Opening line from "Highway Five Love Poem" by Ruth L. Schwartz
This is a love poem for all the tomatoes
I squished to make our Date-Night spaghetti.
Our love, like the pasta, was shiny. So the story goes.
We sit at our table, between us a rose
Red as the marinara I chose. (He let me).
This is a love poem for all our tomatoes.
We watch the steam, which the mouth quickly blows
Away (like the wind and those petals the day he met me).
Our love, like the pasta, was sticky. So the story goes.
We sip our red wine. Chianti, it has a good nose.
(In the morning, do you think he will regret me?)
This is a love poem. For all our tomatoes
Are gone, just as the wine hides grapes squished by toes
in authentic California vineyards. (You get me?)
Our love, like the pasta, was steamy. So the story goes.
We finish our meal with gestures the other knows.
(I wonder if he'll someday forget me.)
This isn't a love poem for all our tomatoes.
Our love, like our pasta, was al dente. So our story goes.
Thank you for this bounty, God
that you give to me
for grain that grows within the field
and fruit upon the tree
Thank you for the little seeds
that in the spring are sown
and with your gifts of sun and rain
have through the summer grown
Thank you for the farmers, Lord
and bless them for their toil
as now they gather in the fall
this bounty from your soil
This was inspired by Brian Strands' Harvest Hymn Contest, which I unfortunately missed
but I wanted to share it with you today and dedicate it to Brian for the inspiration and
support he gives to us here at the Soup. RG
They ask me why I’m so happy
Asking me, if I just won a prize
I replied, well I reckon I did
Today is a wonderful surprise
When you have a past like mine
My today is always bright
There is no better feeling on earth
Than the joy of doing right
I may be an old man on a cane
My heart is skipping along
I learned to embrace the meaning
Life is a beautiful song
True life has its ups and downs
There’ll be forks in the road
With a smile I’ll stop for a while
Help you with your load
I had me a bag of popcorn today
It tasted exceptionally good
In fact, I will go as far as to say
Better then it probably should
For years, I had a guard in the pen
Popped him a bag each night
Then he would simply throw it away
His twisted little delight
He knew, it was those little things
Ate at our heart and soul
Movie with the wife Friday night
Popcorn in the bowl
I had a bag of popcorn today
Wife sitting at my side
I had a smile, which lasted awhile
One I could not hide
They ask me why I’m so happy
Asking me, if I won a prize
I replied, I reckon I did
Today is a wonderful surprise
For some reason today I was thinking about C.O. Talbert and
how he would pop a bag of popcorn even though he didn't eat
popcorn. He did it just because he knew it would make everyone
want some. I always felt sorry for him. His life must have been
very disappointing. The moral here: when you learn to appreciate
the little things in life your popcorn will taste a whole lot better.
No where near a force of nature.
Challenging the things that are not for sure.
Building what we can survive.
A small measurement when we strive.
Lessons when it comes to strength.
Multiplying the time found in length.
Stop and learn the sound of weakness.
Hard to find when one is restless.
Improving in a mental task.
The answers are found when we ask.
Stamina is needed between me and you.
To perform bravely in all we do.
Losing the ability to rump for long.
You're out of shape comes in way too wrong.
The idea is to learn when ideas seem to fail.
The wrong action is to bail.
Thinking, thinking what could it be.
Will not solve the problem between you and me.
Practice is the best energy.
Memorize it and stamina will come naturally.
Be it known as convenience food, junk food or munchies;
whether spicy, melt-in-your-mouth soft, or crunchy,
food, inglorious food, seduces with ease
and ensnares with the emptiest of calories.
Disguised as a comfort food comes macaroni
with creamy Alfredo and kin, Fettucini,
To not be outdone, spaghetti entices
with large fattening meatballs and sauce rich in spices.
“Deep fried” knows our weakness for fat, which gives pleasure
and saturates fast foods, it seems, in great measure:
KFC (finger-licking), batter-fried fishes
and chicken fried steaks -high cholesterol dishes.
Even fruits will attack with enjoyment unhealthy
as tarts, pies or pastries. That apple is stealthy!
Veggies can also be treacherous things
in guise of corn fritters and gold onion rings.
Too much of a good thing is pizza (so cunning,
so meaty, so cheesy), which no one is shunning.
The taco, burrito, and big burger too
in great numbers descend on us. What can we do?
Those delectable luscious desserts that we eat
have only to sit there; we cannot retreat!
Candies and chocolate, our decadent sin,
sweetly defeat us. We simply give in.
Ice cream, a smooth foe, knows when we are blue.
On a cone or a spoon, it drips, waiting for you.
