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Sonnet Food Poems | Sonnet Poems About Food

These Sonnet Food poems are examples of Sonnet poems about Food. These are the best examples of Sonnet Food poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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The Bucket in the Sky

Oh, take me to the bucket in the sky,
where smells of fast food cooking tantalize -
a poultry paradise where no birds fly,
but come instead with biscuits, slaw, or fries . . .
where mashed potatoes may not be homemade,
but people seem to like them anyway.
They scarf them down with coke or lemonade
or mugs of root beer sometimes if they stay,
for you can order in or carry out.
You get your pick of many things to eat.
And if you don't  like breasts, no need to pout!
Just thank the Colonel. Now they've got REAL meat,
for beef and chicken reign in harmony
since A & W met K.F.C.!

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Angels of Destiny

Angels of destiny, sunk in empty eyes so clear,
Angels of destiny, every day your fate so near.
Seldom has your little face been graced with a smile
Nothing strikes you funny as you search the garbage pile.

These angels are babies, little babes without a bed.
Every day their hands held out for just one piece of bread.
Dreams of hoping something, anything would be more fare
Praying maybe someone, anyone might care.

Poor poor angels I would love to give much more,
But I'm too busy keeping up with the guy next door.
I wish he hadn’t bought that new boat down at the bay,
Now I'll have to save to buy a bigger one some day

Angels of destiny sentenced to a life of fears,
Angels of destiny, I will just leave you my tears.

Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
Contest The Poet II
Gautami Phookan
Theme: Leave you my tears

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Pink and Grey Galahs

I see a pair of Pink and Greys
They fly on by my way
They seem to be so filled with health
To me they do have so much wealth

They're so majestic in the sky
As I see them flying by
And when they land upon a branch
It really puts me in a trance

Trays of seed I have for them
On which upon they land
Such a lovely sight to see
I could almost feed them from my hand

I love to see them feeding there
As the seed these two birds share

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Sonnet 18 Parody

Shall I compare thee to a winter’s day?
Thou art much more shrivelled and much more cold
Rough winds shake the withered leaves of today.
And your stomach hath too many a fold.

Sometimes too hot your sister shines,
And often is your grey complexion dimmed;
And you always smell like my uncle’s swine 
Except your upper lip is less well trimmed.

Thy eternal summer did long since fade
And lost possession of that fair thou ow'st;
And Satan brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives death to eyes.

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The sweet

Candy its yummy
It tastes so good
When it enters my tummy
I will love to give some to robin hood

You can get cavities 
But its worth eating
Cavities hurt so much you cant do activities
Then you start mistreating

Candy just melts slowly in mouth
Everytime you think about why it melts you get the chills
Then you think about heading to south
To go to Beverly hills

I've said this before
And now i'm going to explore

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My Father and the Staff of Life


How strangely life will turn around, reverse, then come again
I remember how he would tiptoe in, from a warm and downy bed
He’d  wink at me, then beckon me, while twinkling stars peeked in
In kitchen light, a bite to eat, a midnight snack, he said

I would pour the milk, and he would smile, then carefully tear the bread
The staff of life, a simple thing, these two small bowls of wheat
My Dad and I, the broken bread, with milk on top, or cream instead
A bit of sugar or honey dripped, to make it slightly sweet

Such a little thing, so comforting, and helped us both to sleep
And in my care, his dwindling  years…especially at the end
He was fading then, no appetite, few foods that he could eat
Soft bread I’d make, with milk poured in, would help us think of then

I’d sit upon his bed and talk, and help him spoon some in
The things in life turn inside out,  somehow come back again

For the Contest: Sponsored By Regina Riddle "Intimate Relationships"

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Potluck Dinner, 3

(Byrdcage Echo Sonnet)

I send you this request to be my guest
come waltz around the diner's hall with me
at potluck dinner planned by friends tonight,
where scents of ginger pie can spice your lust.
I promise you your palate’s true delight
when you behold my sister's flaky crust
Come sample seafood stuffed in chicken breast
and slather pie with ample hunks of brie,

an offer sure with not a hint of jest.
A dinner fraught with traps we can't foresee,
the hall will echo words of sated praise;
the pie you crave turns bitter as you chew
from lips of those whose eyes begin to glaze.
Its texture coats your tongue until you spew,
then sample seafood stuffed in chicken breast,
and slather pie with ample hunks of brie.

It’s packed with shiver-driven nutmeg zest.
The hostess, quick with cups of ginger tea
but pumpkin pie is not its taste intent.
I pound your back and push you out the door
for those in line who rush to catch the scent;
while I pretend you're one we must ignore.
I sample seafood stuffed in chicken breast
and slather pie with ample hunks of brie.

