10 Best Famous Culinary Poems

Here is a collection of the top 10 all-time best famous Culinary poems. This is a select list of the best famous Culinary poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Culinary poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of culinary poems.

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Written by Ellis Parker Butler | Create an image from this poem

A Culinary Puzzle

 In our dainty little kitchen,
Where my aproned wife is queen
Over all the tin-pan people,
In a realm exceeding clean,
Oft I like to loiter, watching
While she mixes things for tea;
And she tasks me, slyly smiling,
“Now just guess what this will be!”

Hidden in a big blue apron,
Her dimpled arms laid bare,
And the love-smiles coyly mingling
With a housewife’s frown of care—
See her beat a golden batter,
Pausing but to ask of me,
As she adds a bit of butter,
“Now just guess what this will be!”

Then I bravely do my duty,
Guess it, “pudding,” “cake” or “pie,”
“Dumplings,” “waffles,” “bread” or “muffins;”
But no matter what I try,
This provoking witch just answers:
“Never mind, just wait and see!
But I think you should be able,
Dear, to guess what this will be.”

Little fraud! she never tells me
Until ’tis baked and browned—
And I think I know the reason
For her secrecy profound—
She herself with all her fine airs
And her books on cookery,
Could not answer, should I ask her,
“Dearest, what will that mess be?”

Written by William Topaz McGonagall | Create an image from this poem

The Hero of Rorkes Drift

 Twas at the camp of Rorke's Drift, and at tea-time,
And busily engaged in culinary operations was a private of the line;
But suddenly he paused, for he heard a clattering din,
When instantly two men on horseback drew rein beside him. 

"News from the front!" said one, "Awful news!" said the other,
"Of which, we are afraid, will put us to great bother,
For the black Zulus are coming, and for our blood doth thirst,"
"And the force is cut up to pieces!" shouted the first. 

"We're dead beat," said both, "but we've got to go on,"
And on they rode both, looking very woebegone;
Then Henry Hook put all thought of cooking out of his mind,
For he was surrounded with danger on every side he did find. 

He was a private of the South Wales Borderers, Henry Hook,
Also a brave soldier, and an hospital cook;
A soldier of the Queen, who was always ready to obey,
And willing to serve God by night and day. 

Then away to the Camp he ran, with his mind all in a shiver,
Shouting, "The force is cut up, sir, on the other side of the river!"
Which caused the officer in command with fear to quiver,
When Henry Hook the news to him did deliver. 

Then Henry Hook saluted, and immediately retired,
And with courage undaunted his soul was fired,
And the cry rang out wildly, "The Zulus are coming!"
Then the alarm drums were instantly set a-drumming. 

Then "Fall in! Fall in!" the commanders did cry,
And the men mustered out, ready to do and to die,
As British soldiers are always ready to do,
But, alas, on this occasion their numbers were but few. 

They were only eighty in number, that brave British band,
And brave Lieutenant Broomhead did them command;
He gave orders to erect barricades without delay,
"It's the only plan I can see, men, to drive four thousand savages away." 

Then the mealie bags and biscuit boxes were brought out,
And the breastwork was made quickly without fear or doubt,
And barely was it finished when some one cried in dismay,
"There's the Zulus coming just about twelve hundred yards away." 

Methinks I see the noble hero, Henry Hook,
Because like a destroying angel he did look,
As he stood at the hospital entrance defending the patients there,
Bayoneting the Zulus, while their cries rent the air,
As they strove hard the hospital to enter in,
But he murdered them in scores, and thought it no sin. 

In one of the hospital rooms was stationed Henry Hook,
And every inch a hero he did look,
Standing at his loophole he watched the Zulus come,
All shouting, and yelling, and at a quick run. 

On they came, a countless host of savages with a rush,
But the gallant little band soon did their courage crush,
But the cool man Henry Hook at his post began to fire,
And in a short time those maddened brutes were forced to retire. 

Still on came the savages into the barricade,
And still they were driven back, but undismayed.
Again they came into the barricade, yet they were driven back,
While darkness fell swift across the sun, dismal and black. 

Then into the hospital the savages forced their way,
And in a moment they set fire to it without dismay,
Then Henry Hook flew" to assist the patients in the ward,
And the fighting there was fearful and hard. 

With yell and shriek the Zulus rushed to the attack,
But for the sixth time they were driven back
By the brave British band, and Henry Hook,
Who was a brave soldier, surgeon, and hospital cook. 

And when Lord Chelmsford heard of the victory that day,
He sent for Henry Hook without delay,
And they took the private before the commander,
And with his braces down, and without his coat, in battle array grandeur. 

Then Lord Chelmsford said, "Henry Hook, give me your hand,
For your conduct to day has been hereoic and grand,
And without your assistance to-day we'd been at a loss,
And for your heroic behaviour you shall receive the Victoria Cross."
Written by Christopher Smart | Create an image from this poem

Wheres the Poker?

 The poker lost, poor Susan storm'd, 
And all the rites of rage perform'd; 
As scolding, crying, swearing, sweating, 
Abusing, fidgetting, and fretting. 
"Nothing but villany, and thieving; 
Good heavens! what a world we live in! 
If I don't find it in the morning, 
I'll surely give my master warning. 
He'd better far shut up his doors, 
Than keep such good for nothing whores; 
For wheresoe'er their trade they drive, 
We vartuous bodies cannot thrive." 
Well may poor Susan grunt and groan; 
Misfortunes never come alone, 
But tread each other's heels in throngs, 
For the next day she lost the tongs; 
The salt box, colander, and pot 
Soon shar'd the same untimely lot. 
In vain she vails and wages spent 
On new ones--for the new ones went. 
There'd been (she swore) some dev'l or witch in, 
To rob or plunder all the kitchen. 
One night she to her chamber crept 
(Where for a month she had not slept; 
Her master being, to her seeming, 
A better play fellow than dreaming). 
Curse on the author of these wrongs, 
In her own bed she found the tongs, 
(Hang Thomas for an idle joker!) 
In her own bed she found the poker, 
With the salt box, pepper box, and kettle, 
With all the culinary metal.-- 
Be warn'd, ye fair, by Susans crosses: 
Keep chaste and guard yourselves from losses; 
For if young girls delight in kissing, 
No wonder that the poker's missing.
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