"peckish" poems
a tongue a knife a rhyme
a slitted try of silence mine
i could never keep it fought
rip the gut right from my life
ill scream the name until i rot
shreik a word so loud ill cry
i tried my luck but missed the cut
a trickled spiggot sputters with it
a soft spot for the eyes that fall out of my skull
flaming pupils burn the crop
the students of the fire
they stop drop and roll into the wretched thought
that comes each time they learn what has been wrought to build this pyre
to eviscerate the weakened soul
the empty rooms inside my home
voraciously in rapture
tearing sinews off my mind
splitting ears and feeding from the captured
nothing left behind my skin no map no muscles
missing compass knees buckled
******* leave me or ill pull the trigger
ill **** the lost and eat the hindered
incinerate your wicked splinters
and in this home
snap each of your twelve ******* fingers
its teeth are gentle on me in a way that only devils can
we're peckish for atrocities and it has given me a plan
a broken handed man within the corridor
his one eye wide
the other in the devils side
a matching type to mine if i still had my sight
the door is closed and i am blind but we can smell the horror more
breaking out we tore into that bodys core
but that devil, him, the house, unborn
as i woke up in a corpse
for i am dead upon the floor
Nov 11, 2021
Nov 11, 2021 at 2:34 AM UTC
I have vowed to no more eat that which harms,
And to the best of my abilities,
I do so.
I see no difference between the cat you pet
And the lamb you slaughter.
I see no difference between the dog you play with
And the calf you tear from its mother.
I see no difference between the pet birds in cages
And the male chicks thrown in the grinder at birth;
They will produce no eggs, we have no use for their lives.
I believe it is not the role of man
To deem whom should retain their lives
And whom should die for a moments self-gratification.
Vegetarianism is wonderful,
Every little bit helps; less humans eating meat,
means reduced CO2 emmissions
and less world wide poverty,
The grain that could feed a hundred hungry mouths
Is not used to produce single burger patty,
For a single peckish man.
But drinking the milk of a cow,
Eating cheese and eggs
All contributes directly to the meat industry.
Dairy industry is veal industry;
Dairy industry; milk, eggs, cheese all supports and prolongs the practice
Of killing and eating children.
You ask that we respect your choices;
but you do not understand that your "choices",
Your learned eating habits,
Your probing questions of "what do you eat then?!"
And your arguments of "But meat just tastes so good"
Are directly offensive to all we stand for,
And all we fight against.
To me, arguing that the taste of meat,
Makes the living conditions of these animals ok,
Is a kin to the argument that slavery is fine,
Because the work gets done quicker if you can use a whip.
It is a kin to the idea that **** isn't that bad,
Because it at least feels good for the ******
It is a kin to the comment that women are inferior,
Because men could beat them in a fist fight.
You will instantly think I am radical in my views,
You will try to brush them off as the rantings of a crazed vegan
Or you will stop reading
Because you really do not want to see what I have to say.
But I give you only the truth as i plainly see it.
If you must eat meat,
Hunt for it and **** it yourself,
Let it live a real life first,
And respect that for you to eat,
It has died.
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 5:34 PM UTC
A querulous cry
from my peckish feline
failed to rouse me from sleep:
thus,
teeth entangled in the meat of my palm,
this hideous beast
bucked conventional wisdom in
deciding to bite a hand
to prompt a feeding.
Concurrently
I am considering the adage
of there being more than one way
to skin a cat.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 7:32 PM UTC
✿⊰✲⊱✿
Me and Paul waltz upon the marble
floor with others. Each one of us gliding
swirls of many colours, becoming rainbows
that float in sync with the pianos, the flutes,
the drums, the harps. The aurelian tunes fills me
with nothing but joy, a smile never leaving my
face as my skirts swirl - my body moving
with the soul of the sound. Cleansing, emotive
yet free. When the music is done, we all
clap, cheer and bow.
✿⊰✲⊱✿
"And you said that you were not a dancer!"
Queen Sue beams and embraces me like a sister
which I return. After, I embrace both Kim
and Yidna.
"I never said I couldn't dance," I tease. "I just
said I didn't."
"Well, everyone can contest that!" Paul laughs.
"I suppose you're right."
