Short Rye Poems
Short Rye Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Rye by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Rye by length and keyword.
He wanted whole wheat not rye
The sloppy sandwich made him cry
He knocks the plate on the floor
Then decides to order more
His sandwich was extremely dry
Like a patchwork quilt
Congregation of golden
Yellows and ochres
My entry into Brian's " Hymn Of Harvest " contest
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/nature4.php
A child of ten years
Near Albion's River Peck
Gazed up from the earth
And witnessed a hazel tree
Adorned with sparkling angels
(William Blake's mystical childhood vision while in Peckham Rye)
Why must you toast that slice?
You sure don't knead the carbs.
Please put the bread away.
Stick to your diet dear.
I like rye!
Dry fresh toast!
Please don't sigh.
Pie instead?
Don't be sly!
My heart is a charcoal gray
With silver specks in the sun
Tomorrow is New Year's Day
And this old year, my dear, is done
A bit of moss on the north knoll
The hills of my heart burrowed through
And I'm cramming hope in the holes
Just like the woodpeckers do.
Went to a deli
And piled way up high
Was the sandwich I ordered –
Pastrami on rye.
I slathered on mustard
And savored each bite
Along with a pickle,
The sour just right.
If you’re feeling hungry
I’d urge you to try
(In a real New York deli)
Pastrami on rye.
Horny
Corny
Kinky
Stinky
Stoned
Boned
Holden
Folding
His biz
Takes wizz
Hit can
Effed man...
Found hoe
No dough
Name sun
Big buns
No clothes
Touch toes
She roared
She sore
More dough
Said no
Pimp slap
Got jacked
(If you have read the Catcher in the Rye you would understand).
Oh little Rye!
You’re too young to be mine.
Notice me from afar;
I’m giving you a good sign.
Oh little Rye!
You’re twenty-one, now.
Are you seeing someone lately?
Or have you given a vow?
Oh little Rye!
I wish you were my age
I wish it’s easy to hold you
And it feels like you are caged
Oh little Rye!
Have I pushed it too much?
Dare me to stop from what I am doing
For loving you too much.
School was crummy. Classmates mean.
Holden Caulfield, aged sixteen
dropped out to the New York City scene.
There he wandered, Sorrow's Son,
overgrown but underdone.
Seared by girls, it wasn't fun.
Broke, disheartened, home he slid.
Sister Phoebe, a perky kid
boosted him up. She really did,
but only for a moment though.
Down the skids alas he'll go
landing in a shrink chateau.
Oh what torment must be his
who God damns yet feels. Gee whiz!
Youth is ruff. It really is.