Short Pitchfork Poems

Upon learning that pork rhymes with pitchfork
                                                  ~ Clem's pig did a frantic jig




   Critic's Corner: Oy-ink!...

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Grandma said
that an injured Golden Eagle
had once landed in her potato field.
Grandpa ran up to it
and killed it with a pitchfork.

In those days,
all first responders killed....

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My Irish grandma said:
that an injured Golden Eagle
had once landed in her potato field.
Grandpa ran up to it
and killed it with a pitchfork.

In those days, 
all first responders killed....

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My Irish grandma said:
That an injured Golden Eagle
had once landed in her potato field.
Grandpa ran up to it
and killed it with a pitchfork.

In those days, 
all first responders killed
like that....

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"It ain't no hell below; no devil 
with a pitchfork, waiting to 
ignite you into flames.  It's hell 
right here on earth, It ain't no 
hell below."

                   Poet: Ken Jordan
                      March/2014...

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limerick

Have you heard why the farmer named Cork
commandeered a short freight train in York?
     When the hoboes from thar
     dared reclaim their hay car,
they discovered the pitch of Cork’s fork.

December 1, 2019
...

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When death
Grabs you like
A cold corpse 
From his nest
This broken light 
Shall not rest
When death is
The cold steel 
Blue eyes
Of the gray wolf,
Howling at
The ancient
Pale moon,
Buried in 
The pitchfork 
Black sky...

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SCARED OFF

She asked for her socks to be scared off
It started with a gruesome nibble and a cough
The demon held her tongue so she couldn’t laugh*
His pitchfork, heated and repeatedly pissed off
This horned-devil straight from the biblical trough

10/9/2017
Alexis Y’s Boo Contest
*Pronounce laugh to rhyme with off - loff...

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from a challenge to use a random set
  of unconnected words in a poem)
   
The syncopated rhythms of my
     infatuation with you have left
     an indelible mark
         on my metrical heart.

I am M'Adam to your "Y'ves," 
     biting into the luscious apple of temptation, 
     while Lust, with his pitchfork,
          prods us from behind....

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When Bigfoot met the Yeti,
Noone knew about this...
Nor that they were boy and girl,
And shared a fluffy kiss.

There was no hatred or arguing,
Or growling to be witnessed,
Just two friends falling in love,
Having a forest-side picnic.

So the next witchhunt you go on,
With torches and pitchfork...
Know that what you may find,
May not be so dark.

15-September-2021...

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Moisture brings you to life,
 Among the decomposing leaves
/Earth renews with seed or spore,\ 
 ///dormant   below   our    vision\\
//Awaiting  new  life,   white  or\\
/fiery orange, red,  bell  shaped or\
/Flat, pitchfork some are puff balls\
//Scattered by the winds to find their\\
Fertile soil
Life  giver
Hope   for
//// Being
Upon   this
Earth’s soil...

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That scarecrow has attitude I was told one night
He terrifies me said my brother, gave me a fright.
I was not afraid and told my chicken brother so
Until that scarecrow chased me off with a hoe.

He didn’t! My friend said. I think that’s a lie.
So, I sent him in to see for himself, my pal, Cy.
The scarecrow threw a pitchfork and hit his knee.
My limping friend screamed like a red banshee.
...

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stoic or mourning
in a time of depression
or keepers of secrets
with a hostile divide?

why daylit drawn curtains
made from fabric she's wearing
and 'mother-in-law's tongue'
on the porch to the side?

is the pitchfork that's upright
a symbol of darkness
that's repeated in lines
on the clothes, arch and face?

a tribute to values
in eldon, iowa
or a satire in oil
of its people and place?...

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LANDSCAPE    DESIGNER

Though it often seems asleep
Countryside  life is all on the  move
Stop to watch a hunting  hedgehog                                  
Or follow a beautiful ridgewalk
Can I  the landscape improve
And its natural beauty keep?

Start designing it all over again?
Wishing for castles in Spain.
I’m wanting to  enrich stock  -
Me,  a  barn-helper with his pitchfork. 
I’m no designer,   just a swain
What can I add to this  terrain?...

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Autumn, the burnish of her hair
  Trapped devil flecks of pitchfork red,
Cascading shades of setting suns
  Billowing on the satin bed.
Lithe puma she stretches,
  Lissom flesh as fluid milk,
In the scarlet of her parting lips,
  In the rust motes of her eyes,
In the pallor of her cherished skin,
  Sex and sweetness symbolise.
Red as the bleed of Shepard clouds
  Burning the twilight fields,
Autumn, the burnish of her hair,
  Beauty, her yield of yields....

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Vestiges
We are the vestiges to our own destruction. You're the lock and I'm the key. We go well together. You set me off and I ignite hell. I think you're my karma. 

Am I right or wrong? 

Were we brought together to always fight or to live in harmony? Middle ground. This way we roll in the hay and get impaled upon the pitchfork. 

Stick around and enjoy the show. We are the keys to our own destruction. It doesn't have to be that way but it always it. 

Prove that saying wrong?...

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