"nugget" poems
I can't believe I bought them.
Is this the top scoop?
I've entered a raffle for
pea & ham soup.
I can't even eat it,
I'm vegetarian you see.
Won't you just change it to
tomato for me?
I don't mind the peas,
It's the ham that's no good.
They slaughter those piggies
screaming, covered in blood.
Eyes bulging, their throats cut.
It's really not nice.
There's so much more to choose from,
not just cakes made of rice.
Have you seen how they nugget,
crispy goujons and breast?
They've found faeces and gristle
in a food safety test.
So don't think that these people
have your interests at best.
Look it up, do your research
and I'll give it a rest!
Poetry by Kaydee.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 12:28 AM UTC
You're a shooting star against the darkened sky,
You're a red rose in a sea of white lillies,
You're a breath of fresh air in this stale world,
You're a gold nugget in a dark coal quarry.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 1:35 PM UTC
the pitch dark symmetry
of spiral engraved
glossy jet black
vinyl
the ***** claws
and webbed spiders;
graced with impeccable
scratch
words come back around
from dog day afternoon;
entwined in ritual
beatology
technique absorbed in prowess
dedication assimilated by passion;
human form and synthetic resin becomes
overlayed
polyvinyl chloride or
unsaturated hydrocarbon radicals;
a derivative by any other
name
I'll leave that nugget for the pub quiz
and relax, post-Christmas stress;
the street scramble bustle,
embrace a pint of
black magic
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 10:28 AM UTC
This is the sparkle jams
the worldwide reunion
bossa nova bossa nova
and the spiraling citadels too
so we've left center sparkle
tippie-toed around barnyard animal numero dos
and now its frankincense
fester more please
best suit is now being worn and they really don't like it
I'm disappointed sometimes with my clothing choice but who cares
why not right go blowout fashion booming large
it's panic attacks and leftover cheese nugget from last saturday
now I'm with the in crowd
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 6:49 PM UTC
When I grew up my mom would cut coupons and scrounge for change in the sofa to buy me a chicken nugget happy meal McDonalds. She would cut coupons and would only buy nectarines if they were on sale. I grew up eating bologna sandwiches with kraft cheese slices and potato chips.
I think your mom had different priorities.
The man at Starbucks, told me that opposites attract and I think that is why were together. He told me a Intuitive Innovative Feeler. Does that mean that you are oblivious and emotionless *** I don't think so?
Lately I have been whining a lot. Whining about where we live, what we do, what we don't do, how you act, how you don't act, about how your mom wants us to water the brussels sprouts that no one likes and clean the toilets no one uses.
Sometimes I say things to hurt your feelings. Sometimes I mean it. I word them so that they are as hurtful as can be and you never react. Is it bad to want to make you cry? You test my sanity everyday, you break me every day, and here I am still trying to chip away at the facade, the make up you cover up with.
I think living in the mountains has taught me about all the things that I don't want to be. I don't want to be cut off, I don't want to be nice, I don't want to be liberal, I don't want to be conservative, I don't want to see the same people everyday, and I definitely don't want to spend eleven dollars on heirloom tomatoes.
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 11:00 AM UTC
Why do people readily believe
When you tell them:
There are 7 billion stars
but check when the paint is wet?
Fall and I'll catch you,
No need to look back
over your shoulder,
I'll be there,
I promise.
I used to be indecisive,
but now I'm not sure,
I do know however
My intentions are pure.
How come sand is yellow,
Why is it that when you draw a tree
it always looks like broccoli?
Why is it that when I eat broccoli
I always imagine it to be
a tiny tree?
I munch delicately
on this green leafy
thought nugget,
tasting each sprouty morsel,
savoring its saged wisdom.
Apr 29, 2011
Apr 29, 2011 at 2:52 AM UTC
There's a funny sort of emptiness
that passes over me
as I walk past the paperback erotica that tuck themselves away
in the shelves of the local grocery store in places that are
simultaneously completely out in the open yet completely ignored
looking, as I do, with mock casual interest
and unfeigned disdain.
Who are these intended for, really?
Are they for the snuggly-wuggly, ***** cozy-woozy, wishy-washy and warm family of four
comparing chicken nugget prices and
weighing the health benefits of
vegetable medley versus succotash?
