"dill" poems
Kabhe pucha hay apnay app say kay tumnay kitnay waday torhay hein?
kabhe pucha hay apnay app say kay kitnay logouin ka dill tora hay?
kabhe pucha hay apnay app say kay tumnay apne eik nazar say kis kis ko apne he
nazrouin mein gerayya hay?
- nae pucha nah? kese din pucho gay nah tou mrnay ka dill chahy ga, zindage kay
naam say chirnay lago gay.
Kabhe pucha hay kay tum Zindage kay naam per eik beyqaar zindage jee rahay
hou? aur phir kehthy hou ''yaar kya krien zindage he esse hay''. Kabhe Zindagi
ke kitaab ko khol kr tou dekho kya kya rakha hay uiss mein. Zindage bahot he
haseen hay sirf hum masroof hein apne duniya mein wou duniya jis mein kuch
nahe sawaye humaray. Ajj loug dusrouin ke mintein krtay hein kay ''ruk jau''
''na jau'' jb kay mery khayaal mein ye loug bhul chukay hein kay '' jis ko jana hay
uis ko jana hay chahy tum apne jaan kyun na deh dou''. Ajj tou logouin ke
zindage andhere hojaate heh jab koe uinka ''dost'' ya ''yaar'' chor jaye aur wo uis
khuda ko bhool jaatay hein jis nay uis ko usse ''dost'' ya ''yaar'' say milaya tha.
Hum loug tou apnay Khuda ko bhe bhul chukay hein. Wo Khuda jis kay pass
humnay waapis jana hay wo Khuda jis kay bagheir humare koe ukaat nae.
Barhay Unchay gharouin mein reh reh kr apnay app ko Khudha samjhna shuru krdeya hay humnay.
Ess zamaanay mein koe kese ka Dost nae hota barha Dost Dost krtay hou na jab doob rahay hou gay
kudhe dekhna kay sab DOST tamasha dekh rahay hogein aur tum zindage ke tarf aanay ke bher-poor
koshishein kr rahay hou gay, tab apnay app say puchna kay ye wo DOST thay jin kay leye tum apnay
maa-baap say laray? uin kay samnay uncha bolay? sharmindage hoi? Ajj hum itnay ''self-obssessd''
hein kay dusrouin ko dekh kay lagta hay chunte jitni ukaat hay uiss ke. Hum apne he Duniya mein
bahot dur nikal aayein hein, asal duniya say bekhabar, asal dostouin say hum la-taluq ** chukay hein.
Hum ajj apnay app mein he kho chukay hein. Apnay rab ko humnay kho deya. Rab ko kho deya matlab
Sub kuch kho deya ! tou abb hamaray pass koe raasta hay?
-Haan wou rab 5 martaba bulaata hay tumhein apne taraf, jau uiss ke taraf aur apne ASAL ZINDAGE
ke taraf waapse aou.
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 10:00 AM UTC
Nai umangey nai tajgi,
Laker aai subah aaj ki.
Aaj subah kuch hoga khas
Sab ko yeh hoga ehasah.
Nai subah ki nai bauchhar
Sabko mile khub sara pyar
Yahi hamari dua hai rab se
Sabko khusiaa mile ham sb se.
Aai nai bouchhar,
lekar khub sara pyar.
Nai umange......
Har muskurahat hoti hai kimati
Par log karte eski na ginti.
Har din har roj
Karte ham eski khoj.
Sbki khusiaa rahe salamat,
Ham sb ki yahi hai amanat.
Jb khamosi chaye
To hm sb muskuraye
Ye duniaa ki rit ham sb nibhay,
Agar chot lagti koi apno ko
Bahot dukh hota mere es dill ko
Magar mai na sochi kv aoro ki
jo phirte hai dharti pe bina apno ke,
Par muskil hai sb ko ye bat batana.
Ye duniaa me apni aawaj uthana
Ye bouchhar aai bahot pyar lai,
Barsat ke sath nai subah aai.
Nai umange nai tazgi,
Lekar Aai subah aaj ki.......!!!!!!
-ROHINI-
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 10:24 AM UTC
** ti hai Suru
Jb Mohababt k lamhe,
Shuruaat Khushiyo se
Gam Sare Lmahe.
Bina Kuch Shune Bina kuch Khe,
Hoti Hai Anokhi Mhababt k Lamhe.
Magar Mai Sa Janu,
Na Phchan Pau,
Kaisi Hai Mohababt Yhe Koi Btade.
