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Best Famous Food Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Food poems. This is a select list of the best famous Food poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Food poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of food poems.

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by A E Housman | |

On the Idle Hill of Summer

On the idle hill of summer,
Sleepy with the flow of streams, 
Far I hear the steady drummer
Drumming like a noise in dreams.
Far and near and low and louder On the roads of earth go by, Dear to friends and food for powder, Soldiers marching, all to die.
East and west on fields forgotten Bleach the bones of comrades slain, Lovely lads and dead and rotten; None that go return again.
Far the calling bugles hollo, High the screaming fife replies, Gay the files of scarlet follow: Woman bore me, I will rise.


by Philip Larkin | |

The Little Lives Of Earth And Form

 The little lives of earth and form,
Of finding food, and keeping warm,
 Are not like ours, and yet
A kinship lingers nonetheless:
We hanker for the homeliness
 Of den, and hole, and set.
And this identity we feel - Perhaps not right, perhaps not real - Will link us constantly; I see the rock, the clay, the chalk, The flattened grass, the swaying stalk, And it is you I see.


by Lew Welch | |

Taxi Suite (excerpt: 1. After Anacreon)

 When I drive cab
I am moved by strange whistles and wear a hat

When I drive cab
I am the hunter.
My prey leaps out from where it hid, beguiling me with gestures When I drive cab all may command me, yet I am in command of all who do When I drive cab I am guided by voices descending from the naked air When I drive cab A revelation of movement comes to me.
They wake now.
Now they want to work or look around.
Now they want drunkenness and heavy food.
Now they contrive to love.
When I drive cab I bring the sailor home from the sea.
In the back of my car he fingers the pelt of his maiden When I drive cab I watch for stragglers in the urban order of things.
When I drive cab I end the only lit and waitful things in miles of darkened houses


by Gerard Manley Hopkins | |

The Half-way House

 Love I was shewn upon the mountain-side
And bid to catch Him ere the dropp of day.
See, Love, I creep and Thou on wings dost ride: Love it is evening now and Thou away; Love, it grows darker here and Thou art above; Love, come down to me if Thy name be Love.
My national old Egyptian reed gave way; I took of vine a cross-barred rod or rood.
Then next I hungered: Love when here, they say, Or once or never took love's proper food; But I must yield the chase, or rest and eat.
- Peace and food cheered me where four rough ways meet.
Hear yet my paradox: Love, when all is given, To see Thee I must [see] Thee, to love, love; I must o'ertake Thee at once and under heaven If I shall overtake Thee at last above.
You have your wish; enter these walls, one said: He is with you in the breaking of the bread.


by Gerard Manley Hopkins | |

Andromeda

 Now Time's Andromeda on this rock rude,
With not her either beauty's equal or
Her injury's, looks off by both horns of shore,
Her flower, her piece of being, doomed dragon's food.
Time past she has been attempted and pursued By many blows and banes; but now hears roar A wilder beast from West than all were, more Rife in her wrongs, more lawless, and more lewd.
Her Perseus linger and leave her tó her extremes?— Pillowy air he treads a time and hangs His thoughts on her, forsaken that she seems, All while her patience, morselled into pangs, Mounts; then to alight disarming, no one dreams, With Gorgon's gear and barebill, thongs and fangs.


by William Henry Davies | |

In the Country

 This life is sweetest; in this wood 
I hear no children cry for food; 
I see no woman, white with care; 
No man, with muscled wasting here.
No doubt it is a selfish thing To fly from human suffering; No doubt he is a selfish man, Who shuns poor creatures, sad and wan.
But 'tis a wretched life to face Hunger in almost every place; Cursed with a hand that's empty, when The heart is full to help all men.
Can I admire the statue great, When living men starve at its feet! Can I admire the park's green tree, A roof for homeless misery!


by Stephen Vincent Benet | |

Dinner in a Quick Lunch Room

 Soup should be heralded with a mellow horn, 
Blowing clear notes of gold against the stars; 
Strange entrees with a jangle of glass bars 
Fantastically alive with subtle scorn; 
Fish, by a plopping, gurgling rush of waters, 
Clear, vibrant waters, beautifully austere; 
Roast, with a thunder of drums to stun the ear, 
A screaming fife, a voice from ancient slaughters! 

