love eating pickles
hate snow
Oct 19, 2013

love eating pickles
love putting pickles in my shoes
love the pickles on my toes
love that stinky pickle smell
love eating pickles

You are like sweet pickles.
Julia Spohn
Mar 1, 2011

You are like sweet pickles.
I prefer dill,
Always have and always will
And your taste will never be enough.

But I choose you
Because you are the
Only thing on the table
That looks familiar.

Your skin is just as
Pleasing as a dill pickle,
But this little similarity will only
Sour my smile,
And my disappointment in your taste
Will become quite apparent
As it echoes through the tunnels and channels of my
Lips and eyes.

But I’ve passed up cheeses
And wines for you
(The cheeses are unfamiliar,
Smelly, and fattening; the
Wines turn me red
And stupid).

Yes, I have chosen you.
I hope your eyes dilate at that
And the growing and enveloping blackness
Takes over your vision and your will,
Rendering me invisible
But twice as lovely and
Four times as dangerous.

With you blinded now, sweet pickles,
Let me tie you up in my fingers
And kill you.

Fried pickles distract, but
MoMo
MoMo
Mar 26, 2012

Salty with a tang
My Great Aunt Nita’s little gift
To make us happy…
They are
I’m not
I worry like a mother about her child
She’s gone again
Dead to the world
No matter how much shaking and calling I do
She’s gone
Another breaded miracle in my mouth
Yum
Momentary bliss, a high
Then the crash
Fried pickles distract, but
Once reality returns
I’m still worried
She’s still gone

She oft praises the strokes of my pen
Yet when her image comes into mind
The words in my head run thin
And my ink runs prematurely dry

I have not written a thing worth mentioning
For the girl with the cute button nose
The hand clasped ‘round my pen begins fidgeting
As my mind remembers her toes

I stare blankly at pages of paper
When my mind’s eye conjures her smile
My cerebral wells start to taper
Though my love for her flows as the Nile

The beauty of her body is not justified in text
So I will spare you the reading: her beauty is best

when she pickles the page!
wolf spirit aka quinfinn

A Poem by quinfinn
" you know who "
queen of sarcasm
sorceress of sass
button lip,
or she'll tell you to kiss her ass

viciously witty
graciously bold
when she speaks
you know what you've been told

frail as a flower
pretty as you please
a lady, a vamp
and a beautiful tease

belle of the ballroom
silly, yet sage
we all love our posy
when she pickles the page!

© 2013 quinfinn

Odi
Odi
Aug 5, 2012

The mirror stained with our memories, pictures
I am not in many of them
I count;
four pictures, we look happy
The bleeding sky was the only thing that gave  us release
Like the winter would fill our bones
and cigarette smoke would ignite the fire in our eyes
that had long since burned out
we lay on that floor on the balcony till dawn
talking about how
we will never be good enough and
life is pointless
I show her my scars apathetically
nothing effects
me anymore
My bubble cant be burst
surrounded by static
scream
want to scream

yuodont finish jakc at 5 am
Pickles for one
Elizabeth Ann
Elizabeth Ann
Sep 11, 2013

Pickles for one
Pickles for two
Pickles for some
Pickles for few
Pickles for smiles
Pickles for laughs
Pickles in wholes
Pickles in halves
Pickles for Henry
Pickles for Sue
Pickles for everyone
Pickles for you

sp;  I insisted that the number of pickles
Joel A Doetsch
Joel A Doetsch
Mar 29, 2013      Mar 30, 2013

When I was but a boy
no older than 4

       I insisted that the number of pickles
       on my sandwich be representative
       of my age.  

4 years.  4 pickles
5 years.  5 pickles
6 years.  6 pickles


This went on for awhile.

    Eventually, though, I felt it was time to end that particular tradition.

28 pickles was getting ridiculous...

Based (mostly) on truth.
Orange juice and pickles
Kyle Bailey
Kyle Bailey
Aug 21, 2013

My last meal
Preference aside
Orange juice and pickles
Goodnight
Goodbye
On a blue moon night

some nice pickles.
Richard j Heby
Richard j Heby
Nov 14, 2012

so lunch depends
upon

a red-winged black-
bird

glazed with strained
honey

beside
some nice pickles.

a tribute to WCW's Red Wheelbarrow
 
To comment on this poem, please log in or create a free account
Log in or register to comment