Punchhu Mai Us Se
Yhe mohabat tu batade ,
Dard Hai Jaiyada Tujhme,
Kyu Tu Na Is Ko Mitade.
Hai Viswas Mujhko ,
Tu Kr Dega Dur Isko.
Hoti Hai Dukh Bddi Is DILL Me
Agar DILL Tutte KIshika BHari Mhafil Me.
Sambhalana Hai Mushkill,
Btau mai Kaise ,
Ye Dard Ki Khahani ,
Shunau Mai Kaise.
Bina Kuch Khe Bina Kuch Sune ,
Hoti Hai Anokhi Mohabat Ke lamhe .
Manau Mai DILL Ko ,
Bhulau Us Pal Ko ,
Jo Biti Hai Kal Ko ,
Hamari Wo lamhe.
Hai Mushkil Bddi
Ye Dard Chupana ,
Bithen Huye Kal Ke ,
Yadash Mitana.
Magar Mai Na Jan
Na Pachan Pau.
Kaishi Hai Mohabat
Yhe Koi Btade.
Bhot Log Krte Hai ,
Is Pe Bharoshe,
magar Sab Ko Milte Hai
Isme Ye Dhokhe.
Jo Kha Lete Dhokhe ,
Wo Firte Hai Rothe.
Magar Mai Na Janu
Na Pachanan Pau
Kaishi Hai Mohabat Ye koi Btade.
ROHINI RAJ
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 5:41 AM UTC
The boy haden't bathed in over a month
His **** crack was itching and burning
His underpants were soaked in slimy, wet muck
And his toes a thick jam were churning
His armpits stank worse than a fat pigs raw ***
His breath smelled like rancid fish
His hair was so oily, matted to his head
His own mother wouldn't give him a kiss
"Enough!" he cried as a passing fly died
When he raised his arm to exclaim.
"I must bathe right away! I am long overdue!"
"I sure hope the washcloths are brave."
"To the bathroom man!" He shouted as he ran
And his underpants sloppily squished
"I will remove this filth and brush my green teeth"
"And my mother I will kiss!"
"The closet's ahead!" He said as he sped.
And he stopped there to get some stuff.
Some soap, some shampoo and a towel or two.
But he knew that it wasn't enough.
Look though he might, to his horror and fright,
Not a single washcloth could he find.
Then panic set in 'cause the stink of his skin
Was driving him out of his mind.
He looked yet again but to his chagrin
The washcloth shelf was bare.
The washcloths had run off
For they would not wash
So filthy a boy on a dare
"Oh what will I do!" "Boo-hoo, boo-hoo!"
The boy cried as flies swarmed his head.
"I'd **** myself but I already smell"
"Far worse than anything dead!"
Then one washcloth came back
Holding it's nose and a sack
Of bath salts that smelled like dill.
It said to the boy "Go pickle yourself!"
"And give me a nausea pill!"
So the boy rejoiced and filled the tub
With water, hot as he could stand.
And using the bath salts, he jumped right in
And the pickling began.
He lathered the washcloth with water and soap
And scrubbed with all of his might.
Away he washed all of the filth
'Til none was left in sight.
He washed his hair and brushed his teeth
And dried and dressed himself well.
And the washcloth exclaimed as it hung on the tub
"Holy crap! that was pure hell!"
So the boy now clean ran to be seen
By his mother he loved so much.
And she gave him a kiss and said "This is pure bliss!"
"I can kiss you and keep down my lunch!"
The moral I'll tell you and true I will be
So no one will say that I lied.
Don't wait a whole month to take a bath
Or you washcloths may run and hide.
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 7:53 AM UTC
We are absurd
You and I
Fragments
We have created a fermentative reality,
Where words are symbols of relation
That you and I falsify
And Bingo was his name-o!
Ah!
Oh holy onomatopoeic jargon
What do you mean?
And how shall we bargain?
And mora is but a half step to a whole
Eek gad!
January Febuary March and April
May I introduce you to June and July
August, Sept Oct Nov Dec
Randomly systemized organs organized
Abstract or… dissonant?
But who is in charge?
12345
12345678
12345
12345678
12344
12344556
12344
12344556
“Why so serious?” said The Riddler
Mellow dramatic
Melodrama
Melancholy
Pantomimes!
Pantomimes EVERYWHERE!
They are able to speak
But alone I mime, “Do you have the time?”