Over the salad let the woodwinds moan; 
Then the green silence of many watercresses; 
Dessert, a balalaika, strummed alone; 
Coffee, a slow, low singing no passion stresses; 
Such are my thoughts as -- clang! crash! bang! -- I brood 
And gorge the sticky mess these fools call food!


by Friedrich von Schiller | |

The Imitator

 Good from the good,--to the reason this is not hard of conception;
But the genius has power good from the bad to evoke.
'Tis the conceived alone, that thou, imitator, canst practise; Food the conceived never is, save to the mind that conceives.


by Henry Van Dyke | |

Jesus Thou Divine Companion

 Jesus, Thou divine Companion,
By Thy lowly human birth
Thou hast come to join the workers,
Burden bearers of the earth.
Thou, the Carpenter of Nazareth, Toiling for Thy daily food, By Thy patience and Thy courage, Thou hast taught us toil is good.
They who tread the path of labor Follow where Thy feet have trod; They who work without complaining Do the holy will of God.
Thou, the Peace that passeth knowledge, Dwellest in the daily strife; Thou, the Bread of heaven, broken In the sacrament of life.
Every task, however simple, Sets the soul that does it free; Every deed of love and kindness Done to man is done to Thee.
Jesus, Thou divine Companion, Help us all to do our best; Bless in our daily labor, Lead us to the Sabbath rest.


by Sharmagne Leland-St John | |

There Were Dry Red Days

 by Sharmagne Leland-St.
John There were dry red days Devoid of clouds Devoid of breeze Sound bruised My burning bones Dirt cracked my hands And caked my cheeks No buds on limbs of trees No birds on branches No hope of rain Scrawny chickens Kicked up dust Scratching for food That wasn't there In the stifling, stillness Of the scorched night We dreamt Of cool oases Tropical isles Emerald bays Not these dry red days


by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | |

TO THE HUSBANDMAN.

 SMOOTHLY and lightly the golden seed by the furrow is cover'd;

Yet will a deeper one, friend, cover thy bones at the last.
Joyously plough'd and sow'd! Here food all living is budding, E'en from the side of the tomb Hope will not vanish away.
1789.
*


by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | |

DISTICHS.

 CHORDS are touch'd by Apollo,--the death-laden 
bow, too, he bendeth;

While he the shepherdess charms, Python he lays 
in the dust.
WHAT is merciful censure? To make thy faults appear smaller? May be to veil them? No, no! O'er them to raise thee on high! DEMOCRATIC food soon cloys on the multitude's stomach; But I'll wager, ere long, other thou'lt give them instead.
WHAT in France has pass'd by, the Germans continue to practise, For the proudest of men flatters the people and fawns.
WHO is the happiest of men? He who values the merits of others, And in their pleasure takes joy, even as though 'twere his own.
NOT in the morning alone, not only at mid-day he charmeth; Even at setting, the sun is still the same glorious planet.


by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe | |

THE CRITIC.

 I HAD a fellow as my guest,
Not knowing he was such a pest,
And gave him just my usual fare;
He ate his fill of what was there,

And for desert my best things swallow'd,
Soon as his meal was o'er, what follow'd?
Led by the Deuce, to a neighbour he went,
And talk'd of my food to his heart's content:
"The soup might surely have had more spice,
The meat was ill-brown'd, and the wine wasn't nice.
" A thousand curses alight on his head! 'Tis a critic, I vow! Let the dog be struck dead! 1776.
*


by Li Bai | |

The Hard Road - 1 of 3

Pure wine costs, for the golden cup,

ten thousand coppers a flagon,

And a jade plate of dainty food calls for million coins.
I fling aside my chop-sticks and cup, I cannot eat nor drink.
.
.
I pull out my dagger, I peer four ways in vain.
I would cross the Yellow River, but ice chokes the ferry; I would climb the Tai-hang Mountains, but the sky is blind with snow.
.
I would sit and poise a fishing-pole, lazy by a brook -- But I suddenly dream of riding a boat, sailing for the sun.
.
.
Journeying is hard, Journeying is hard.
There are many turings -- Which am I to follow?.
.
.
I will mount a long wind some day and break the heavy waves And set my cloudy sail straight and bridge the deep, deep sea.


