Best Butternut Poems
In the holy spot
with the sitting rock,
an oak. Out back
shagbark hickory
and maple.
Ants climb the rock.
August, birds
celebrate flowering
weeds, the seeds
of autumn to come.
I am here to name it
and know it and help it
to grow. These mountains
are my grave. A good grave
to go to.
The crows have been
in conference, again.
A jay, blue, pokes
a hole through reality.
I find sumacs fruiting
and the male sex organs
of the Queen Anne’s lace.
Juncos glean the lawn,
an occasional nuthatch
in the butternut.
I hear a pileated
woodpecker jackhammering
and my neighbor’s skill saw
chirring. Ants crawl
on connecting interlacing instructions.
Large yellow-orange
blooms, falls last foliage appears
reminding me-hope.
Pray for harvest
of the late bloomers fruit and
harvest in spring time.
Her canvas awaits the first scoop,
She dips her brush in the soup
Bouillabaisse caresses her canvas,
Stirring the senses of her palate
She dips her brush in yet
As the stove heats up her palette,
Painting the dawn sky
With tints of butternut squash
Split pea flavor colors the trees
Minestrone sways the flower in a breeze,
And roses find their hue
With brushstrokes of tomato soup
She adds a stroke of egg drop too
Just a touch of lentil soup will do,
Her canvas seems so edible
She lets it simmer for a while
She can taste her painting's flavor
With each brush stroke to savor
Now she's ready to eat,
Time for a bowl of soup!!
5-11-2022
A Merger With Food Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Natasha L Scragg
Vegetables are so versatile I use them every day
Such lovely shapes and colours, they are so bright and gay
I always use them in my cooking
Or eat then raw when no one is looking
What is there not to love about the humble carrot?
I peel it tenderly, chop it up and feed it to my parrot
Broccoli it always gets my pulse racing
When it’s steaming in the pan, round my kitchen I am pacing
Potatoes are so wonderful in every shape and style
Boiled, baked, mashed and roast, so totally versatile
I’ve just discovered butternut squash and make a tasty soup
I bake it first and boil it, its taste makes me cheer and whoop
Mushrooms are my favourites I would eat them all the time
Sauted, raw or stuffed with cheese they really are divine
Tomatoes are so colourful and full of lycopene
Its hidden away inside them and it is never seen
Brussel sprouts you either love or hate
But no Christmas dinner is complete without them on your plate
Parsips and turnips are not my favourite food
I will eat them occasionally, when I am in the mood
My love of veg will never fade
I buy organic that have never been sprayed
Vegetables really are so good for us
My family eat them without any fuss
The humble pea is the love of our life
If they are not on the plate I’d not be a good wife
Swede and carrots mashed together
I eat it with ground black pepper
My ode to veg I think is fine
I want them to be my Valentine
They help to keep us strong and healthy
With veg in our lives we are truly wealthy
A Vegetable Story
Broccoli, Spinach, yummy fresh Garden Peas,
Cabbages, Winter Greens, Cauliflower Trees.
Runner Beans and broad, Mange Tout so Francais,
Curly Kale, Crunchy Sprouts on a cold windy day.
Onions, Parsnips, Carrots and tall Welsh Leek,
King Edwards, Purple Turnip, ready next week.
Corn cut off the cob with sweet Barley Rice,
Mash up that Swede for a treat savour nice.
Tips of Asparagus are one acquired taste,
Into the soup, don’t let them go to waste.
Vegetable Squash with Butternut and Pumpkin,
Tearing Sour dough bread, ready for dunking.
Please don’t choke on a strange looking Arti’
Exclusively reserved for a Vegan style party.
Try some boiled Beet and a large slice of Yam,
Fennel is soporific, a bit like I am.
Parsley and Cress make a simple garnish,
Spring Onion and Celery, very Saladish.
Going to the wood, picking wild Mushroom,
Beware some are poison, Stomach-ache of doom.
Lots of choice for a Veggie style life,
No need for meat, no need of a knife.
Don’t want to preach, so my voice is on mute,
That’s all from the Veg, lets start on the Fruit.
onions
garlic
fine white win
butternut
squash
quince and mince
leek
scallops
clotted cream
turkey stuffed
pastry puffed
chives give hives
people gaseous
pissed
nauseous
happy holidays to all
Blue Hubbard, or Butternut -
A squash is a squash.
Bake at four hundred degrees
'til the flesh is soft,
sweet like a candy,
healthy, and
fresh!
It’s half pasta ate won chilli winter’s knight sew we staid in cider
Eye maid sum doe four my bred
Aye got in a pickle with sum flower, but I donut carrot all
Eye'd ewes plane knot self raisin flower
Witch meant my doe wood knot rise
My butter half is always wanton moor meet
He should be grapeful eye feed him eggcellent meals
Men can bee sew shelfish!
I’ve had to prawn my chocolate coins to feed my honey
Eye got sum cheep wild bore it was reduced and knot deer, it costa won penne
He says he wood help me cook but there isn’t mushroom in the kitchen
He’s always beefing about and deserves a roasting for his waffle
Butt when he says aye look radishing and sofishticated
Aye have to curry on as eye love him berry much
He’s bean sew suite toddy, he’ll be after a pizza the action later…
He butternut squash me, Oreo he will be mincemeat!
