sweet release
of spicy vinegar as my teeth
cut through the tightly wound 
layers, the sharp burst
of pleasure, the lingering
after-taste.

Nowadays pickled onions,
like those at the back

Perhaps You Never Got To Write That Poem

You ready yourself to perform that poesy;
a pen is held firmly in your fingers
as you concentrate, while eating pickled onions,
and reach for the notebook that’s by your side.

Yet once you’ve taken that book in your hand,
then pointed the poised pen at the page,
while chewing on that pickled onion,
there’s a distracting sound you’d rather not hear.

A

Pickled

Pat loved pickled onions,
She ate them every day,
She had an addiction,
That kept her friends at bay.

Pat ate them in the mornings,
And every single night.
She did not smoke cigarettes,
As she might set herself alight.

Pat did not swallow pills,
Or narcotics of any kind
She was seldom ill
And she possessed a sound mind.

Pat did not overeat,
Or drink wine or

Pickled Pickle Party

No bash so far, beats the one in the jar
Emcee DJ Green spins for the jarstar 
No ill will to spill, just dancing on dill
When the lid comes off it’s an open bar!

So relish your time and come get your fill
No asparagus juice here, that’s just swill
That’s the best party perk of a gherkin
Gettin’ sliced

Rock N' Roll Pickle Party

Pickled okra, pickled beets
Pickled corn and pickled beans
Of all the pickles that I see
Cucumber pickles are the best
Dancers, players, pickles
Celebrating, showing their
Vinegar tails, their garlic 
Smells – dill with a zest
All the aspects of becoming
A pickle worthy of munching
A pickle devoured by the ones
Who pick these pickles 
From the depths of the jar
Where they linger,

Pickled Guilt

Leaving work for home, my job stress still fizzled.
The long drive included bratty rain drizzle
and windshield blades needing my constant fiddle.
My stress spittled as rush hour drizzle-tripled.
Some driver's fingers waved from their hand’s middle
but I thought how my nights were far from simple
with dinner and other children committals.
I must stop and tend the food list

Pickled

Solo and Ensemble contest was this Saturday
And I was asked not to go
My youngest daughter had a part
She sang her pretty songs.
My pickle is the bitterness in my heart I hold
Is more or less a cancer for my soul
And it’s turning my personality ice cold.
I had it in my mind exactly what I was going

A Pickled Piper

Peter Piper picked a peck
Of pickled peckers...
After the laughter subsided
I was in a peck of trouble,
In a real pickle so to speak.
Thank god he wasn't a woodchuck.
I'd still be saying Hail Mary's.

2/15/2020

Poetically Pickled Pink

I am poetically pickled pink; my muse is finally full of ink,
Thanks to Nina I’m back in sync, within a quick blinkity blink…
A pickleworm or picklepuss or maybe an obsequious octopus,
A pickledly positive plus, satisfying my dormant distant discuss…

Like a pickleball and pickleweed, exercising eagerly to exceed,
As picklers pick and proceed, a piercing prick to

Pickled Herring In a Pie

Pickled herring in a pie?
Scrumptiously delicious. Do or die?
The idea makes me ask grandma why….
Do you use wheat or rye?

Marmalade makes it a great buy.
The combination is easy to try.
Mustard too and will we need to fry
Pickled herring in a pie?

Shepherd's Pie

shepherd's pie
fresh pickled beets
~ whose turn for dishes



posted on June 6, 2018

Haiga

walnut tree in fruit
best pickled green eat with cheese-
carved Chinese treasure

Pickled Scenery

A huge Alsatian barks at a passerby stranger
as the pond geese honk sensing grave danger
Trudges back home a rangy lone ranger.

Big and little aubergines cast a purple shade
In the twilight birdsong begins to fade
Night makes navy-blue of the greenery's jade.

Wolves howl in the distance
Panthers prowl near pig pens
Ocelots growl around the dens.

Dolphins perform in the

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