#crispy - Hello Poetry

ChestNuts roesting on an open fire Roesting over the flames of yuor forgoten love Ash Burnt too a Crisp (This is what they call Chips in Englis ) Mother's' love showed me the Love I needed from yuo England they call them Crisps Eating Chest Nuts is scrumptous Training my ***** in the Art Of War

0

Aug 22, 2020

Aug 22, 2020 at 1:27 AM UTC

crandallbranch

Crab Meat

ChestNuts roesting on an open fire Roesting over the flames of yuor forgoten love Ash Burnt too a Crisp (This is what they call Chips in Englis ) Mother's' love showed me the Love I needed from yuo England they call them Crisps Eating Chest Nuts is scrumptous Training my ***** in the Art Of War

8

“Your honey plenty crispy” nothing in the fridge to eat, I, Grumpy Mcgrupy, intone to those responsible for its fulfillment and my well being the greek yogurts all have passed their expiration date, silent assassins, the cheese bin international emptied of American and Swiss citizens, the remainder wrapped in white in languages not spoken the produce drawer, naked in its drawers, except for a sweet Vidalia onion from Georgia, which is just no good for fresh direct eating, besides, my tears, copious already at my state of famination ruination final recommendation textual arrives, a solitary fresh honey crisp appe in the fruit bin, which in desperation I inhaled while writing poetry in the bathtub text my pleasure at this last resort, with a shopping list to which the response comes in a tone of high moral ground, teasingly defensive, Your honey plenty crispy! rendered speechless but her words added too, to the shopping list...

0

Sep 10, 2019

Sep 10, 2019 at 8:00 PM UTC

ogdiddynash

your honey plenty crispy

“Your honey plenty crispy” nothing in the fridge to eat, I, Grumpy Mcgrupy, intone to those responsible for its fulfillment and my well being the greek yogurts all have passed their expiration date, silent assassins, the cheese bin international emptied of American and Swiss citizens, the remainder wrapped in white in languages not spoken the produce drawer, naked in its drawers, except for a sweet Vidalia onion from Georgia, which is just no good for fresh direct eating, besides, my tears, copious already at my state of famination ruination final recommendation textual arrives, a solitary fresh honey crisp appe in the fruit bin, which in desperation I inhaled while writing poetry in the bathtub text my pleasure at this last resort, with a shopping list to which the response comes in a tone of high moral ground, teasingly defensive, Your honey plenty crispy! rendered speechless but her words added too, to the shopping list...

27

Reality is pretty funny Between the strains and pains And hunger pangs And people who think bangs still look good When they never did Not even in the eighties I've just been looking for happiness And I found it in the most unlikeliest of places A morbid place of loss and sorrow Called Burger King I bought some onion rings And they were crispy enough!!!!! Still I lose Still I hold onto What I never held in the first place And I lose my faith And I lose my hope But I still find a place for humor I still laugh And I'm the king Who you want to be I'll have empty hands and empty pockets But everything is mine So grab those onion rings With both hands And let the crispness guide you

0

Apr 7, 2016

Apr 7, 2016 at 3:01 PM UTC

torin

Hahaha haha haha-haha

Reality is pretty funny Between the strains and pains And hunger pangs And people who think bangs still look good When they never did Not even in the eighties I've just been looking for happiness And I found it in the most unlikeliest of places A morbid place of loss and sorrow Called Burger King I bought some onion rings And they were crispy enough!!!!! Still I lose Still I hold onto What I never held in the first place And I lose my faith And I lose my hope But I still find a place for humor I still laugh And I'm the king Who you want to be I'll have empty hands and empty pockets But everything is mine So grab those onion rings With both hands And let the crispness guide you

26

Did I win or lose? Perhaps-maybe nature won. One less spin cycle, Gallons of life water saved. In my intellectual hemitage I find a difference can be made, Oh underwear, Spirit of nature, First I wear you proper, And the day is good. I walk forward into the morrow And turn the world backwards. Yes the tag now goes to front, And wedgies aside, all is well. In the instantaneous moment Ina departure of normalities, Confronted with a bundle of reflections, I move into day three, Inside out. The days have dispersed, I wreak of the third day, Still a difference has been made. I take off the underwear, Crispy and tainted, With a lump in my throat And a little hope I made a difference, The underwear is sacrificed to the hamper.

0

Nov 30, 2015

Nov 30, 2015 at 3:44 PM UTC

dedpoet

Ode To The Three Day Underwear

Did I win or lose? Perhaps-maybe nature won. One less spin cycle, Gallons of life water saved. In my intellectual hemitage I find a difference can be made, Oh underwear, Spirit of nature, First I wear you proper, And the day is good. I walk forward into the morrow And turn the world backwards. Yes the tag now goes to front, And wedgies aside, all is well. In the instantaneous moment Ina departure of normalities, Confronted with a bundle of reflections, I move into day three, Inside out. The days have dispersed, I wreak of the third day, Still a difference has been made. I take off the underwear, Crispy and tainted, With a lump in my throat And a little hope I made a difference, The underwear is sacrificed to the hamper.

27