Beetroot Poems | Examples

X1: Memory: Child-hood

The voices i have,
screaming
in the middle
of my dreams,
The xmas trees
mean
nothing
to me,
The spirit
is not here
No joy,
plastic plates
and the deli meats
and salads
we ordered.
The food,
was premium,
succulent
was the chicken
and turkey
and the ham and
beetroot,
but empty
of his
bellow laughs
and my mother's
complaining.
Sad as never sober
on xmas day
I wish
the whole
family
was here
together.

It's just an Adventure

looking back to when I was a lad
They said times were hard, They said things were bad.
Picking up tatties, the pulling of peas
Coming back home with scratched grimy knees.
Screwing the Beetroot, yes that is right
Removing the tops from morning till night.
You couldn't cut the tops off, that made them bleed
Keeping your eye out for the sharp stinging weed.
Finger nails were always full of mud
Scrubbing hands would do no good.
Summer break were still lots of fun
When working the fields were almost done.
We didn't have computers, four channels of TV
Top of the pops were the highlights for me.
Kicking the football out on the street
A clip around the ear from the bobby on the beat.
Looking back it wasn't that bad
Lots of fond memories when I was a lad.
Holidays were over it was back to the grind
Wondering what lessons the teachers had in mind.
I didn't mind maths and history was great
The adventures we made up me and my best mate.
Now that I'm older looking back realise
My whole life's been an adventure through this pair of eyes.

HARVEST FESTIVAL

Our summer crops are in and larders full
So we are now well stocked for winter’s worst
When we will face freezing Arctic attacks.
Our stock contains dried fruits, roots and nuts
Along with several sacks of grain to grind
To make the flour to bake the daily bread.

And we have pickled veg in pots galore.
Beetroot, onions, shredded red cabbage and
Several jars of yellow piccalilli.
We have some salted meat and some smoked fish.
We’ve flagons of cider from fermented pears -
Sufficient to keep us high for many years.
Once more we‘ll endure wild winter weather.

But now we must have Harvest Festival
To offer our thanks to Mother Nature
For the soil, sunshine and essential rain.
Now it's time to taste this season's cider.
Our summer crops are in and larders full.

the girl on the monkey bars

Never will she stop

beetroot chops

My daughter's Tenth time 

swinging across

Children behind waiting, 

their arms crossed in a strop

I call out and say, 

Being fair you are not

Then reaching quickly 

she climbed to the top

Pointing her finger toward

the near ice cream shop

I nod in agreement 

Both are smiling a lot 

My daughter runs over 

excited and hot

Roosters From Another Creek

Urban jungle roosters,
born-again scarecrow,
to untutored city eyes,
tawny pipit stonewall  nester,
jet black Inca dove bereft,
of dovetail on a croque monsieur,
idle bone grub crawl,
mother hen to sandy brown,
and velvet bill gazer,
from an nearby creak,
recent rural migrant now,
a tree house side kick,
chickadee a late date sitter,
on this air flock beaky natter,
or tweet between the  ice float,
edgy grey day species wield,
their sprightly ruffled  feathers,
as an orthopaedic surgeon,
and their spatula when  scraping,
rancid bark off windmill elm trees,
gastric bugle trenchermen ahoy,
while ogling a fellow common redpoll,
oh these tummy rumble diners,
will zoom in on every gourmet,
tangled wire mesh feeder station.
round and round they’ll  fly,
on zesty mission beetroot,
a cock-eyed scavenger‘s delight,
are they siblings of  a  noble  order?
white tale mountain bluebirds swopping,
habitat for granite boundary  habit,
off key off discordant choirboys,
six sided snow bird chorus,
ear splitter for tardy wakening,
they cheep religiously as if,
their only  valid  creed  was,
window squinting  prayer meets

Cover Story

The woman has no place to be put,
the man is restless; his feet are slipshod,
The child won't eat greens,
he prefers beetroot slices from a sickly can,

The family may once have been human,
now they have been reduced to cartoons,
caricatures tossed into a cardboard box
and left out on the curb in the rain.

Soon enough, but not right away,
a teenager discovers the disintegrating box,
he puts the woman in a safe warm place,
and waits until the night finds him alone.

The restless man and beetroot boy
float away along the gutter,
until they both fall into a drain.
Paper-thin alligators
chew on wet talk-bubbles.

In the woods behind the school,
soft **** magazines
are buried in shallow graves,
so that the priest will not find them.

A Pickle Party

All the Pickled produce gathered
At Branston Manor - if you please!
They entered via a staircase
Made of Jacob's Crackers and Cheese.

The Gherkin Girls and Chutney twins,
Who's names are Tom and Mango
Compete against the Beetroot Troupe
To make the taste buds Tango!

The Beetroot Troupe are not alone.
They have a wise old friend
Zingy Mr. Vinegar.
Always ready to defend. 

The Silverskins call upon
The Shallots acapella choir
To pack a punchy added flavour
In a pitch that can't go higher.

The sour Grapes sulk in the corner.
They apparently should not have come.
Only Pickles were invited.
It was not open to everyone.

The Eggs got pickled with too much drink.
They thought it would be fun
To gatecrash the party
Just to confuse everyone!

It was an event to be remembered.
But alas, though sad to say
The party ended abruptly.
For they were consumed that very day!


Written 18th August 2022
For the, "It's A Pickle Party Contest"
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose

Caught In the Act

I bought her a bunch of blue violets and roses of red
Pure romantic thoughts were going around in my head.