Together we fall!
United I stand.
Backwards
Upside down
Inside out
And grammar
What’s in a name?
Please don’t be lame
Sarcastic and the glamour
Synonymous nonsense
Homophones and nyms
Where are the polysemes?
In the antonyms
In the antonyms!
Repitition
Exclamation
Annunciation
tions…
verbage verbage verbage
syllables and such
meaningless meaning
defining definitions with such
True or False?
Hide and Seek
Ring around the rosy
We all fall down…
We all fall down.
Black hat, white shoes, and I’m red all over.
Salt
Sour
And bitter
And dill
And
And
And
And
And
And
Ampersand
Institutionalized poetry
But I am for rhythmic prose!
No, not you
Listen to the hue
that the colors protrude
red green blue
red green blue
Black is not a color
Chrome is my favorite
I will not believe otherwise
You are an alien.
I have divided by zero
Musical dissonance
*(asterisk)
A beautiful disaster
A shadow without its owner
Wild natured wilderness
And naturally a wildcard.
**** **** **** **** ****
Etcetera.
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 7:08 AM UTC
he, hardly fit,
sleeps fitfully
he, like a baby,
up and down at 2am
the cerebrum racked,
like a street *** so needy,
for a low caloric,
non-alcoholic snack
pickles - the almost zero solution,
dill in particular,
or even the slightly bad boy cousins,
the buttered variety
so in his customized original
100% sleeping skin gear,
standing in front of the shiniest fridge
gleaming,
his unfortunate reflection somewhat
steamy,
indecisive, which, his pickle, to to choose,
which to eat, completely complete,
to celebrate his dietetic restraint
so she, the yoga ballerina lioness,
finds him upright but not uptight,
leaving him in an awkward
so to speak, poem, pickling,
naked and speechless,
as the mouth is fully engorged
and on point
she summarizes
most eloquently,
the ****** and the crudités and the et. al.,
with a succinctly pithy observation:
*"ah, I see (me wincing),
still crazy after all these years*
...and other stories*
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 8:03 PM UTC
We are absurd
You and I
Fragments
We have created a figmentative reality,
where words are symbols of relation
that you and I falsify
And Bingo was his name-o!
Ah!
Oh holy onomatopoeic jargon
What do you mean?
and how shall we bargain?
And mora is but a half step to a whole
Eek gad!
January Febuary March and April
May I introduce you to June and July
August 28th
Sept Oct Nov Dec
Randomly systemized organs organized
Abstract or… dissonant?
But who is in charge?
12345
12345678
12345
12345678
12344
12344556
12344
12344556
“Why so serious?” said The Riddler
Mellow dramatic
Melodrama
Melancholy
Pantomimes!
Pantomimes EVERYWHERE!
They are able to speak
But alone I mime, “Do you have the time?”
Together we fall!
United I stand.
Backwards
Upside down
Inside out
And grammar
What’s in a name?
Please don’t be lame
Sarcastic and the glamour
Synonymous nonsense
Homophones and nyms
Where are the polysemes?
In the antonyms
In the antonyms!
Repetition
Exclamation
Annunciation
tions…
verbage verbage verbage
syllables and such
meaningless meaning
defining definitions with such
True or False?
Hide and Seek
Ring around the rosy
We all fall down…
We all fall down.
Salt
Sour
And bitter
And dill
And
And
And
And
And
And
Ampersand
Institutionalized poetry
But I am for rhythmic prose!
No, not you
Listen to the hue
that the colors protrude
red green blue
red green blue
Black is not a color
Chrome is my favorite
I will not believe otherwise
You are an alien.
I have divided by zero
Musical dissonance
Asterisk*
A beautiful disaster
A shadow without its owner
Wild natured wilderness
And naturally a wildcard.
**** **** **** **** ****
Etcetera.
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 12:26 AM UTC
aaj khamoshiyom ki ghata hati
mere chehre se,
sab ko lagi chot ,
hamare lawzo se.
muskil me gujari hu mai pichale kuch din,
jo yaad kr ke aashu nikale nanyano se,
na lagi bhukh aur
payas v gawaya.....
magar dill me ek aash ruki thi ..
hogen dur khamoshiyo ki ye ghata ,
bas yeh soch k muskuraye
aaj khamoshiyo mki ghata
hati mere chehre se ...
sab khush huye mere is pal se....