Or are they for the uni flatmates
walking huddled together for warmth or protection or both,
seeing as they're wearing only sandals and denim shorts
and this is the first time
they've been grocery shopping without mum,
that giggle loudly together to mask how homesick they really are
while they compare the calories in
Campbell's versus Progresso.
They went with Progresso if you were wondering.
Or are they meant for those who are cooking for one?
For those who have no need to compare prices
or calories
out loud.
For those who are well acquainted
with the old, familiar tiled aisles
as they have no one to take out to dinner.
Is this where they are to find company?
Betwixt the pages of a badly penned,
lighter than marshmallows,
more shallow than the kiddie pool,
more transparent than Casper,
not-good-enough-to-be-bloody-compost
"literary" garbage?
Is this -assumed- female
supposed to curl up with one of these slabs of drivel
and feel **** and aroused
in her baggy sweats and ill-fitting hoodie
after she ate a microwaveable chicken *** pie all by her lonesome?
As a single girl who often cooks for one,
I am offended by this.
Personally,
I think Lestat is ten times sexier than Edward,
Salai is way cuter than Fabio,
and Christian Grey couldn't S Mr. Rochester's D.
What I'm saying is-
Grocery Stores.
YOU are the primary reason for this pathetic f-ckery.
Everything else in the store can be compared for quality.
So why not apply that same knowledge
to the book arena.
Signed,
A Concerned Shopper
p.s. Please extend the validity date on the chicken *** pie coupon. Thank you!
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 10:57 PM UTC
Two inches was the measure, of young Stevies blunder,
Digging out concrete, not knowing whats under.
He felt a nugget, that wouldn't yield to the Pick,
So he used the Jack-Hammer, until he got that "kick".
Caught fire on the spot, looked at me, shocked,
Died in flames, got a days pay docked.
Cut the main cable, Fifty millimetres, metric,
I know you hate to ask, but Friends aren't Electric.
Dennis stepped back, pleased with his graft,
Fell two hundred foot, down an unguarded shaft.
Been on the Grinder, cutting out steels,
So the Elevator boys could fix , their cogs and their wheels.
Never said a word, no shout or no fuss,
Dennis died like he lived, just one of us.
Me and Baz on a roof, we knew was asbestos,
Brittle like toffee, temperamental as Kate Moss,
Had no crawling boards, so we tip-toed like burglars,
Clinging on tightly, think Ivy on Pergola's.
I heard the crack, leapt to the hip-tile,
Baz clawed and scraped, resistance was futile.
They spread out the sand, where Baz hit the deck,
To mop up the blood, from a broken neck.
Health and safety, if's and but's,
Shoddy workmanship, taking short-cuts.
We have no say, we try our best,
Hard hats, harder boots and high-visibility vests,
Are all that we leave, not Time-Shares or Merc's,
Just daughters in tears, Dads not home from work.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 11:03 AM UTC
for Jeannie Kristufek Hawrysz who once quoted me Shakespeare -
*"Of all the words in the universe, when stated thrice, only one royal above all gleams best, an uncoded mathematical tripartite repetitive stating:
love love love this."*
----------------------------
third attempt and just not happening
then recall a Ben Folds hand-me-down
heard on Tuesday, passed onto me by Sara B.
about writer’s block
“Kick the editor out of the room”
the best don’t even flow,
they fall out of ya, rough and tumbling,
screaming did ya get that,
are ya keeping up,
you can be the self-editing-I need-perfection roadblock
or the delivery guy, the one with the towel and the scissors, who brings ya a clean new baby, and/or a veggie pizza,
which ya gonna pick?
