Pickled Poems - Poems about Pickled

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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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,...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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?...

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shepherd's pie fresh pickled beets ~ whose turn for dishes posted on June 6, 2018...

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

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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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Caged magnetic daydreams of lucid migration; I’ve been there before. It’s forbidden: Orchard carved calligraphy crisply cut - Spiraled surface-scratched immortality Dimly azure, aglow on videotape, Red, blue, green. Nature’s baby grand. An organic player-piano ceaseless In mellow tone, perched potpourri hillside, Plucking raspberry notes of beautiful song; Translucent aches nestled by slippy wake That ricochet ripples, careening whispers Through rendezvous...

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