Rohini
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 2:36 AM UTC
A Pickle is Many Things
A Kosher Dill, A Gherkin
You can Pickle Beets and
You can pickle pigs feet
Pickles for Bread and Butter
Sweet Pickles Canned by Mother
Pickled Herring can be found or
Pickled Eggs that are so round
A Pickle's a fine thing to be
But...don't get yourself in a Pickle
All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 11:42 AM UTC
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 **** you.
Feb 28, 2011
Feb 28, 2011 at 11:27 PM UTC
Be afraid.
The breakdown of civilization
is at the hands of our well-meaning,
overly thrifty,
spoon-wielding mothers.
Be very afraid.
They are entranced by spices
and covering condiments,
pepper and powder,
onion and garlic galore.
Gingerly they add cumin and dill,
cinnamon, nutmeg or cloves
with thyme to add sage and curry,
parsley, paprika and allspice.
Their casseroles become
zombie food
as the dead
reanimates.
These cheese-added monsters,
hungry for mystery-meat,
render brains to mush
and bind our bowels.
They stiffen our gait
with numbness and nausea
until we are rendered victims
of another pepto-pandemic.
And in the night
of the living dead,
feeding us salt
in a casserole apocalypse,
we panicked victims become
the casseroles we consume.
Now paralyzed
in fear
by the light
of the open refrigerator.
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 1:00 PM UTC
I was flying high.
Filled with love.
I got hungry.
I ate a dill pickle, some olives and some cheese.
I decided to take my nutrient pills.
I swallowed them.
Now, I am lower than a sleeping dog.
Oh well, Buddha said that nutrients cause suffering.
Feb 16, 2011
Feb 16, 2011 at 9:56 PM UTC
Where do thugs go?
Who do they run to?
Where do they call home?
Not a house that they go to, but a place where they feel belonged
How do they cope with the scarcity of love?
Thugs, not the kind that most women think they are attracted to; therefore, not the imposers
Not the kind who landed at the bottom of the hill, sliding from the top only to scrape off their rot
Not the ones who were born with all the right people in their corners, but boxed them off while trying to fight to be someone that they are not
Thugs, the ones who momma loves? Because he appreciates her worthiness, her works
She's the only real love he ever had since birth
Thugs; who can't really go places because trouble doubles
It multiplies whenever he is with his guys
Because they all know how it feel not to live under a roof
Neither one of them have anything to lose
His dudes are equal to himself cubed
They rely on one another like proofs
And they are radical from the roots
Living in a negative atmosphere trying to multiply it by itself
So that they can make it to where the grass is greener and the sun does shine
The other side of the number line
Where the gunfire and homicides are divided
And the dope is reduced
All their lives they have been thinking that they are enduring the truth
That they "cannot amount to nothing and cannot be put to use"
They are neck deep in the streets
And the authorities is at their throats like a crew
But nothing around them is cotton
So when their fingers symbolizes a "V" they are only representing the place where they have to be
And they are not weak, but sometimes they wishes that they can take off a week
Black cats can't chase yarn
Mexicans don't have a specific day for casual dressing
Asians don't get any waivers
Cubans can't take less hours for a semester of schooling
Haitians don't get vacations
The **** life is given
Difficult to make it
As it is to escape it
It's hard to deal
When all they know is reeling in deals
To people who are saltier than Dill's
While at the same time trying to act real... Kosher
Without a companion to share meals... How do they find closure?
Too busy being tyrannical
Never learned how to be grammatical
So **** just got "worser"
Interviewee for a job
Or being suave to a child's mom
Besides their eyes,
Their oration is just exposure
Not knowing their duration to exist on this surface
Thugs need love
It's hard to tell through his mean-mug
But he's hurting
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 11:18 PM UTC
She was my morning sunshine and night's moon,
She was the one who made my life bloom ,
took care of me , sacrificed a lot
what gem I have, I totally forgot.
I did alot when the relationship started,
Cared , motivated her, and fully supported,
always wanted to be by her side,
She was my motivation and my pride,
But with time it all subsided.
Her simple expectations started appearing to be heavy burden,
I got scared when she wanted to move in,
I used to get sweaty whenever she discussed our wedding.
It didn't mean I love her any less.
I needed more time , I needed some space,
Wanted to run away from her every trace,
I pushed her away,
I made her weep,
Not thinking much asked her to leave.
She read my poems and cried all night,
She shared same feelings and texted me in the first light,
The feelings that died got revived again,
I felt alive again,
Now I know what went missing,
My heart was joyous I wanted her back again.
