Best Cob Poems
Grandma, I love your corn on the cob.
I can eat more of it than Uncle Bob.
I’m ready for more and hardly can wait
for all of that goodness there on the plate!
For all of that corn on the cob, golly gee -
a whole stick of butter you better bring me!
Just look at the dog; he wants some too.
He can just lick the plate when I am through!
October 4, 2019
Based on Picture #3
For Eve Roper's Realism Art Poetry Contest
Note: I actually do have an uncle Bob, but I out-ate him for everything!!
peel away green outer husk
sweet yellow plump kernels found
boil first eat with butter
P.R.Deremer
a bowl of baked beans
a stack of baby back ribs
with corn on the cob!
equilibrium
cob-web theorem of market
determination
succulent and sweet
kernels unattainable
stuck between my teeth
hastily reaching forward
A toothpick will do the trick
Elegant is the white swan
Joined for life swimming along
When cobs and pens breed again
Then cygnets swim with them
Date: 1/21/2020
Contest: When and Then
Sponsor: Jenish Somadas
Moon had reached its zenith peak
the world lay hushed for the night
some heralding flew near the pond
wind stilled as she came into sight
Ripples stirred as she entered the water
pond came to life, ere it had been dead
time had come for the return of the cob
A White Snowy Owl swiveled his head
Taken in death from her years earlier
the pen refused to mate with another
He returned only one night each year
her muted swan mate, he was her lover
As mysterious as his ghost-like return
more of a marvel that since his death
the pen had left their pond as a woman
Night creatures at the pond held breath
Submersing, the change was taking place
she was a beautiful mute swan once more
as he approached her arms became wings
off her shoulders, the white dress she wore
Hidden by a growth of wild flowers on the bank
they coupled and preened all through the night
privileged was I to witness such a love so loyal
I wished the cob would never again take flight
Graceful necks entwined, they gave way to sleep
sky grown light, in time of dawn they drew apart
no goodbyes, he took to the sky; her wings to arms
she donned her dress and cried~with broken heart
January 1st, 2016
Female swan is a pen ~ male is a cob
Scented ember a moulted smoulder
Skied as crackling softness
Spied and felt thru a film of dexterity
Uncalibrated, solvent, translucid
Trance and dance
Street fleet, guttering inhabited by creased indoctrination
Yet to be ironed
Yet to be pressed and left on the stoop
Cornered like bluefin, fed, foddered and canned
'Til the ink runs dry
Dust, seen but not sawn
Settles on my pine needles
Green hue askew now turns to blue
Appointed to the disjointed and as hard edges glint
Drones trudge thru sludge to fund the mints
(I know these words are bare, and that this poetry is bleak but it's channelled from a source which I seek.
A clear blue nectarous swivelling blissmist.)
corn husk pulled
soaked in the boiling water
yellow crunch
:D
I am a cob of corn
whose husk was torn away
I have a yellow belly
I am exposed
I attract hungry crows
they peck away greedily
they come to devour my good bits
and with what little they leave behind
No men will be fed
Everybody laughs at my wife because she smokes a corn cob pipe.
She doesn't like it when I complain, she doesn't want me to gripe.
She smokes it everywhere she goes and it makes her look like a hillbilly.
She lost a beauty contest because that damn pipe made her look so silly.
She even smoked it when we went to Great Britain to meet the Queen.
Her majesty had us locked in a dungeon because that pipe is obscene.
I try to tell her that her pipe makes her look ridiculous.
I told her to get rid of it or it would be the end for us.
Smoking that pipe makes her stink, she is pretty ripe.
My life has been ruined because of that corn cob pipe.
We drove along the secondary streets of Iowa,
Towards my grandparents’ large farm.
How excited we felt for this seemed like a yearly pilgrimage
To visit my old folks back home.
I always loved summertime with my grandparents.
Though I knew they worked hard, poor fellers.
I noticed grandpa and his group of hired men
Moving here and there like ants among the stalks
Of the corn that grew in our large fields.
Trimmers in hand, all would prune the suckers
And saw how tall they would grow, larger than me.
How grand it was to explore the countryside,
Making friends with Daisy, who lived nearby.
There we discovered a clump of oak trees
And a clean small lake that irrigated our land.
Swimming was a must and so was kissing.
I was madly in love with my friend as I dreaded
The day when I would have to leave her to go back home.
Meanwhile the cob was soon covered with smooth kernels.
And harvesting began which meant it was the end of summer.
But before I was to return home, grandma promised a treat:
She brought in some corn on the cob and inserted in each
A skewer, then grilled the cobs. Out they came piping hot.
Grandma spread generous butter on one and added salt.
What can I say? It was divine. And I wanted more….
Thus, we arrived after a long time, so full of glee and anticipation.
Daisy jumped first out of the car and rushed inside.
No one was going to make her miss her favourite dish,
A grilled corn on the cob. No doubt I followed suit.
Rob Corn Cob
Yankee Hillbilly Provence Gourmet,
Michelle & Lukas are Certainly His "Ole´!",
Add Homebrew, Tesla & Woodworking "Fine´"
Ask Rob, "Parlez Vous Francais?"
And His Reply, "Ques Que C'est?"
Instead of "Bonjour!", Good 'Ole "Hey!"
Friendly is Rob, Sharing All On His Tray,
He'll Listen to Your Tears & Your Say,
Concerned Others Don't Lose Their Way,
Never One to Ignore a Stray,
Expecting Nothing in Return, No Pay,
Rob's Pat on Your Back Makes Your Day!
We spoke words,
We sung our emotions loud,
We felt fiery feelings for each other,
We shared smiles, we shared frowns,
We played in the rain, we wrestled in the mud,
But today we are against each other,
Today we are pointing not only fingers of accusations but actual machetes,
My folks why are we at war?
*
Remind me please, why are we fighting?
Is it because Ngwenya's son stole a cob of maize from Chona's field?
Is it because of hunger found in our own brothers household, that we choose to spill blood?
When we were young, remember, we stole not for hunger but for pleasure,
Even then, our parents never in a moon wished to shed blood,
Our parents never sworn enmity, never disowned each other because they knew that children are children,
Now our son has stolen for hunger, a noble cause,
Why then should we fight, men of one house?
Why my brothers should blood be shed?
Why should blood of our very own be spilt?
*
Is our blood of equal value with maize?
Should our blood be of equalled to a cob of maize?
Listen, our wives mock us,
Hear, hear how old women make fun of us,
Look, our fathers plead with us,
The ground rumbles loudly to our display of folly,
The skies above us, drop tears of disappointed gods.
Gods mourn for our cursed savage ways.
Why should blood be spilt for a maize cob?
On retirement day they said
from tomorrow you're free man.
I's happy to imagine
being free; Yes, I've dreamed and had lot of plan.
In a short time became bored,
asked friends to search job for me ,
none responded back till date,
Thinking to get a job what must be the key.
Wife said never try for work
elsewhere, many works to do
at home. But by this time, I
became a slob; nothing I can do, I knew.
Work is timely taking out
and ensure feeding the cob.
Yes, don't like, but can't avoid
It's reality, now I'm engaged, can't sob.
I know, my wife is truly
specialist to handle strife.
As a retiree, I'm tired
but, find the happiest person is my wife.
As she doesn't have to carry
tension; now spending more time,
with her, learning hitherto
unknown issues during her talk in bedtime.
~*~*~