"Just to confirm, Paul," Kim asks him. "All
the shipments were successful in delivery?"
He nods. "It was a smart move
for everyone to send the gifts to me because I
managed to keep it all down to five ships.
So we didn't overcrowd her harbours. From
what I hear, Donna was quite overwhelmed by
it all. Everyone sent more that four crates of
gifts each."
"I do hope she enjoyed the anthologies I gave her!"
Yidna beams.
✿⊰✲⊱✿
"I have no doubt she will," I chuckle. "So, is
it just me or does all that dancing have us peckish?"
"It's just you , I'm sure. I really hope you didn't starve
yourself to make room for all the food again."
"No!" I say.
"Yes, our Sweet Queen did!" Ainhara pipes up
as I playfully glare at her.
"Traitor!" I huff as my handmaids giggle and
Paul snickers.
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 6:14 PM UTC
England eats Her shoes.
The Royal Be-dazzler was insane,
so these shoes were extraordinary birds.
The pair assembled their Royal Nest
in a vault. Inside a laser cocoon.
A Might peckish..
England eats
Her shoes.
In Japan, tsunami lack the dexterity to avoid densely populated areas;
but dolphins are delicious.
The cherry blossoms are giddy pink.
And Zen
Koi.
Ripples in a pond decapitate the moon.
In Japan, the Future was Yesterday;
So their robots have emotions -
They cry themselves to sleep
at night.... in the middle
of the Sea.
They cry themselves to sleep at night.... in the middle of the Sea.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 8:10 PM UTC
Feeling peckish?
Reach into me
Indulge yourself!
Don't worry about your diet!!
Gorge it all lovely food!
Eat yum! yum! yum!
©Jacqui Slade
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 3:29 PM UTC
the cicada's have begun to emerge
after seventeen long years as a dormant miner
they arise, pushing through seveteen years of dust
and compounded muclch, breaking out into a brave new world
and for seventy two hours, if they are lucky
they seek to mate, to consumate to extend their species
some become garish decorations on truck windscreens
some become exhibits in a small boys jam jar zoo
some become waylaid and sing their cacophonial opus
on barren concrete patio's
some become Sunday dinners to peckish nestlings
some succeed gloriously, then die happy
some don't...succeed...and die wondering
but apparently seventeen years ago...
a lot succeded...
if the booming base opera being performed
is a gauge of the primeval drive of the cicada
it is summer eve in the burbs
and the living is..... noisy....
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 8:22 AM UTC
but so askance the two eyes,
the brows so gliding into
a weaving of sorrow -
there she was, readily to be painted
for a caricature portrait at
the congregation of artists
at Trafalgar Sq.,
for something being spotted
as over-blossomed,
but then the economics kicked
in, and the dream died,
back to square one...
but that single instance of her
worried brows and the mournful
droop in her eyes
as if readied for the Monsoon...
but forgetting the inflammatory
juicing of her genitalia...
what an oddity to see and thus
describe the counteractive ingredients
of what constitutes a human body
in egg-like-wholeness... chicken's
nibble cluck and peckish pluck of the
constant agreed nod for being a factory
of eggs and a slaughter-meat.
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 7:28 PM UTC
Nobody likes me now
I don't care
Everybody hates me now
They've got some nerve..
Everybody's looking down
I'm feeling cyclical
What should I do about
These ********
Pariah
Sin in over abundance
Liar
Reality could never change
Despondent
Sacrifice util it's incumbent
Pariah
You love the fair exchange
Gauge the metric
By which you judge
The proper usage
Harsher than the light on my keyboard
Often peckish
Killing skeptics
The proper usage
It all falls in the same vein
Forgiveness to a fault line
My god
All I've ever wanted was a new design
Hiding away in the suffering
Fudge the figure for the slumbering
Drab as they may come
Welcome to the whole **** phylum
Encroaching on the underlying theming
And everyone seems confused
I took the world
In my hands
Looked down
Then up again
They all were screaming
About the meaning
Under god
Claiming that they were free men
No resolve left, I stopped listening
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 4:29 AM UTC
In this heat-tricked mirror, he resembles
the crafty miles that creep up with vital intent.
They toe his wavy lines.
A pair of vultures glide by with lean routes,
marking bold exes against the golden bearded
grain of an age-stained chart.