by Sir Philip Sidney | |

Sonnet LXXI: Who Will in Fairest Book

 Who will in fairest book of nature know
How virtue may best lodg'd in beauty be,
Let him but learn of love to read in thee,
Stella, those fair lines which true goodness show.
There shall he find all vices' overthrow, Not by rude force, but sweetest sovereignty Of reason, from whose light those night-birds fly; That inward sun in thine eyes shineth so.
And, not content to be perfection's heir Thyself, dost strive all minds that way to move, Who mark in thee what is in thee most fair.
So while thy beauty draws thy heart to love, As fast thy virtue bends that love to good: But "Ah," Desire still cries, "Give me some food!"


by Sir Philip Sidney | |

Astrophel and Stella: LXXI

 Who will in fairest book of nature know
How virtue may best lodg'd in beauty be,
Let him but learn of love to read in thee,
Stella, those fair lines which true goodness show.
There shall he find all vices' overthrow, Not by rude force, but sweetest sovereignty Of reason, from whose light those night-birds fly; That inward sun in thine eyes shineth so.
And, not content to be perfection's heir Thyself, dost strive all minds that way to move, Who mark in thee what is in thee most fair.
So while thy beauty draws thy heart to love, As fast thy virtue bends that love to good: But "Ah," Desire still cries, "Give me some food!"


by Sir Philip Sidney | |

Sonnet XXIX: Like Some Weak Lords

 Like some weak lords, neighbor'd by mighty kings, 
To keep themselves and their chief cities free, 
Do easily yield, that all their coasts may be 
Ready to store their camps of needful things: 

So Stella's heart finding what power Love brings, 
To keep itself in life and liberty, 
Doth willing grant, that in the frontiers he 
Use all to help his other conquerings: 

And thus her heart escapes, but thus her eyes 
Serve him with shot, her lips his heralds are; 
Her breasts his tents, legs his triumphal car; 

Her flesh his food, her skin his armor brave, 
And I, but for bacuse my prospect lies 
Upon that coast, am giv'n up for a slave.


by Ellis Parker Butler | |

A Question

 Whene’er I feed the barnyard folk
 My gentle soul is vexed;
My sensibilities are torn
 And I am sore perplexed.
The rooster so politely stands While waiting for his food, But when I feed him, what a change! He then is rough and rude.
He crowds his gentle wives aside Or pecks them on the head; Sometimes I think it would be best If he were never fed.
And so I often stand for hours Deciding which is right— To impolitely have enough, Or starve and be polite.


by Ellis Parker Butler | |

The Sheep

 The Sheep adorns the landscape rural
And is both singular and plural—
It gives grammarians the creeps
To hear one say, “A flock of sheeps.
” The Sheep is gentle, meek and mild, And led in herds by man or child— Being less savage than the rabbit, Sheep are gregarious by habit.
The Sheep grows wool and thus promotes The making of vests, pants and coats— Vests, pants and coats and woolen cloths Provide good food for hungry moths.
With vegetables added to The Sheep, we get our mutton stew— Experiments long since revealed The Sheep should first be killed and peeled.
Thus, with our debt to them so deep, All men should cry “Praise be for Sheep!”— And, if we happen to be shepherds, “Praise be they’re not as fierce as leopards!”


by Ellis Parker Butler | |

The Whale

 The Whale is found in seas and oceans,
Indulging there in fishlike motions,
But Science shows that Whales are mammals,
Like Jersey cows, and goats, and camels.
When undisturbed, the Whale will browse Like camels, goats, and Jersey cows, On food that satisfies its tongue, Thus making milk to feed its young.
Asking no costly hay and oats, Like camels, Jersey cows, and goats, The Whale, prolific milk producer, Should be our cheapest lactic juicer.
Our milk should all come from the sea, But who, I ask, would want to be— And here the proposition fails— The milkmaid to a herd of Whales?