Short Peck Poems
Short Peck Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Peck by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Peck by length and keyword.
The dormant sparks lit
Evoking unknown feelings
Buried in the heart
Waiting to leave lethargy
Melting the two crazy hearts
I pick a history from the peck of grains;
Only my retention will take me far.
And through modest abasement will I unwrap it strains?
6/4/2014
Bushel Or Peck
By: Tom Wright
Life can be either a bushel,
or a peck,
And our choices,
or those made on our behalf,
make it what it is.
Peckers can peck 20 times a second
Must hurt at just 2 times I reckon
Not swift these guys
Stop now I advise
Or it's off to emergency the pain to lessen
Why can't we walk up to a girlie on the street
Take them in our arms and peck em on the cheek
Rules rules rules
As we drool drool drool
Also, don't see the harm in asking for a peek
Rooster ~
Pecks the dust, raising
Particles, pebbles
Earth.
Hen ~
Comes around
Roosts with him.
Paint a Picture Poetry Contest (7 lines)
Sponsor: Joseph May
September 22, 2020
Once we were hunter-gatherers
tribes grouped outdoors
before the days of yore
now we're hunt and peckers
each cooped indoors
on personal computer keyboards
and way back when
we'd communicate
banging on the drums
yes since then
we've progressed
today we're all
fingers and thumbs
I had a house for sale
They asked me to hold it
Right before I sold it
But my house was a whale
That already set sail
And didn’t give a whit
But it thought what the heck
Coz it altered its tack
So I sold it to Pack
But forgot about Peck
Who was up on the deck
Which was on my whale’s back
But those guys I dislike
So I sold it to Pike
For the HexSonnetta contest
Bushel Or Peck?
Miracle Man
11/23/2024
Life can be either a bushel or a peck,
too many days we're facing some bottleneck.
Because age is a soft drink that's lost its fizz,
our choices or others make it what it is.
We try to capture those feelings we once felt,
but “we have to play the hand that we've been dealt.”
Some days find our cup nearing empty, not full,
while recalling only days rough as steel wool.