Sudden runs to foul-scented organs blur:
A strong swoop followed by the fleshy balance on
thresholds of life's tipping.
He discovers with scaled-down calculus,
our blue-vaulted distances, still moist but listing,
travel in closed cycles.
It can't be defeated, this curse, lifting
ungainly loads while his broad back is pushed against
walls of jaundiced fingers.
Tens of peckish tips, wait for their victuals.
They smell his thinning blood buried in the gusty
legends of cornered maps.
Aug 29, 2010
Aug 29, 2010 at 8:15 AM UTC
From the peckish flow of pollen perusing in the air, that irrevocably makes my reoccurring allergies flame up, permitting my nose to looking like a cherry tomato.
From the awakening of blossoms omitting the sweet smelling fervor of my senses. From the warmth of the weather making my heart feel festive and splendid enlightening my dreams, my thoughts, and my aspirations molding me in to a blooming, arcadian blossom.
From the dandy breeze making my hair go in all sorts of directions.
From the waves of all these winsome works of nature renewing as a sign of “new life.”
From the carelessness of our being, because what comes out of a cold, tepid, bleak winter is none another than the effulgent, heavenly, lush aura within us.
From the amicable walks and chats with open – minded acquaintances and the urgency to thrive in these unpredictable months coming.
From the change from hot, crisp coffee and lattes to the soothing, teeming tones of tea.
Spring is here,
Spring is awakened.
And so am I.
- m.d.
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 1:47 AM UTC
lizards have been had/
lost in a rush;
palpitative mess
with feet
drenched in leaving,
kept in binding.
dark as sirens
muffled, once or twice
washed up on the shore
with peckish reptiles,
and escape was
an escape, to scurry
was reasonable
through the blue
and green fields of
demeanor
innovation seldom left
piles, mountains off the coast.
Mar 5, 2012
Mar 5, 2012 at 4:31 PM UTC
Let me begin by saying
"I was a twin"
That's right was
I ate it in the womb.
Now it's not all doom and gloom
I had other siblings
But, one could say, that,
before birth I was a
murderer.
The evil twin.
Or, just peckish
Lecter had nothing on me!
Now, yes I did consume
my twin, but in my defence
(And my chagrin)
One of us had to win.
Imagine looking at a
being, your doppelgänger
from the room of the womb.
There wasn't enough elbow room
(or legroom)
for that matter
So, to my mater I apologise
that I cannibalised
myself.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 8:24 PM UTC
I met Mike while standing on a peer
Plucking up food when people got near
He wandered up to where i sat
A portly belly made him seem fat
I gave him some leftover bread
Which I brought for the pigeons I had recently fed.
Mike seemed stunned, reaching over
He couldn't grasp it so I brought my hand lower
Peckish, he ate
From my palm, which had become a makeshift plate
Full, he sauntered down the path
To an adolescent boy toying with wrath
Mike, with his stomach full
Couldn't resist the young man's pull
Reached out for the food in the boy's hand
Not knowing the act had been planned
Mike flew off and quickly imploded
The food, within, had alka-seltzer loaded
This is what happens when life gets dull
Young boys blow up my new pet seagull
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 2:39 PM UTC
Melting snow,
Cool breeze,
Crowded crows diving in a row,
Return of the unfriendly bees,
Colorful rainbow in the sky,
And the strange songs of the talkative parrot;
These are signs that Spring is around the corner.
Again, she has defeated Queen Winter,
With that incredible show in the parking lot.
She is now wearing the crown and three ostentatious rubies;
Oh my golly! She can also poise better than all of the beauties
Gathered during the Ms. Universe beauty pageant.
Sigh of Lent,
Palm Sunday,
Cheerful children at play,
Green gardens decorated with confetti,
Happy humming birds flying high,
And the young grand-mothers in bikini;
These are hints that the celebration
Will commence early this spring.
One duck is already being trailed by an offspring,
Meanwhile, the zebras are being chased by one peckish lion,
Which can no longer run like a supersonic train.
Amidst all of that, somebody is going to have fun.
