"griller" poems - Hello Poetry

The winding never-ending road begins in the forest The root of all evil is an exchange of nature’s breath The root of all evil isn’t born in any sense The root of all evil begins with a death The carcass is driven to its’ after-life It’s given a new face and a new shade of green Most of it won’t make it to hell, every day it’s shredded There is no reminder that what it is, isn’t what it seems Each and every piece that makes it, starts in the same place In this place it is still meaningless until claimed It is then transferred for some purpose Could be violence, could be music, could be life…. It continues on this-never ending path The stock broker to get coffee The coffee worker to get burgers The burger griller to eat bread The baker to ride a skateboard The skateboarder to smoke *** The drug dealer to get a weapon The gun shop owner to have *** The ********** to keep living The pharmacist to play the market The stock broker to…. We’ve reached the beginning again. The root of all evil is our fuel to survive Our fuel to achieve, our fuel to happiness, our fuel to wrath So when does this stop and what happens when it dies The root of all evil begins with a death, it’s a never ending path

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Nov 8, 2010

Nov 8, 2010 at 10:24 PM UTC

wesley-espinosa

Money

The winding never-ending road begins in the forest The root of all evil is an exchange of nature’s breath The root of all evil isn’t born in any sense The root of all evil begins with a death The carcass is driven to its’ after-life It’s given a new face and a new shade of green Most of it won’t make it to hell, every day it’s shredded There is no reminder that what it is, isn’t what it seems Each and every piece that makes it, starts in the same place In this place it is still meaningless until claimed It is then transferred for some purpose Could be violence, could be music, could be life…. It continues on this-never ending path The stock broker to get coffee The coffee worker to get burgers The burger griller to eat bread The baker to ride a skateboard The skateboarder to smoke *** The drug dealer to get a weapon The gun shop owner to have *** The ********** to keep living The pharmacist to play the market The stock broker to…. We’ve reached the beginning again. The root of all evil is our fuel to survive Our fuel to achieve, our fuel to happiness, our fuel to wrath So when does this stop and what happens when it dies The root of all evil begins with a death, it’s a never ending path

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Hi everybody This is Brian Allan I am on Jupiter And I will sing fly burgers A poem I wrote when I was social Which is being watched very carefully at present Here it is Fly burgers are good enough to eat Fly burgers are such a tasty treat Just catch a blowie between two buttered buns Add some lettuce and tomato And make sure you wash your hands You see there is no footy on Because of the coronavirus yeah So the flies wouldn’t get caught On the barbecue No old man no young boy Anymore in this world The flies didn’t do it But they are still disease carriers So please wash your hands Fly burgers are good enough to eat Fly burgers are such a tasty treat Just catch a blowie between two buttered buns Add some lettuce and tomato And make sure you wash your hands No restaurants at the moment So there will be no flies Parking on the griller The virus is turning people From being nice to an old yeller Don’t worry about the flies Getting in your food No restaurant isn’t open No fly burgers That is good Fly burgers are good enough to eat Fly burgers are such a tasty treat Just catch a blowie between two buttered buns Add lettuce and tomato And please wash your hands Now hopefully the virus will be over Before the summer time So friends can drop round sharing coke and beer and having a great time At present there is no bbq man Noticing a fly upon his back So keep the swat amongst your friends Don’t spread the virus to jack Fly burgers are good enough to eat Fly burgers are such a tasty treat Just catch a blowie between two buttered buns Add some lettuce and tomato And please wash your hands The hospital is busy this year Despite nobody having fun Flies are still spreading germs Straight flat bang in you More people dying from the coronavirus yeah But flies are still spreading germs Don’t eat fly burgers if you don’t want to die Fly burgers don’t eat them you stupid fool Fly burgers as long as you keep your distance swim in the pool But if a fly lands on you You will catch a germ And maybe the virus will hit you Like a little worm But if a fly lands on you You will catch a germ And maybe and maybe The virus will hit you hit you Like. A. Little Worm No good

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Mar 25, 2020

Mar 25, 2020 at 8:57 PM UTC

johnny-georgy-brown

fly burgers coronavirus version

Hi everybody This is Brian Allan I am on Jupiter And I will sing fly burgers A poem I wrote when I was social Which is being watched very carefully at present Here it is Fly burgers are good enough to eat Fly burgers are such a tasty treat Just catch a blowie between two buttered buns Add some lettuce and tomato And make sure you wash your hands You see there is no footy on Because of the coronavirus yeah So the flies wouldn’t get caught On the barbecue No old man no young boy Anymore in this world The flies didn’t do it But they are still disease carriers So please wash your hands Fly burgers are good enough to eat Fly burgers are such a tasty treat Just catch a blowie between two buttered buns Add some lettuce and tomato And make sure you wash your hands No restaurants at the moment So there will be no flies Parking on the griller The virus is turning people From being nice to an old yeller Don’t worry about the flies Getting in your food No restaurant isn’t open No fly burgers That is good Fly burgers are good enough to eat Fly burgers are such a tasty treat Just catch a blowie between two buttered buns Add lettuce and tomato And please wash your hands Now hopefully the virus will be over Before the summer time So friends can drop round sharing coke and beer and having a great time At present there is no bbq man Noticing a fly upon his back So keep the swat amongst your friends Don’t spread the virus to jack Fly burgers are good enough to eat Fly burgers are such a tasty treat Just catch a blowie between two buttered buns Add some lettuce and tomato And please wash your hands The hospital is busy this year Despite nobody having fun Flies are still spreading germs Straight flat bang in you More people dying from the coronavirus yeah But flies are still spreading germs Don’t eat fly burgers if you don’t want to die Fly burgers don’t eat them you stupid fool Fly burgers as long as you keep your distance swim in the pool But if a fly lands on you You will catch a germ And maybe the virus will hit you Like a little worm But if a fly lands on you You will catch a germ And maybe and maybe The virus will hit you hit you Like. A. Little Worm No good

