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Famous Short Food Poems. Short Food Poetry by Famous Poets

Famous Short Food Poems. Short Food Poetry by Famous Poets. A collection of the all-time best Food short poems

See also: Best Famous Short Poems | Short Member Poems | Best Short Member Poems | Top 100 Famous Short Poems

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by Richard Crashaw

Divine Epigrams: On the Miracle of the Multiplied Loaves

 See here an easy feast that knows no wound,
That under hunger's teeth will needs be sound;
A subtle harvest of unbounded bread,
What would ye more? Here food itself is fed.


by Edward Lear

There was an old person of Putney

There was an old person of Putney,
Whose food was roast spiders and chutney,
Which he took with his tea, within sight of the sea,
That romantic old person of Putney.


by Emily Dickinson

Fame is a fickle food

 Fame is a fickle food
Upon a shifting plate
Whose table once a
Guest but not
The second time is set.
Whose crumbs the crows inspect And with ironic caw Flap past it to the Farmer's Corn -- Men eat of it and die.


by Emily Dickinson

I fit for them --

 I fit for them --
I seek the Dark
Till I am thorough fit.
The labor is a sober one With this sufficient sweet That abstinence of mine produce A purer food for them, if I succeed, If not I had The transport of the Aim --


by Emily Dickinson

I groped for him before I knew

 I groped for him before I knew
With solemn nameless need
All other bounty sudden chaff
For this foreshadowed Food
Which others taste and spurn and sneer --
Though I within suppose
That consecrated it could be
The only Food that grows


by Richard Brautigan

Karma Repair Kit: Items 1-4

  1.
Get enough food to eat, and eat it.
2.
Find a place to sleep where it is quiet, and sleep there.
3.
Reduce intellectual and emotional noise until you arrive at the silence of yourself, and listen to it.


by Adrian Green

Luna Lake Haiku

 New moon on the lake.
Your voice and the nightingale serenade springtime.
Full moon on the lake.
Your voice and the waterbirds celebrate summer.
Old moon on the lake.
Owls hunting autumnal food - your voice still singing.


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 Emily Dickinson

Undue Significance a starving man attaches

 Undue Significance a starving man attaches
To Food --
Far off -- He sighs -- and therefore -- Hopeless --
And therefore -- Good --

Partaken -- it relieves -- indeed --
But proves us
That Spices fly
In the Receipt -- It was the Distance --
Was Savory --


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 Robert Louis Stevenson

System

 Every night my prayers I say, 
And get my dinner every day; 
And every day that I've been good, 
I get an orange after food.
The child that is not clean and neat, With lots of toys and things to eat, He is a naughty child, I'm sure-- Or else his dear papa is poor.


by Walt Whitman

O Tan-faced Prairie Boy.

 O TAN-FACED prairie-boy! 
Before you came to camp, came many a welcome gift; 
Praises and presents came, and nourishing food—till at last, among the recruits, 
You came, taciturn, with nothing to give—we but look’d on each other, 
When lo! more than all the gifts of the world, you gave me.
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by Hart Crane

Fear

 The host, he says that all is well
And the fire-wood glow is bright;
The food has a warm and tempting smell,—
But on the window licks the night.
Pile on the logs.
.
.
Give me your hands, Friends! No,— it is not fright.
.
.
But hold me.
.
.
somewhere I heard demands.
.
.
And on the window licks the night.


by Eugene Field

Inscription for my little sons silver plate

 When thou dost eat from off this plate,
I charge thee be thou temperate;
Unto thine elders at the board
Do thou sweet reverence accord;
And, though to dignity inclined,
Unto the serving-folk be kind;
Be ever mindful of the poor,
Nor turn them hungry from the door;
And unto God, for health and food
And all that in thy life is good,
Give thou thy heart in gratitude.


by Vachel Lindsay

What the Miner in the Desert Said

 The moon's a brass-hooped water-keg,
A wondrous water-feast.
If I could climb the ridge and drink And give drink to my beast; If I could drain that keg, the flies Would not be biting so, My burning feet be spry again, My mule no longer slow.
And I could rise and dig for ore, And reach my fatherland, And not be food for ants and hawks And perish in the sand.


by Robert Graves

Id Love To Be A Fairys Child

 Children born of fairy stock
Never need for shirt or frock,
Never want for food or fire,
Always get their hearts desire:
Jingle pockets full of gold,
Marry when they're seven years old.
Every fairy child may keep Two ponies and ten sheep; All have houses, each his own, Built of brick or granite stone; They live on cherries, they run wild-- I'd love to be a Fairy's child.


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 Katherine Mansfield

A Few Rules for Beginners

 Babies must not eat the coal
And they must not make grimaces,
Nor in party dresses roll
And must never black their faces.
They must learn that pointing's rude, They must sit quite still at table, And must always eat the food Put before them--if they're able.
If they fall, they must not cry, Though it's known how painful this is; No--there's always Mother by Who will comfort them with kisses.


by Emily Dickinson

The Luxury to apprehend

 The Luxury to apprehend
The Luxury 'twould be
To look at Thee a single time
An Epicure of Me

In whatsoever Presence makes
Till for a further Food
I scarcely recollect to starve
So first am I supplied --

The Luxury to meditate
The Luxury it was
To banguet on thy Countenance
A Sumptuousness bestows

On plainer Days, whose Table far
As Certainty can see
Is laden with a single Crumb
The Consciousness of Thee.


by Marge Piercy

The Friend

 We sat across the table.
he said, cut off your hands.
they are always poking at things.
they might touch me.
I said yes.
Food grew cold on the table.
he said, burn your body.
it is not clean and smells like sex.
it rubs my mind sore.
I said yes.
I love you, I said.
That's very nice, he said I like to be loved, that makes me happy.
Have you cut off your hands yet?


by Adrienne Rich

Miracle Ice Cream

 Miracle's truck comes down the little avenue,
Scott Joplin ragtime strewn behind it like pearls,
and, yes, you can feel happy
with one piece of your heart.
Take what's still given: in a room's rich shadow a woman's breasts swinging lightly as she bends.
Early now the pearl of dusk dissolves.
Late, you sit weighing the evening news, fast-food miracles, ghostly revolutions, the rest of your heart.


by Emily Dickinson

A Word made Flesh is seldom

 A Word made Flesh is seldom
And tremblingly partook
Nor then perhaps reported
But have I not mistook
Each one of us has tasted
With ecstasies of stealth
The very food debated
To our specific strength --

A Word that breathes distinctly
Has not the power to die
Cohesive as the Spirit
It may expire if He --
"Made Flesh and dwelt among us"
Could condescension be
Like this consent of Language
This loved Philology.


by William Shakespeare

Under the Greenwood Tree

 Under the greenwood tree
Who loves to lie with me,
And turn his merry note
Unto the sweet bird's throat,
Come hither, come hither, come hither:
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.
Who doth ambition shun, And loves to live i' the sun, Seeking the food he eats, And pleas'd with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather.


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 Emily Dickinson

It would have starved a Gnat --

 It would have starved a Gnat --
To live so small as I --
And yet I was a living Child --
With Food's necessity

Upon me -- like a Claw --
I could no more remove
Than I could coax a Leech away --
Or make a Dragon -- move --

Not like the Gnat -- had I --
The privilege to fly
And seek a Dinner for myself --
How mightier He -- than I --

Nor like Himself -- the Art
Upon the Window Pane
To gad my little Being out --
And not begin -- again --


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