another nougat nugget:
when you’re stuck, write about the block,
what’s sticking you; one would have thought
some one thousand five hundred poems later,
this one would have been midwifed a long, long time ago,
but at 4:32am, it’s all I got
rather than throw false news confetti on myself
from the rafters that don’t exist in a citified apartment,
I’ll reward myself with some
rock n’ pop,
a revisitation to the scene of the crime, and listen quiet like and maybe leak back to prone sleep,
in hopes that the rest of the gang,
hoping the words to a poem-in-transit,
“confetti is just tomorrow’s garbage”
gets off at my dreamy new subway stop
should the wordy birdies shotgun come sneaking in
thru the correct ear
i.e. not the sunken pillow one,
so I have half a fat chance of
recalling its dimensions in an hour,
when I wake up-officially,
fat chance
later, like 4:56am
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2471979/confetti-is-just-tomorrows-garbage/
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 5:03 AM UTC
Give your neighbor all you can
Give sweat unto your boss
Give your troubles to the wind
With just one mighty toss
Give your kidneys to caffeine
A hundred years they'll go
Give Gene Simmons your big ****
And let your skinny show
Give your payments to the bank
To send your kids to college
Send 'em to a better school
To give their noodles knowledge
Give charity to old goodwill
To prove your heart is pure
Like Robin Hood take from the rich
And give it to the poor
Give tithes unto your preacher man
He'll get you through the Gate
Throw in a golden nugget
You may not have to wait
One last thing Mr. Houseman adds
Give carefully your hearts
Give crowns and pounds and guineas
But don't include your ****
Aug 25, 2010
Aug 25, 2010 at 8:39 AM UTC
rocking the metal pan
side to side, agitate
the sand so swirling
water
lets gravity push the
worthless sediment
over the edges into the
pool
gravel-dust gathers
momentum
swarming in a circular current
allowing the golden
nuggets to sink to the
base
fingers as feet through
quicksand
explore the grey salt-swamp
cold makes them slow and dumb
soft skin complains as grains
scratch skin a thousand times
toy fingernails clawing
catch a lump, hold it
between
thumb and finger, bulge with
fulfilment as your gobbet
glints beneath its caked mud
set the pan upon rocks
clasping tightly, pull the
stone through the pool,
freeing
it from the clinging dust
release it from the depths
of the crocodile water
and the ugly mound of
chalky mud submerged will
be caterpillar to
butterfly, a solid
gold nugget lying fat
on the face of your
soggy outstretched palm.
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 9:29 AM UTC
Here's a little Nugget on a pirate ship
sailing away to where all the pirate's sit
Give them a taste of this sleepy buck'a'roo
And by the way, I love you
Here's little Nugget on a itty bitty boat
sailing away through the muddy, murky moat
With little sleepy eyes and some mud on'is shoe
just remember that I love you too
There goes Nugget on his super duper raft
ridin' through the rapids going super duper fast
Closing his eyes and off he flew
and by the way, I love you
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 7:01 PM UTC
little
nugget, wide-eyed,
hairless, with red-faced wails;
you just ate - why are we awake
tonight?
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 10:48 PM UTC
Wearing matching plaid kilts and knitted sweaters,
I see you. Do you see me?
I still have no idea how he lets me get away with this.
I guess everyone has their own definition of “comfortable.”
My new alarm clock. A body slam, a wiggle backwards and a kiss.
Then I sit and smile,
Baby how can you even sleep like that?
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 1:37 AM UTC
Rush, Rush!
Gunky plush bagog
Nugget sog
Peedle glog
Plundering down the boulevard
I saw what seemed to be a Schmagtap
Slukavard.
Under his buttons, there grew his
Mutton.
Mutton branch, penal franch
Sogging down the grittle bog
And briggenfagig squeezing a bib,
Soaked in carrot juice frib
Muggafloo
Plubderp.
Schmubderp.
Aug 21, 2011
Aug 21, 2011 at 12:45 AM UTC
Don’t fall victim to our dimension’s perilous plight
Can you feel it?
Feels like earth quake machine guns
Listen
Sounds like incriminating yarn being spun
According to the zodiac I’m a crab
According to the eastern wheel I’m an aquatic rooster
Yet I know myself as a coyote
And I say on to you
Tomorrow is never guaranteed
So live life today as if the next day brings the expiration date
Before our world curdles into a smelling spoiled carton of waste
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 1:12 PM UTC
I'm messing with your heartstrings and you're feelin' out of tune
"FROM NOW ON NO ONE TOUCHES THESE!", you cry out to the moon
You're safe and sound concealed, packed within your hard-shell case
protected by a shield from the hitch, forget the chase.
And maybe you are best alone, a hard-shell case like me
prefer your friends to lovers, seems the way it ought to be
you've learned to tune your heartstrings to the symphony of life
rather than be messed with by a heavy handed wife.
Well I've got something to tell you, which I've learned along the way
and I hope this golden nugget's gonna bless your heart today
though life's a ******** teacher, take a chance and fail a test,
you'd be wise to save your heartstrings for the one who'll play them the best.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 11:04 AM UTC
'Cause that is the only thing that makes me happy
Besides everything else
In spite of me
I'm attracted to the things that hurt me the most
I love when the pain burns
Burns your memory into my mind
'Cause I forget everything
But I do not forgive enough
The boxes of ******* are piling up in
front of my door
I can not take anymore
Walking past the memorial that was
created while I was in a heap
Trapped in my own mind wishing
the one burning was me
How could I forget such a thing
That night I went back to sleep
So now I sing
but I am at a loss for words
All I hear is sirens
In the grand scheme of things
I have no control
Is that scary to you?