Copyright© March 2009, Hebert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of many poetry books:
“Sparkles of Love and Etincelles de l’Amour”
“Mounts And Valleys of Love”
Mar 14, 2025
Mar 14, 2025 at 12:06 AM UTC
Becky knew Eli ha taken another wife
leaving her alone on the sprawling
farm, Eli Jr. doing most of the chores,
selling **** at the crossroads &
trying to **** his sister, Becky Junior,
who was too young & clueless for him
to get very far & she loathed the aroma
of **** Eli's youngest Joshua already
evincing signs of effeminacy, Becky
attributing it to Eli's long absences; she'd
conjured in her head her wayward spouse
drinking & reveling with naked women,
rock star groupies and movie strumpets;
having flown over to see for herself, she
knew she was right. Hearing Eli had
married again brought an inexplicable
sense of relief, & taking up her needle
work, Becky sat in the porch rocker
waiting for her two oldest to show up
for supper. Becky Junior stuck doing
Eli's chores while he ***** little Emma
from the next farm over; I'll not be
gettin' ina heaven, Eli Simple! the girl
scolded. Eli Jr, grinned, 'English Heaven,'
he said, 'That's where my father is.'
the girl's face paled & her pink mouth
swung open, "That rightly be hell!
I seen the little lit-up boxes they all
be talking to now. Some's got wires
comin' right out they head, like men
from Mars..." Emma was talking while
Junior rolled a blunt with a corn husk.
Men from Mars & little boxes - u've
got some imagination, missy, he said,
blowing the smoke at her; coming
beside him, they lit up the barn with
the pungent odor of Jr.'s Homegrown.
It's them English, She railed, Turnin'
theyselves into robots! Shut up, he said
at last, My dad throws paint on canvas
& he's good at it too, so I don't need...
feeling the vibration in his pocket, he
knew he to take the call. Here, smoke.
I've gotta go take a *** He went out &
Emma lay back smoking contentedly,
giving herself the chills with thoughts
of evil English robots all connected by
wires. Figuring she'd keep, Junior went
down to the crossroad & didn't get back
until after sundown. Emma was gone,
but left a note scrawled on notebook
paper: 'I went home to supper emma'.
Feeling peckish himself, he picked up
the fat roach she'd left & lit it with a
kitchen match, smoking as he walked.
Nov 30, 2018
Nov 30, 2018 at 2:16 AM UTC
peckish
for affection
parched
with an acrid aftertaste
of lost
lust
which would not soothe aches
of an empty
heart
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 7:02 PM UTC
Blessed are you who know hungry.
Blessed are you who know thirsty.
Blessed are you who know both
hollow and empty.
I'm not talking to you peckish.
I'm talking to you who are conscious
of just how long it's been
since your last real meal.
Blessed are you when you pass up
on the offer of a fast food snack.
Blessed are you when you don't make do
with leftover scraps.
Jesus says:
Blessed are you who know your true need,
you who know where to fully feed.
Blessed are you who look to me,
- for I am the true life-giving manna,
sent down by your faithful Father-Provider.
I am the fresh-bread of eternal life.
Whoever comes to me -
be ready with a butter knife.
For you will never
go hungry.
Jul 21, 2024
Jul 21, 2024 at 2:03 AM UTC
I've always been a bird,
Trapped in my little cage.
It's dark and cramped in here,
It feels as though I'm suffocating
I watch the free birds from
Behind my metal bars.
I dream of the day my capturers
Set me free.
The day I may spread my wings.
The day I may fly with the wild ones.
I have the power to break out,
But I'm afraid of the consequences.
All my life I've been told how to live.
To sit and be a nice bird.
I'm getting restless.
I'm getting peckish.
I want to break out,
I have the power.
But I'm so afraid that
My wings won't work anymore,
From the lack of experience.
I'm so afraid that the wild birds
Won't see me as their own.
I don't know how to fit in.
This, my capturers have not taught,
Only how to sit and be a nice bird.
Do what I'm told, what is expected of me.
Well I'm getting peckish.
I want to fly.
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 1:00 PM UTC
i fear the day that the sky turns dark red.
when chocolate covered strawberries taunt me.
and when dagger-sharp arrows fall overhead.
these are the sure tell signs that you must flee.
you must fear St. V, for he is peckish,
famished and preying for those lonely hearts.
he will seek you out and offer a kiss
and with eyes closed, aim at you with his darts.
you must not trust this pink and lovely day.
no matter the roses or the love notes,
or the sweet grand gestures and what they say.