Thought I'd surprise her and went round to her back door
There she was with my best friend, sprawled out on the floor.

She saw me and screamed saying "it's not what you think"
I lost one of my gold earrings under the kitchen sink.

Her face was red as beetroot, my former friend too
We exchanged insults and the air then turned  blue.

Well I'm certainly no idiot and I have travelled worldwide
And it opened my eyes that she was taking me for a ride.

But there's one thing for sure, it killed my romantic mood
And you don't search for an earring when you're in the nude.



Written 8th February 2022. 

NOT FOR CONTEST.

The Ingredient Strikes Back

[Written with much love and bonhomie in
response to Milt’s Poem ‘Hearty Poetry Soup’]

                 *

Not so long ago in a land called Soup
A warlock gathered a talented group
These were the wordsmiths who writ all Soup Lore
But the warlock decided that they’d write no more 

For he had been born to be ‘Soup Laureate’
A role he’d hold longer the more folk he ate
Even a warlock is sometimes unreasoned
Not much consolation…when you’ve been lightly seasoned

So here in this cauldron we boil and we bubble
Somehow I sense we’re in some kind of trouble 
My hope is this as I cling to the edge
I hope I’m the meat and not the two veg

But, lo, I discover that Milt’s being mother
He’s spotted my need to write something or other 
His warlock-like methods at first seemed remiss
Until this old turnip sat down to write this

But still I find one thing decidedly troubling
I look like a beetroot from all of that bubbling
My poor scalded feet are developing bunions 
So at my next barbecue… Milt’s in the onions!

Getting the Hump -Bawdy Limerick

Young Lemmy was humping a ‘cushin’
His owner turned beetroot red blushin
She said to her cat
Please will you stop that
Old Nancy next door may be lookin!

Thanks to a lovely on line friend for the inspiration

1/1/21

Vintage Cheese

My eyes scan over the table.
My taste buds begin to perspire.
There’s so much food here on offer,
so I wonder what I’ll desire. 

There are some beautiful salads.
There’s carrot, corn and green peas,
bar-be-cue meat to perfection,
and a platter of selected cheese.

There are prawns cooked in their shell,
paté, salami, olives and chips.
There’s my favourite dried tomatoes; 
dry biscuits and all kinds of dips.

I’m ready to make a selection.
My craving helps me with ease.
I bi-pass the foods of sensation,
for an entrée of Vintage Cheese.

I could have tried Camembert first, 
but its flavour just never agrees,
and why would I ever want Blue Vein,
when the platter holds Vintage Cheese.

Swiss has a nice nutty flavor;
cheddar’s soft with flavour so light.
Pecorino, Romano, are for cooking,
but Vintage is cheese with a bite.

It must be made out of whole milk,
and it has to be seven years old.
There must be mould on the cheesecloth,
and it must be the colour of gold.

One chop; two prawns and tomato,
lettuce, onion, beetroot will create,
a very bland meal, at a bar-be-cue,
without Vintage Cheese on my plate.

The New Diet

The New Diet

I've put myself on this new diet,
Trying to drop a dress size or two,
Believe me it's a taste sensation,
I'm loving it and think you will too.

So here is my secret to weight loss,
Success guaranteed to please,
The day I discovered sweet Karma,
Beetroot salad and Greek Feta Cheese.

My body feels free, newly awakened,
Skin tones, complexion much better,
Helped by one simple life choice,
A diet of Beetroot and Greek Feta.

Our Gardener

in the garden
the gardener digs and digs away
he pulls a hundred thousands weeds
he grew up a hundred thousands seeds
he grew peas red and round
and Pulls beetroot from the ground
spinach cauliflower are green
the basket full of peas and Beans
oranges both large and small
broccoli fit for Queen or King
onions tied up with a string
a very clever man is he
who grows so many things for me !!

Pills

This pile of pills keeps me afloat,
Washed down with beetroot juice each day
To keep the aches and pains at bay
And ailments more substantial. Who knows
Just where or who I'd be without them
Or what indeed each one bestows
To aid and optimise performance ?
The red ones and the blue ones, 
Each of some importance,
Mingle with the squarish pink and multi-coloured
Striped ones. Some dissolve in water
And are ready for the fray,
Ready for the battles , hidden from our sight,
Each has a role to play.
But are they players in a team,
With a clear united mission,
Or is each within our bloodstream
Jostling for position ?
We follow doctor's orders,
Blind faith is what's required.
These cures for our disorders
We've swallowed as prescribed.
Sometimes they'll solve the problem,
Sometimes they surely don't.
We hope they may prolong our life
But fear they maybe won't.
We can't predict our future
Or measure years we've gained or lost,
So keep on with the tablets -
And keep your fingers crossed !

An Alphacouplet Poem - My Garden

MY GARDEN

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My glorious, gratifying, garden!
Self-sufficient, my resolve must harden!
Learn to cultivate, carefully, cabbages.
Lettuce, beetroot and bright red radishes.
Onions are sliced special, simple salad.
Hot summer days, tasty, glad we had it!
Next fabulous, fresh fruit followed, fat figs!
On many a day, my spade and me, digs.
Keeping the fresh food flowing, fresh flowers?
Sweet, fresh cut, on the table, last for hours!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

:
A stanza of any length, consisting entirely of rhymed couplets.
The final word of the first line of each couplet must be a noun
Three alliterative words must precede that noun.
The next line must rhyme with the first.
There is no metric or line-length restraint.

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