I send you this request to be my guest.
Come waltz around the diner's hall with me;
come sample seafood stuffed in chicken breast,
and slather pie with ample hunks 

Details | Sonnet | |

Tasted So Good

I ate some fried catfish and it tasted so good!
Just how good did that fried catfish taste?
It tasted so good it made a hound dog slap a bull dog.
That had to have been some mighty fine vittles.

I ate some fried chicken and it tasted so good!
Just how good did that fried chicken taste?
It tasted so good it made a wolf howl and a grizzly bear dance.
That had to have been some mighty fine vittles.

I ate some fried crawfish and it tasted so good!
Just how good did that fried crawfish taste?
It tasted so good it made an alligator turn a somersault.
That had to have been some mighty fine vittles.

I ate some fried rat and it tasted so bad!
I had to throw it all up in a brown paper bag.

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The Tranquil Picnic at Dusk

I’d love to be with you in a canoe
accompanied by summer’s softest breeze,
enjoying the verdant valley view
while drifting on a river lined with trees.

Ahead would be a peak that whisks the sky.
We’d look above us from our little boat
to where the eagle and the osprey fly
as in the quiet glow of dusk we’d float.

We’d dock on sand and find a cozy spot
to roast some hot dogs in our campfire’s heat
and spread the luscious picnic foods we’d brought;
then relishing tranquility, we'd eat!

Amid dark, silent pines, by fire's bright light,
we'd snuggle happily into the night.

For Carol Brown's "Picnic Time" Contest

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Feeding the Birds

My morning retirement ritual,
Provides breakfast to the birds on my street. 
Food for fowl, silencing bellies that growl,
Watching the many hundreds gather near,
Huddled together on branches they meet,
With a calm patience we’ve learned to revere.

Feeding the birds of every pedigree,
Flying things, all sizes, colors, and shapes.
Hungry beaks, vibrant feathers, sharp clawed feet,
Small Finches and Wrens, large Sparrows come round.
Harmoniously singing us awake,
Their only care: yummy seeds on the ground.

My morning retirement ritual,
Feeding the birds of every pedigree.

1)  Sonnet written in Anapestic Pentameter

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Reese's Pieces

Reese’s Pieces was ET’s only choice
And it’s loved by many children as well
And it was that candy that gave him voice
For Reese’s Pieces I’ll ring that cow bell

Reese’s peanut butter has its own taste
And Reese’s Pieces are easy to hold
And Hershey’s candies are never a waste
Instead of M & Ms Pieces are bold

Reese’s made the cups first pieces later
If its Reese’s it is peanut butter
We love it even the candy hater
Reese’s Pieces takes you from the gutter

If your life happens to be in pieces
Glue it together with Reese’s Pieces

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Dark Temptress

Near the lobby in the great room
We first make our rendezvous
A breathy trip up to my stateroom
And I am at last alone with you

I breathe your fragrant muskiness
As I tease off your tenuous cover
And reveal the lustrous duskiness 
Of your dark body to your lover

As your wrap falls to the floor
And in all your glory you disrobe
The hungry demon waits no more
And I encup your tempting globe

I cannot think what may transpire
Shall I regret today's caprice?
But I cannot vanquish my desire
And sweet passion will not cease

Deferred until tomorrow all guilt trips
And now, dark chocolate truffle... to my lips!

February 10, 2013

Inspired by Jon Cavanaugh's "Ode to Chocolate".

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Sweet pleasure

I slowly cut a corner off my prize
No cause to hurry, see I at this time
To savor, such a treat sees no despise
If one knows not this joy, that is a crime

The layers compliment this god-like cream
The smooth caress of chocolate is joy
The combination is much like a dream
My senses it so fully does employ

I do not need a house or any clothes
My mind is full of thoughts only to know
When next taste I the sweetness of my rose
But I would wait a hundred years of snow

If love is like this sweet patisserie,
I think my life consists of it and me.

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It is the laziest of all creatures, 
It could eat and eat filet all the day long. 
Investigative eyes is a feature, 
And it will sing to you its forlorn song. 

It will avoid you like the plague by day, 
Skulking, running, bounding, from room to room. 
By night it searches through the halls for its prey, 
The hunted will meet its impending doom. 

The whisper of whiskers against the door, 
Tip-toe, pitter-patter, sneakily creeps. 
All at once bounding across the floor, 
Whoosh goes the paw across the mouse hole deep.  

“Drat!” says the cat, missed the mark once again, 
Once more the mouse hunt will have to begin.

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Which Fruits in My Basket

When asked what in my basket I would take
of any kind of fruit; well, here’s the truth.
I much prefer my fruit in pie or cake,
or chocolate covered for my sweety tooth.

No apples, peaches, pears or plums for me.
I find bananas boring. Am I sick?
Of all the fruits that grow upon a tree,
there hardly is a one I'd want to pick.