I felt she also want to come back,
But trusting someone again who betrayed you is not easy,
She is in a relationship, leaving him is not easy.
I have realized her importance,
I know what blunder I made,
I want to try one more time,
Baby without you everything is black,
I ******* WANT YOU BACK!
(Dill hote Jo,
Mere seene mei do,
Dusra dill bhi main ,
Tumhe Deta todne ko)
"IF I HAD TWO HEARTS INSIDE ME, THEN I WOULD GIVE THE ANOTHER ONE TOO, FOR YOU TO BREAK."
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 12:22 AM UTC
Dude! Disco dancing dogs devouring Dill duds
Digging ducks drew dreads
dreaming don't devour drool
Decked duet
Dimples dandylion deftness
Drink dead danimals.
Discharged!
Apr 16, 2010
Apr 16, 2010 at 4:02 PM UTC
Some people say cucumbers taste better pickled.
They come out wrinkled and cold,
their verdant skins hardened and crisp.
One crushing bite reveals
a soft yellow center,
soured cells seeping embalming vinegar.
Feathery dill disintegrates,
bringing biting flavor
to our cryogenic sandwich toppers
But, some people say cucumbers taste better pickled.
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 4:40 PM UTC
That place.
With it's red vains of life
And breath, laced with sage and dill.
First comes the sage
Then comes the dill.
Juniper trees surround our tiny bodies.
Innocent eyes gaze at rapid wings,
Soft flesh, and seeds burst.
Sweet dew envelops the taste buds.
I skim my feet on blood red carpet,
The lines perfectly aligned.
Hopscotch through.
Never want to disrupt the perfection.
Time is still,
It dosen't have relevance here.
I prefer it that way.
TTFN.
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 5:35 PM UTC
i just wanted everything to be still,
but when you came it was really big dill.
you gave me a chill, a really big thrill;
nothing i could express,
because i was mentally ill.
Sep 8, 2019
Sep 8, 2019 at 1:19 PM UTC
Progress
by Michael R. Burch
There is no sense of urgency
at the local Burger King.
Birds and squirrels squabble outside
for the last scraps of autumn:
remnants of buns,
goopy pulps of dill pickles,
mucousy lettuce,
sesame seeds.
Inside, the workers all move
with the same très-glamorous lethargy,
conserving their energy, one assumes,
for more pressing endeavors: concerts and proms,
pep rallies, keg parties,
reruns of Jenny McCarthy on MTV.
The manager, as usual, is on the phone,
talking to her boyfriend.
She gently smiles,
brushing back wisps of insouciant hair,
ready for the cover of Glamour or Vogue.
Through her filmy white blouse
an indiscreet strap
suspends a lace cup
through which somehow the ****** still shows.
Progress, we guess, ...
and wait patiently in line,
hoping the Pokémons hold out.
NOTE: This poem is almost entirely fiction. There was a Pokemon craze when my son Jeremy was a little boy, and I did see birds and squirrels foraging in parking lots from time to time (and sometimes fed them myself from my car’s window), but everything else is fiction. On the rare occasions that I went to a Burger King, I would go through the drive-in, so I wouldn’t have known who the manager was, or how much time ***** spent on the phone. I think the poem probably started with the image of birds and squirrels squabbling for scraps of food in a parking lot as I waited in a line of slow-moving cars, then evolved as I imagined the hassle of going inside to “speed things up.” Keywords/Tags: America, Americana, American, culture, society, vanity, youth, progress, fast food, video games, Pokemon, MTV, music videos, glamour, models, supermodels, fashion, transparency, see-through, bra, breast, *******
Apr 30, 2020
Apr 30, 2020 at 9:43 PM UTC
I want to be friends with Glenn Danzig.
We can conjure up some evil.
No lesser imps
or minor demons though.
Only a meeting with
the capital “D” Devil
because Glenn and I would command such an audience.
I want to be friends with Glenn Danzig.
We can giggle like schoolgirls
when Chuck Biscuits sits on that whoopie cushion we left out for him or
finds a fake, plastic eyeball floating in his coffee mug.
I want to be friends with Glenn Danzig.
We can go on the “Punch America’s Face Again” tour.
We wouldn't be singing in our slimy baritones on this road trip.
Just passing out black eyes
like Halloween candy.
Leaving a trail of busted noses and
broken hearts
in our wake.
There would be sleepovers.