72

Dear Friend, Today I turned. I turned off the wake up crow of the radio announcer. I turned pale at the arrival of the day. I turned over and tried to go back to sleep. I turned green at the hopes of those half my age. I turned red with anger - or frustration - at the Seas still to cross, Mountains still to climb, Ideas still to pursue. I turned and looked at my children - and was proud. I turned back the sheets. I turned out of bed. I turned into an elephant carried three bundles of giggles out the door. I turned into the kitchen and a bundle fell off - still giggling. I turned into someone's father, but only for a moment, then we were friends again. I turned up the heat in the griller and the toast darkened and dried out more quickly. I turned for the milk and there was none left. I turned into a street I'd never travelled before. I turned off when I heard it was Joh Bjelke-Petersen's birthday. I returned. I turned into someone's friend and was still her father. I turned thirty.

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Aug 24, 2014

Aug 24, 2014 at 5:58 AM UTC

peter-mcphee

Turning

Dear Friend, Today I turned. I turned off the wake up crow of the radio announcer. I turned pale at the arrival of the day. I turned over and tried to go back to sleep. I turned green at the hopes of those half my age. I turned red with anger - or frustration - at the Seas still to cross, Mountains still to climb, Ideas still to pursue. I turned and looked at my children - and was proud. I turned back the sheets. I turned out of bed. I turned into an elephant carried three bundles of giggles out the door. I turned into the kitchen and a bundle fell off - still giggling. I turned into someone's father, but only for a moment, then we were friends again. I turned up the heat in the griller and the toast darkened and dried out more quickly. I turned for the milk and there was none left. I turned into a street I'd never travelled before. I turned off when I heard it was Joh Bjelke-Petersen's birthday. I returned. I turned into someone's friend and was still her father. I turned thirty.

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Ma muse, mon Intangible, Ma grande folie, mon gros grain de fantaisie Chaque fois que mon bec d'orphie bleu océan tranquille Tente d'arraisonner au coeur de tes abysses Pour t'engloutir de ses lèvres T'honorer et te chanter A peine t'a-t'il effleurée Tu te cabres apeurée dans les ténèbres. Tu rues des quatre fers Tu me désarçonnes. Sans ménagement Tu m'éjectes de ta fan zone. Tu te renfermes et tu me dis : Arrête ! Arrête ! Arrête ! Veux-tu donc me dépecer Après m'avoir harponnée Fait mariner, assaisonnée Me griller au feu de bois Et me déguster jusqu'à la dernière arête vert émeraude ? J'en perds ma grammaire et ma conjugaison L'intransitif se transitive Le passif s'active Le futur se conditionne À quoi tu joues, polissonne ? Tu ne parles pas la langue des orphies ? Comment veux-tu que je me raisonne Si constamment tu me déraisonnes Que je m'arc-boute Si en permanence tu me désarçonnes Que je m'aiguillonne Si aux portes du précipice tu me retiens du déséquilibre ?

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Aug 21, 2019

Aug 21, 2019 at 11:37 AM UTC

cyclone-wolfok-baltimore

Ma grande folie

Ma muse, mon Intangible, Ma grande folie, mon gros grain de fantaisie Chaque fois que mon bec d'orphie bleu océan tranquille Tente d'arraisonner au coeur de tes abysses Pour t'engloutir de ses lèvres T'honorer et te chanter A peine t'a-t'il effleurée Tu te cabres apeurée dans les ténèbres. Tu rues des quatre fers Tu me désarçonnes. Sans ménagement Tu m'éjectes de ta fan zone. Tu te renfermes et tu me dis : Arrête ! Arrête ! Arrête ! Veux-tu donc me dépecer Après m'avoir harponnée Fait mariner, assaisonnée Me griller au feu de bois Et me déguster jusqu'à la dernière arête vert émeraude ? J'en perds ma grammaire et ma conjugaison L'intransitif se transitive Le passif s'active Le futur se conditionne À quoi tu joues, polissonne ? Tu ne parles pas la langue des orphies ? Comment veux-tu que je me raisonne Si constamment tu me déraisonnes Que je m'arc-boute Si en permanence tu me désarçonnes Que je m'aiguillonne Si aux portes du précipice tu me retiens du déséquilibre ?

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