As a milkshake, a frosty, a sundae or float,
or between split bananas, it sure floats MY boat!
Buttered popcorn is one salty foe, and we love it!
The hot dog implores in our mouths that we shove it.
Baked bread, so alluring, entraps with its scent,
which wafts through the air as if heaven sent!
The standards of junk food -America’s pride -
crisp bacon and nachos, chips and foods fried,
invade our malls’ food courts and lurk high and low.
Their smells overwhelm us wherever we go!
We might try but we can’t make our junk food desist.
for only the health nuts can dare to resist.
In the war with inglorious food I adore,
I say, Bring it on! Here’s my plate; I want more.
For the The Synathroesmic Cat Contest Poetry contest of Suzanne Delaney
*So now you can all know why I try to get to the gym a lot. hahaha
When I go out to dinner,
I do not want to share.
I don’t care what is on your plate;
I don’t want to compare.
I scan the menu up and down
And then make my selection.
When it arrives, it’s meant for me
And not for your inspection.
“You want to taste my fish?” I’m asked.
Some people never learn;
For then the expectation is
To taste mine in return.
And so the answer’s always No!
Yet comments never cease.
“Your fries look really good!” They are,
So let me eat in peace!
Each morsel on my dish is mine
And I intend to finish.
Perhaps my attitude will make
Your thoughts of me diminish.
I’m sorry if that is the case –
Dessert I’ll split just fine;
But when the meal’s delivered –
You eat yours and I’ll eat mine!
It bounced off the truck
And then rolled down the highway
How 'bout them apples
When Jonathan McIntosh
Won the spelling bee
Apple of my eye
Jenny had the sweetest smile
For another guy
Right down to the core
When that apple crossed the plate
An infield dribble
Just one little hole
In that shiny red apple
Just one little worm
Oh, nicker. Oh, nacker.
I broke my poor cracker
While putting it in my soup.
I just wanted a nibble,
But the soup had to quibble,
And thus all my plans turned to poop.
So now I'm here sittin'
A poor man quite smitten
With no other crackers to spare,
On soup that's unlawful,
So twisted and awful,
That it kills with no thought and no care.
Why can't it relate,
And learn not to hate,
My crunchy, crisp wafers of bread,
It would have much more fun
Not to mention for one,
My crackers won't all end up dead.
I suppose it’s too much
To ask soup for such
A commitment to love other food.
But till its attitude mends,
And it learns to make friends,
I believe that my crackers are screwed.
Nightmares tore her sleep with unseen teeth.
Her small thin legs in constant cramp from dream running.
She was only a child, but not the only child,
beside her, across a gap of oaken floor, in a matching bed I slept.
Whimpering brought me near,"Tell me good things," she'd say.
"Make me sweet dreams." And I would snuggle her close.
"Warm, small, cuddly kittens," I'd chant
and "chocolate bunnies to chomp."
The memories long gone, linger on.
I remember her wet cheeks
and sheets of woe night after night,
until the wee girl began to grow,
to shield with the only things she knew food,
with food for thought and form sated
sleep came easier.
She grew through the nightmare of longing
our home, she grew to and past me
little mother, big mother,
she sang the songs of love to dolls,
to kittens, to stray dust-motes
Too sweet to linger in the lost land
where battles must be found and fought.
Too dear to go through life alone,
need...garnered, family formed
upon the rack of sustenance
and the twist of genetic curdling's
she blooms still.
Barricaded at intervals from the nightmares,
cramped with too large a soul in too fragile
a form, sister mine, friend of all.....
You are far away now
Off in fields of gold
Dappled with evenings hot velvety light
90 degrees of separation has dulled the sword
eased the pain
The grasshoppers chirp in unison to your labors but they no longer ache in your solar plexus
What sweet sorrow is loss and gain
I now walk down the very paths I have always so longed for
the dark rich peat paths of happiness
contentment oozes from these fingertips as I write and I wonder if happiness is poetry
Or does it preclude it all together
The night sky fills with stars
The stars fill with fire flies that burst out of them like infinitesimal lightning bolts
jettisoned to my soul
he and I chase storms on decks swirled in smoke
We banter and bay at one another
you are in a field of gold somewhere
a river bed
The smell of the wet earth of shore beneath you reaches me… but momentarily
dismissed as the ash of the bonfire of a week ago fire or the grill of last night’s
unbelievably tasty ribs he concocted from air for me and me alone
but then we shared with so many
Lingers on my lip tips…the bottom edge
I kiss him and mean it with all I am
Super beings are we
and our colors wash
upon the canvas of my life
melding into one great magnificent us
Spectacular are we
the creatures who so love life
we give our only begotten selves to each other
and never ever forsake