Food fight Contest
Sponsored by Viv Wigley
02-12-17
Chocolate Sass-Mouth
Spacklefudge grinny
Sloppin’ down my chinny
In it to winny!
Chocolate Sass-Mouth
Butternut cream
Smeary goo team
Gurgly dream
Chocolate Sass-Mouth
Spittin’ out sass
Unburdened by class
Dirty hall pass
Chocolate Sass-Mouth
Twisted face covered
Misty-place lover
Never recovered
More chocky please
where im from
the streets are paved with gold
everyone smiles when you walk by
there is a million choices
dreams are sold cheap
your pockets get fat, so does your belly
no one worries
no one fears
if you don't like whats going on
you can disappear
land of the clusterf*ck
lineage of the ancient right
the cancer blights
the antler fights
slave owner on a buck
kick him right when
they were down on their luck
f*ck it rough then
lay pounds of wishes crushed
people of the up and up
hoarders of the suckerpunch
pumpkin or a butternut
sequel where the hungry hunch
Morning mist over Molly`s,
a late August gold haze.
Crossing hay fields of Danville,
Cabot`s meadows and maze.
A spoon dips the honey,
apple cinnamon rolls,
sippy straws in a back pack,
empty cereal bowls.
Red leaf in the maple,
a yellowing white birch,
chicken pies in the oven,
Thursday night at the church.
A blue ribbon Bessie,
the taste of fried dough,
bloomin` onions in Tunbridge,
4 H best of show.
The holly hocks have risen,
soon the purple mums bloom,
and there`ll be frost on the butternut,
under full harvest moon.
Citrus scented sprayed bouquets
blend peach with mango smoothies
tempting tongue with apricot flavorings.
Lay the salad colors over the green
with crisp robust carrots
butternut squash and orange blossom honey.
It no longer holds true,
orange is not ordinary
its the new black you know
as tangerine dreams take hold.
A little forthright butternut fruit cake was sat on embroidered picnic rug. Basking in the sun whilst chatting to a jam pot. Beyond the knitted trees of custard lays the artichoke of buttered llamas. To decipher a stone is to roll over sixty three times down a mountain but mountains mumble making musical mantras and who would dare to dangle off a ledge wearing a seventy kilo saucepan hat? Sandcastle secretions of a purple hue hide the frolicking worms in sombreros. Never ever bark at kettles or neigh at the toaster for this carries as much weight and power as throwing oneself up into the air wearing a rubber ring and landing on the roof of a nearby hotels. Hotels are neither hills nor heaped hummus humps. And no riot of silver backed whales ever really formed in a bubble bath for they prefer the jacuzzi at this seasonal point. Icy glowing embers in a carpet of fish scales are sure to entice cardboard curtains. The wide footprint of a semi aquatic reindeer stands true in sands despite tides. Toads can swim over eighty miles down roads and the roads are arenas of giant mildew which call out greetings to sessional groups of fox musicians who gather with rabbits in the hedgerows to entertain the otherwise grey flows. Inverted igloos ingesting ivy ignoring inky island inhabitants. Hahaha the horses are Trapezing with the square cattle. Hahaha leg handed left wing mirror winking at a cone line. Xxxxx atmospherically z z z z z
Form:
They're supposed to be good for you, gluten free,
but then a health record may not be a mystery;
now it transpires some may give you polymialgia,
narrowing of blood vessels, kidney problems, neuralgia.
We are animals, need meat and protein so they say,
where is the truth, we ask for proof along the way,
fresh fruit must be okay but eating sugar not so good,
we don't worry, disbelieve what's going on with our blood.
All things in moderation according to my religious sect,
the trouble is that you just don't know what may affect,
if it works for you then I suppose that it must be fine,
it may be too late, you're just too far down the line.
My wife is busy cooking a huge butternut squash,
I don't know about you but I'm not very keen on 'mush.'
(Poet’s Note : This poem is the first of two poems on The Nature of Truth)
Truth came from the purest of pure
smell of pine between toes endure
from crystal streams where trout shimmer
like rainbow dreams
from seagulls on wing, willow whisper then sing
deep down Poseidon takes his blue cue anew
She came from violet centres
floating in a bowl she enters
new-borns suck her milk rippling
down sunburnt throats
never forlorn, sailing a boat
Truth swoops her eagles over the Globe
travelling cyberways to hold her laughter
floating from Galactic Sun
Radiant across every gradient smiling
warmest sweet, tiny perfect teeth
gleaming in a tweet !
She came to stroke, sprinkle justice with
joy, transform lies with tears, lifting hearts from holes with bells on her toes
out of dirt, up the stairs eating mushrooms
with dare
breathe in human hair, listening to rolling
drums with care, sucking sweet nectar
She senses through many lenses
Truth comes to give Grace, sweetbreads
shout-outs, petals, stardust, eggs
across ages and aeons from Mercury
Venus and Mars to give answers in
glasses between shells from lagoons
Her breath smells of grass newly cut
exuberant nasturtium and lily in hug
conflicts melt away
Truth in a barn where couples lie
butternut soup on a winter’s table
where fathers laugh with a terrier
in good health, Siamese
purring on a persian rug
Truth completes a circle, opens up
channels joyously
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