The Pits Poems - Poems about The Pits

A Bowl of Pits

Life is like a bowl of pits
From in the cherries someone spits
And though there are some juicy bits,
There aren’t quite enough.

For often things go very wrong
And even if you think you’re strong,
You find it’s hard to get along
When hit with painful stuff.

I’m feeling just a little sad
Because of incidents I’ve had.
I know that life’s not

Pitiful Pits

You dig 
pit 
after 
pit 
after 
pit.
Then wonder why nobody comes around.
The few that tiptoe into your eggshell world  
are only there to use you...

In greener years you were just another cutter
graduating to just another pit digger...

Blood or not, I'll not dance in your self-inflicted pits..
I'll just sidestep the "hole" mess and say happy

The World Falls Into Pits of Despair

Mass destruction is happening on a global basis.
People are dying, killing, maiming, hurting.
Sheila is determined to finish her masterpiece.
Her love for her creation is on fire; she is in a frenzy.
The chords and notes she plays are chilling.
They are dangerous and provocative.
Striking terror in the hearts of those who still have a soul.
There is something

The Pits

I'm stuck in a hole and cannot shout
To ask for help to get me out

Out of this hole of deep despair
I feel no pressure while I'm stuck in there

I feel a peace when I am on my own
My thoughts belong to me alone

The walls surround me like a glove
The hole does not allow thoughts of

Dinosaurs Found In the Tar Pits

Dinosaurs
D i s c o v e r e d 
Evolution 

Diplodocuses
U n e a r t h e d
Tar


10/29/2020

I'Ll Never Forget What's His Name

He did not teach me much, 
he had rather take me out to lunch.

Be honest all your days,                                                                             

All Peaches Have Pits

All Peaches Have Pits
By: Tom 8-12-2019
Haiku

Life is like a peach,
Sometimes its warm and fuzzy.
But some days, the pits.

Cherries Are For the Pits

There once was a lady named Terry
Who's favourite fruit was a cherry
Till one day she bit
Down hard on a pit
Screamed bloody murder, quite scary!

Michael's Salon of Pits

People often say now I understand
When they hear that I'm from Paree
Not Gay Paree silly, but redneck
In the heart of Tennessee

I am the newest style of hairdressers
Here to lay out all the facts
I no longer work on the tops of heads
But straight out of the pits

It all happened when I got bored
With the every day

Poet's Dream, Lover's Lament, Loss Echoes Into Dark Pits

Poet's Dream, Lover's Lament, Loss Echoes Into Dark Pits

Poet's dream, lover's lament and loss echoes into dark pits
life assaults us with its darkest, shocking hits.
Sadness hangs its tentacles into our longest held desires
shooting burning embers out of devastating fires.

Upon the highest mountains we climb just to see our souls
fate delivers deep misery written in its

Cherry-Pits and Foggy Air

anxiety, care, corruption, creation, destiny, environment, rainforest,

CHERRY-PITS AND FOGGY AIR©

Miseries mount on high
If only I had that again
Too little too late too much
Life’s no bowl of cherries
And the rain fell hard today!

Skies sheathed in dust and smog 
Pollutes the once green terrain below
 The ‘fresh’ air demotes to shallower breaths
Intakes ‘tanked’ to partings of out

Cherries Are For the Pits

There once was a lady named Terry
Who's favourite fruit was a cherry
Till one day she bit
Down hard on a pit
Screamed bloody murder, this Terry!

© Jack Ellison 2015

Pits

The outer expression of hatred comes from the depth of my past,
Eating the love shown and shined on me and captured by the pitiful memories,
Each day is mourned, never healing but pressing out the brokenness,
In the pit of my hate, the encapsulated heart beats to the uneven beat.

No one can began to imagine the pain

In Pits of Pain

Inside scrapings of darkness
how restless and doomed,
the bellow crashing in like
an agonized moon; 

the tunnel hears blood whooshing
in pits full of rain,
hurling damn imaginings
of her fetus’ pain,

wails rip through the stained window
and grinds near right lung,
heart reeks for a babe frozen 
knowing breath is gone;

if I could pluck her memories
from uterine wall,
to touch sun’s glint

Love Is the Pits

Our story takes place in the mid sixteen hundreds,
Filled with (not so) fresh corpses and newly beloveds.
The stench of Black Death had choked all of London, 
Moulding its streets into plague ridden dungeons.

As parents and children lay weeping and rotting,
Behind closed doors the perverts were plotting.

A young married man named Edward C. Brock
Felt his dear

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