A mango slithers like an eel; I gag!
And though papaya can be rather sweet,
exotic fruits of which the natives brag
are just “ok.” I’ll stay with my red meat.

Just melon, grapes or cherries in my basket
and can you make them seedless if I ask it?

By Andrea Dietrich For PD's November Poetry Contest

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It strikes one at will,
As one whose intent 
is to kill,
Causing rumbles and 
tumbles in the 
Making you rummage 
for solution down in 
the sack!

The causer of all 
kinds of ulcer
That entity 
accompanied with 
bitter pains
Which if untended 
lead it can to cancer
And from which there 
is loss and no gains!

The solution to be 
sought when it 
strikes is food
Whether large or 
small in quantity
So far as this giant 
can be tamed for 
By it, be it of high or 
low quality!

Hunger it is that is 
one life's equalities
To both with 
reputable and 

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Pie Eyed

The trees have pumpkin-pied themselves
they're dipped in orange butterscotch.
The squirrel's nests of pick-up sticks
hide acorns stores which plink-plop.

Below the apple trees bowed branches
mother harvests windfalls for pies.
Father takes a old buck down
for mincemeat pie, bye and bye. 

The corn field's full of children small
gathering ears for Dutch Corn pie.
A cider smell of cinnamon
reminds of crispy crusts on standby.

Mother's at her best this season
and all those pies-- why its the reason!

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The sentiment in the cinnamon stills

her hand. She's recalling eyes so like spice, 
softly piquant. Mmm, how they'd widened 'til

starbursts were all she could see. Once. Twice.

They had been rapacious. But what is love,

she thinks, but a delicious consummation

that never truly satisfies. Ground clove,

a dash of cardamom and sweet persuasion 

is stirred and stirred. It's an old recipe,

one as familiar as the noise he makes

when he devours something savory

or honeyed, sighs from him breaking.

When the cake cools, she'll steal a tiny bite

to wet so much more than her appetite. 


*Inspired by Debbie Guzzi?s haiku 15
**This is a contemporary sonnet

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In my kitchen

In my kitchen I do see
So many things that do please me
I love eating, cooking, cleaning
My kitchen it has so much meaning

In the kitchen so much joy I find
Beauty treatment comes to mind
And juice of lemon, oatmeal too
Diminishes all that rust for you

Then we have those cleaning things
Vinegar, Bi-Carb, much ease they bring
They do help me such a lot
When it comes to cleaning pots

Then we come to eating, Yum!
It's such a treat to my old Tum
Though sometimes cooking drives me mad
Sometimes it peeves me just a tad

Now I am off to do some shopping
And then return to do some mopping

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Happy Meal Plague

A “Big Mac attack” and “Have it your way”
are all past slogans from fast food places
for most Americans fast food will stay
because Big Macs and Whoppers feed faces

Americans love to eat on the go
we love pizza hamburgers and hot dogs
and the value meals never cost much dough
other countries may think we’re all just hogs

truth be told we need to eat to survive
Burger King and MacDonald’s does the job
some may think fast food as food at a dive
Long John Silver does have corn on the cob

right or wrong fast food will never leave us
until the day all Americans bust

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A rose is always the first one to die

A rose is always the first one to die
As love arrives, flip-flapping his wings,
Taking her to a fresh grave to lie,
Hidden amid hallowed tree’s rings.
Earth unrests with a slight touch,
Feathers and petals, red and white,
Mingle when Love leans to vouch,
Whirling around the burial site:
“Wave slowly, I see, I like, I take,
Your lips are cherries, your heart
Like the soft and most sweet cake,
I will feast and if my lips demand,
I will take my bow and with my art,
Take food from your soft hand.“

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The Masticator

Some folks like food that’s smooth to touch their lips; which does not come in chunks or crunchy sticks. They take their tea in leisurely small sips or eat ice cream with lots of tiny licks. I rarely ask for smoothies or for yogurt, for puddings or for bland and jiggling jello. I much prefer the entrees to dessert and something hearty over something mellow. To salty, crunchy foods I gravitate: popcorn and potato chips and nachos, and on my plate some food to masticate: pasta, pizza, burgers, fries or tacos. A large hot soup can soothe my appetite if served with lots of crackers I can BITE! For the Teenager Entertainment Poetry Contest

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Culinary Sonnet

Figs stuffed with prosciutto and mascarpone cheese,
A plate of bacon wrapped scallops and pineapple,
French onion soup is bound to please
Or garlic steamed mussels with which to grapple.
Artichoke hearts smothered in sherried cream,
Organic pears with sugar and cinnamon, butter sautéed,
Pork tenderloin medallions make a Demi-glaced dream
While crisped Lyonnaise potatoes are made.
Now, with a sip of Pouilly-Fuisse’,
Tastes flush the palate like a gourmet in concert.
A toast to good friends on this wonderful day,
As ice wine chills... to sip with dessert.
A plate of old fashioned bananas foster,
Perhaps in the morning, Eggs Benedict with lobster!?