Am I afraid of me?
I am facing my ashes
Time passes
This is everlasting
but everything is temporary
None of it is real
And I feel it through the lost lullaby
the birds sing in the morning
'Cause these warnings
are the nightmares that will not let me sleep
These are the thoughts that imprison me
Late nights drinking coffee
I think back to the times I held my peace
I think back to the times
chicken nuggets were the only things
concerning my nose
****** Crossroads
No one knows I am stuck
in this lost lullaby
Mar 11, 2018
Mar 11, 2018 at 1:53 AM UTC
Why are you here
What is your importance
How were you created
Does it feel emotions
Is it excited that I’m here
He recognizes that I’m living
And that I can interact
Having something else to interact with
I think that makes him happy
He’s running
From the back of his cage
To his wheel
And then he returns to the feed
That’s all we’re doing
Except our idea of a “cage”
Is much larger
He scratches out of the cage
For what looked like a corn nugget
I picked it up and gave it to his hands
And he took it
Sat and ate
I just helped that animal
It couldn’t reach the nugget
And that made him sad
Because it’s something he can usually get
But when it’s out of his reach
His internal cycle missteps
Causing him to break down
He jumped on the side of the cage
Revealing his genitals
Shaking them is somewhat of a snooty fashion
Does he know what humor is
It doesn’t have cognitive thinking
It can’t decide for itself
Why did it do that
For what purpose
What is driving this animal to do anything at all
What is the significance of its existence
How were you made
What the hell are you
Humor, sadness, joy
Can it feel all emotions
It’s so basic
So simple
Does he only feel one emotion
One emotion
All the time
I am such a complex human being
I can’t even image a life
An existence
Where I only have one emotion
And that’s what makes us special
And that’s what makes us human
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 1:58 AM UTC
Something innocent and pure as this
a common flower of lowly birth
darkened by the suns sweet kiss
stands alone on a lowly earth
Its bright centre, a nugget of gold
for a child whose face is overjoyed
to pluck this gem, away from mothers scold
and keep it hidden from a whirlpool void.
And i watch intrigued by this slow connection
of all flowers this is her only selection.
Of every beauty in summers bloom
the soft hands reach this lowly plant
it gives off not one hint of a sweet perfume
still her steps steep into a gregorian chant
as religiously her chain has started
links to links and stem to stem
each flower together cannot be parted
a living show of natures gem
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 3:09 AM UTC
King of the park is my little paper lion
he struts his stuff like he owns the world
prowls and growls
rubbing and snubbing
while he eats from is little pink bowl
But he is KING!!
king in his own back yard
his eyes amber and black
as he stealthily creeps
beautifully lean
prowling unseen
dangerously mean
ever so fluffy
and oh so virile
so powerful too
leaving his mark
rubbing the bark
so very King!
*'So watch me human,
watch me be magnificent
as i pounce on this butterfly'*
"yes.. you are a magnificient derp nugget"
Oh but he does have a nasty streak
attack and retreat
spitting and clawing
meowing and mawing
as his grey fur stands on end
and bristles
like a bottle brush
and the lazy lion thing
is lazily lounging
after a busy night on the town
spreading his affection
in every direction
he is now king of the chair
king of the cushion
he is declared triumphantly
throughout the land
fanfare please
"THE SOFA KING .. all hail the SOFA KING!"(annoying feline)
oh dear.. my little paper lion..
believing he is king
king of the jungle
'But i am king!
aren't i human?
okay well,
just of the park maybe
but i am a little bit king- ish.... aren't i?'
silly little pouty McWhiskerface
what a pity
fluffy little kitty
just make your self pretty
pouting and sulking
"Now that is no way for a king to behave
now let me fluff your cushion
while you drink your milk and eat your Dreamies"
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 10:30 AM UTC
1. I must let go of my expectations
whenever you put forward an idea
the idea of how happiness and bitterness
should work
you put forth expectations
on how the world works
it will surprise you every time
show the flip of the coin
if we do not live moment by moment
allowing each to have it's own
Importance
we label ourselves with
the falacy of past and future
we remember the past as only we can
Individually
we know the future by estimations
of consequence
in regard to present decisions
each day we are born anew
each day is a lifetime
a chance to Be change
to experience life according
to the gleam in our eye
label me by my past
and you label my ghost
my ghost doesn't care - it's only an imagined
imprint in the Now.