St. V will trick you and slash through your throat.
So when that dreadful love-filled day rolls in,
go find that cherub babe, and slaughter him.
Jul 22, 2025
Jul 22, 2025 at 9:45 PM UTC
Among bowing people
Some have their heads down
In the silent transience
Of tunneled sound
From the listeners, the caprice comes out
From Hakagawa bows to cognizant thinking
There's more to life than what meets the eye
There's more to life that's buried under the soil
Free from eternal toil
The ghost is a part of planetary motion
Some of our ancestors' were peckish for the universally jejune
Apparently, they went so far as to leave civilization to understand their place on earth
The human race is like a band running out of inspiration
Jul 14, 2019
Jul 14, 2019 at 7:45 PM UTC
Thoughts trickle down
The slanted jaw
Thick and strong
Eyes dim and shallow
Seeking a remembrance
Of yesterday's rain
Lips thin as paper
Chewed in distress
Down to a soft pink inflammation
When did I forget?
Touching and feeling
Even the familiar crime of regret
The song "Mary did you know?"
Becoming a creature comfort
Invoking a religious tether of tension
His love, not mine
The passion alone
Is sacred
I choose
Loneliness
To spite his' light
For life is black
Darker and colder
Than the moon
Dec 16, 2017
Dec 16, 2017 at 10:51 PM UTC
Floating around the shores of a beach, whilst being all out to sea
I’ve been drifting about, the days are becoming so long
Nobody told me, it could so easily, happen to me
It’s not that it’s bad, I’ve done nothing wrong
It’s just time, as I knew it, seems to have skipped a beat
A month became a year, like time decided not to catch up and meet
Nowhere to sleep, little to eat, only new wayward floaters to greet
Can you see me or do you choose not to?
Acknowledge me, don’t look straight through me
I’m a human with a heart, if it were you, I’d ask about you
Like, how did you get here, how are you going, what’s your view
On political matters, religious stuff, world concerns, that you see
Put down ya phone, look into their eyes, talk to someone anew
Can’t find a job, most boss’s don’t like me, that’s how it seems
Can’t sing a tune or get the right pitch, just listen, that’s what it means
Living by the seashore, breeze in my face, no windows, in diss free place
Be careful who you trust, they’ll steal every dime, it’s a **** rat race
Friendly folk, pass on by, throw you a penny, ‘cause ya down on your luck
Some girls get down on their knees, handle da merchandise, then **** for a buck
Now quite peckish, haven’t eaten for days, down on one knee, oh ****
Can you see me or do you choose not to?
Acknowledge me, don’t look straight through me
I’m a human with a heart, if it were you, I’d ask about you
How did you get here, how are you going, what’s your view
On political matters, religious stuff, world concerns, that you see
Put down ya phone, look into the eyes, talk to someone anew
She’ll be right mate, but every next day, I’m still looking for a place to lay
Under a bush, upon a park bench, those **** insects, are having a field day
I’ve had enough, I got the courage, dialed the number, to get me out of here
Up pulled a Combi Van, with a smile on her face, as she wiped away a tear
Silence all the way home, just a nod or two, I'd gaze at her, the way ya do
At night, laying in bed, thoughts rushing in my head, most are true
In the morning, staring at a mirror, I finally saw the boy that my dear mom, once knew.
Dec 17, 2019
Dec 17, 2019 at 9:27 PM UTC
Is a seeds first stem stopped by visions of a stump?
like a skater sent face skidding by a bump
had I not heard of a camel and his ****
I'd think think dunes to be the doom of all
double dog dared I'm here doing the undareable
the other kids deemed it too daft
I deemed all else dull i'm apt
when they come to split paths they set up camp
I tried to walk a path and ended feeling cramped
forget about your human laws and ideologies
I never take a pause exist outside of all chronology
don't be mad at your alarm clock when you're the one that set it
time is ticking and they sleep through every second
or up all night with cold feet feeling peckish
I want the meat the antlers and fur coat
failure means to fuse in to the dirt slow
If it's good enough for seeds then it's good enough for me
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 4:49 AM UTC