Oct. 2, 2012 for Cyndi's Modern Sonnet Contest

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Crackers for Carrots

If carrots peeled for dipping, cut in strips
could keep their beta-carotene, yet taste
like crackers Ritz when placed upon my lips,
What bliss!  But they do not. Ah! - such a waste!

And if that low-fat yogurt which they're dipped in
Were luscious onion-flavored sour cream;
and if instead of water I sipped sin-
a frothy shake the flavor of my dream;
Oh, what nectar on my tongue that I would feel
if everything nutritious tasted sweet,
and dull or nasty foods could just taste real
like melted cheese, potatoes fried or meat.

If only what I hated tasted good,
I'd diet not, but eat all that I could!

Just a silly oldie from my dieting days!!!

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Your eyes drink the hues of the Shisha Lounge:
art on walls and art brewing over charcoal.
This coffee ceremony is on the fringe,
far from the pallid and staid. I’ve marveled

at these dear blends, how culture can transcend 
barriers and ignorance. We order too much.
Tibsy, zignie, timtimo.. injera bends 
to each spiced delicacy as our plates touch. 

Gone is this haven where pleasure was shared.
Still, I’ll bring you there. Scribe, man of integrity,
sit with me. Exhale poetry. Imbibe tribal air. 
Mine, this moment and mine, this memory

but that mystifying brew, that receptive floor,
the smoke refined by deep respect… each are yours.  

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Therefore beholding plays the farmer pale

Dried sand eclipsed over the Season’s fall, 
sullen rhyme sings singer-birds over scale,
the storm-dance sprays dust against broken wall,
To the hat-worn folks, sorrowed, narrates tale;
Done seasonal harvest with plaint-dried tears,
With diseased cattle shrunken skin to ribs,   
With cracked ground, hungry sad visage of fears,
With wasted limbs and pot-bellied in cribs.
keenly begs graceful charity for age,
Promising bags, from next seasons harvest,
To plough the ground below the lowered wage,
And to lock starving kids to empty breast.
Thus rewording he sows the seeds and play, 
Hoping golden grain’s harvest from his clay.
©Anees Rahman

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A life from Anger

Anger is something I grew up fearing
Mom and any other person in charge
today my eyes are no longer tearing
even though my stomach got somewhat large

eating the right food is so hard to do
since it seems so much stuff is bad for us
and these limbs of mine sometimes will not do
I get by walking and riding the bus

and my wife is right with me to the end
we both had our own bouts with some issues
but at the end she is my only friend
and we both have used many tissues

from a house of anger I started out
in my lifetime I hope world peace will sprout

Details | Sonnet | |

chicken's chicken soup

chicken soup for the chicken
when the egg starts to thicken
when the yoke's rollin' right
when the white's clear 'n' bright

when the roosters sittin' roostin'
when the hen's right for a'goosin'
when the coop's are all a'coupin'
when said rooster ain't a'droopin'

when the desire's too demandin'
an' all else is notwithstandin'
an' chicken's tongue's unbeaked to cluck
an' sip the soup of what the - heck

that's what makes the chicken flutter
an' Grand Ma don't cook it no better

...that's why the hen crossed the road

© Goode Guy 2014-02-19

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Cornish Sonnet

The huntsman took aim bringing it into line,
he pulled back the bow, a shot to the chest;
Not instantly dying he ran into a mine,
there on the hillside I saw him escape;
Majestic he stood in full view at his best
but for this beast today there'll be life's forsake. 

Into the cavity where gold could be found,
time was now called on this magnificent beast;
Surrounded by beauty in woods all around,
he was hauled to the castle where royals would dine
upon the cooked carcass for nobels to feast, 
the toothless hunter enjoyed this over swine.

The huntsman took aim bringing it into line,
Into the cavity where gold could be found.

Details | Sonnet | |

Potluck Dinner

(Echo Sonnet)

Come waltz around the diner's hall with me
where scents of ginger pie can spice your lust
when you behold my sister's flaky crust
and slather pie with ample hunks of brie.

A dinner fraught with traps we can't foresee;
the pie you crave turns bitter as you chew,
its texture coats your tongue until you spew
and slather pie with ample hunks of brie.

The hostess, quick with cups of ginger tea
will pound your back and push you out the door
while I pretend you're one we must ignore
and slather pie with ample hunks of brie.

Come waltz around the diner's hall with me
and slather pie with ample hunks of brie.