Glenn and me
with Iggy Pop, Johnny Rotten and
the ghost of Peter Steele in attendance.
Ouija Boards and light-as-a-feather.
Peter Steele would always win.
He is a ******* ghost after all.
We could give each other nicknames:
Goodboy Glenn and The Big Dill.
maybe a secret handshake…
Nothing too elaborate.
Just cool, y’know?
We would text one another
after the season finale of The Walking Dead:
Darryl needs to die he’s not even in the comic but it’ll probably be Michonne there’s no justice on T.V. for cool black girls this show has just been a study in emotionally manipulating its audience since the beginning anyway why are we the only ones who see that
Why are we the only ones who see that?
Are you listening Glenn?
Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 9:10 PM UTC
Woke up in some kind of darkness.
Like Dracula was in the house.
Heavy and gothic feeling, drowning me.
So I ate a dill pickle.
That helped, but not enough.
Decided to write a dumb poem about it.
There, there...that's better.
Feb 12, 2011
Feb 12, 2011 at 8:54 PM UTC
It's summer here in Miami, Florida. The Jacaranda tree has violet flowers that fall and float on the tops of the moist jade grass. The Gardenia bush with bent branches is heavy with fragrant white flowers. Parsley, basil and dill are tall and flowering with bees pollinating them.
Numerous plump cherry tomatoes, with all their tingling flavor, hide among the leggy bushes. Green and scarlet bell peppers, smooth and crisp, hang on neighboring branches.
Several new baby birds are fledgling from nests while their parents protectively hover nearby. Two families of scarlet Cardinal birds greedily eat from our outdoor feeders. A flock of fifty Cherry Head parrots with their crimson shoulders and heads crack open black sunflower seeds.
Toads at night call to prospective mates sounding like broken air conditioners. Black wiggly bodies swim in clusters in the canal feeding on algae waiting to grow their legs and hop through the tall grasses.
Global mangoes growing and ripening on trees are large enough to sweeten the palette .
The sun is smiling warming the earth--the animals, plants and people. Steady rain quenches the thirst of all creatures. Nature is here for us to enjoy.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 3:24 PM UTC
he kisses my hair
when i cry,
because he reminds
me of dill,
and i remind him
of scout.
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 6:27 PM UTC
he's such a sweet
such a sweet old man
he's a treat even though his feet smell like dead meat
an old ham
such a sweet old man
still ain't taking no **** wooden nickels!
his hands and creases smell like really dill pickles...
or pickle juice, as he says, because pickles make their own juice
i swear he thinks cucumbers are made from pickles
i haven't the heart to tell him and ruin his heaven waiting
a place where you don't have to buy pickles to get good pickle juice
such a sweet old man
10 dead animals living with him, if you include his wife, and the 3 dead rats in the traps
the other dead animals didn't matter anyhow...
they were all HER pets, just as he once was her pet
he's also going to die soon
and not matter
it doesn't bother the sweet old man one bit though
what bothers him is losing his pickle juicer when his wife died
he was sure he put it the root cellar...
on the 17th floor
of the hospital he lives in now
i haven't the heart to tell him and ruin his heaven waiting
such a sweet old man deserves heaven
the magnitude of the real pickle juice alone, that was better than pickle juice from the old days
when pickles were pure and pickle juice didn't have vinegar!
made that sweet old man's eyes light up and his heart flutter
he giggled, then he died so gently
such a sweet old man
dying gently
such a sweet old man
never did take no **** wooden nickels!
old ham
life never hurt him and death gently tickles
Sep 27, 2021
Sep 27, 2021 at 9:33 PM UTC
Mints, Sages and Dill greet me
as I trample along the way
Stones hide under my toes
settling down to stay.
But they are pea pebbles
Not sharp, but rounded and small.
I try to shake them free
but they are not going at all.
Lavender and the Lilac grin
They have stones embedded too.
They long for the rains to come
drenching their roots wet through.
Basil and Thyme are not surprised
They have been through this before
The Violets have issues to fry
as the Pansies are first at the door.
When a whiff of bother shows its head
you can rely on the ***** to be there
Nothing gets past this little chap
So to the tricksters please beware.
The herbal path offers stories
one gets carried away along the path
to the little mouse nibbling like mad
to the wren bobbing in his mud bath.
There is not a day that goes by
when I do not dawdle on the stones
the crunchy noise it makes soothes my soul
and puts life in the well worn bones.
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 11:48 AM UTC