2. Happiness does not depend on
the opinions of others
there will always be those
for whom my joy
will cause the ugly head
of Cerebus to raise
and try to bite
their hair they pull
their teeth they gnash
in frustration of seeing
someone else
achieve that highest goal
of contentment within the self
it is human nature
within the viewfinder of history
to enjoy the suffering of others
even when we decry to the contrary
I must stand alone -
if I cannot be happy
in my quietest places
then that golden nugget
of bliss has not been truly found
the fire I light is for my
Own Illumination
I have no control
over the reactions of others
they may share in my epiphanies
or war against me - I never know which
but, I will always stand
within my own subjective reality
and know
My Own Truth.
Sep 24, 2010
Sep 24, 2010 at 9:55 AM UTC
Money can buy you the best proof taken amid all this rest!
Next taken is to experience et!
Dream about it,
Think about it,
Living it,
That's the problem spotting et...
When love takes its chance,
Football when football teams a family with
Kids and a dog,
Utopia raises its curtains,
God breaths a certain light on a table we had been risen,
Money can buy you the best,
Missile box sui generis,
Of its own kind,
Summa *** laude!
In all of its trenches,
Moolah lie deep and it stench es,
But dreams you may find et....
Cry me on silver,
Lime, dime and a sapphire glass river,
Streams a strengthen nugget gold,
Work hard, watch as it sieves, watch as it pours and watch as it gives,
Some where plays and draws you out a revealing point!
It Scratches a sale to a victory,
I like to see it,
Short cut luck no more staring into the abyss buck,
Seeing that face and still believing it,
Hard change knuckle of hours,
A super match set in sky mystery,
Finish off your money to be thy very best O'Reily mystery!
Messi Mason living life in some spiritual occasion,
Still breathing on average abundance of work smiles an ironed shirt and no creases as he plays,
Just don't stop till you've had enough!
Enough, Enough and Enough...
O'Reily@18082014
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 7:11 PM UTC
Prometheus, the joker, he
offered Zeus a choice of tributes:
An egg, a chocolate covered
With foil, the delicious covered
With the inedible or
Chicken wings; perhaps they were ribs,
The unpalatable concealed
Within the gratifying and
Delectable.
And, when given the same choice, I
Choose the charming, the beguiling,
The delightful exterior,
With unappealing core, rather
Than attempt to find that nugget,
Hidden within its thin veneer
And certainly worth the effort.
I find lusciousness is much more
Pleasurable.
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 11:38 PM UTC
like a vision of apocalypse
she drags a tree branch along the muddy
lane to the carnivals edge
where those of like mind gather
she believes her offered symbols
of peace will curry favor among the
indigenous or the occasional forlorn tourist
and she will have her safe harbour for the night
everyone deserves a place to at least rest
their head at the end of a futile day
and all here in the laughing happy places of the misbegotten
will attest to that truth of the road
so is it so strange to see her
with that nugget of hope lodged in her eye like a steel jackhammer
she is a complex phrase on the piano keyboard
that without having to speak entices the mind into the notions
of her tale spun in the scents of her patchouli and
the delicate pattern of her lace dress
her clean ****** limbs are filled with extreme tattoos and scented with fresh ***
she massages herself there
and closes her eyes at the point of contact
she looks at you with a question in her eyes
but she never asks
she is not one to want for what she isnt freely given
so you give her everything you have
along with your hearts strings
hoping to see that smile
that enchanted with its sweet touch
she is a simple turn of words in the worlds master plan
but she is a complexity in your life that
was unseen and unwanted
now she raises her flute
and raises a tune from ages gone past
that stings the hearts soul
with its refrains of pale and drawn lost loves
dying in the cold lands
and the tales of the forlorn waif who waits her days
for the man who went to sea never to return
shes a repeating moment
from the past followed us down from denvers cold
to join us on this beach
only to find me alone
but that means little
because her eyes are like steel jackhammers
ripping into the truths she thinks should be
ignore the reality's of the empty beach
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 12:47 PM UTC