Best Granola Poems
~Soup To Go~
This summer~ all I want is a bowl of soup
A secret flavor that combines every veggie group
An outcast taste of ancient granola herbs
All kinds of extracts that create different verbs
I will leave the table only to dance out in the rain
Round and round in wonder catering out my sweet refrain
I will visit mother and tell her I forgot her recipe
Brag about my soup and how I used and stole her ecstasy
Paint about the life she gives the grounded trees
Think about the sugar that makes me surrender to her sweet debris
I will order me a special~ with the right poetry breeze
Exchange my cookie dough with mothers pollen seeds
Hide behind her oak tree and listen to her endlessly
I can even cook myself a picture making nature my enemy
Close my eyes and smell the mist of self control
Hold on to my emotion and take a sip of my soup bowl
Add extra salt and pepper to every line I manipulate
Swirl my spoon around and smile at every thing I hate
Come sit down with me and collaborate
Lets cabbage out on mothers nature's plate
Wakening up to her blossoming sauce that drips with a certain flow
Driving by her White castle, and stare at another soup to go
Order me; a soup of all the things I see
Order me; a soup made out of mystery
Order me; a soup out of the things I wanna be
Order me; a soup made out of the sadness found inside of me
Order me; a coffee to go with my poetry soup
Type me a funny comment that will add a smile to my food group:-)
by;p.d.
When you’re the mom you carry the purse,
That’s the natural rule of the universe.
To a mom a purse is more than a bag,
It’s a safety net when the world starts to sag.
The pockets hold things that her family might need,
Like a granola bar with sunflower seed.
There’s a half eaten cookie and a clean pair of socks,
And a tool her grandfather gave her to set cuckoo clocks.
There’s a broken dolly in need of repair,
And a bright orange scrunchie to pull back her hair.
There are aspirins and band-aids and a coupon book,
Redeemable for vacations that never got took.
And way at the bottom is a memory of a girl,
Who would dress so young and gaily twirl.
In those days she carried a purse so small,
A dainty little bag hardly anything at all.
As she takes out the memory and starts to go through it,
She breaks out in a grin because there’s a sucker stuck to it.
She remembers what that girl wanted most for her life,
Was to one day be a mom and a good man’s wife.
Each memory she touches she remembers with pleasure,
And each item she carries becomes a small treasure.
That’s why when you’re the mom you carry the purse,
It’s the natural rule of the universe.
There once was girl named Nicola
she had dreams about Diet Cola
the cola was big
and nasty as a pig
as it chased her around the granola.
A look at the floorboard of my car
Gives a glimpse into my life
All the trash that's scattered about
Necessities to survive?
An old McDonald's bag spilling it's contents
I wonder if those fries are still any good
With nary a doubt I pop them into my mouth
Hey...don't judge me, you know some of you would
There's candy, bubblegum, fortune cookie wrappers
It's all a pretty even mix
What's this? Half a granola bar?
That day I must have been on a health kick
A fist full of bank statements...withdraw, withdraw, withdraw
Without a single deposit...what am I daft?!
Oh wait a minute, here we go
Overdraft, overdraft, overdraft
I swear I hear something moving
From underneath the passenger seat
Maybe tonight I'll leave the door open
Hoping against hope it'll set itself free
The floorboard of a car speaks much of a man
And this man is pretty much a slob
Guess you could say it's a part of my life
And you ladies know that me being a man...it's also part of my job
Why you wanna go there ?
I don’t wanna go there,
I guess I gotta go there,
you asked me out on a date,
then we go to a place that I hate,
you said the place would be nice,
but all I get is a sweet tea no ice,
not even a parfait with granola,
tal vez él habla española?
So please don’t ask me,
and I wont ask you,
because if you wanna date again,
then you better let me supersize
My James Dean lookalike
Where are you tonight?
Do you remember my smile?
As I lived within yours
Those walks downtown
A granola bar, a cigarette and me
Initials within a heart, while playing guitar
Three years ended within movie star memoir
Photograph memories of love
Everywhere, what I wouldn't give to see my James Dean
To Your Health
I read an article that said laughing's good for you
It strengthens the heart muscle, it's something you should do
It made me think about my health and all the things I see
That I should eat to guarantee a new and better me
So I thought that I would change, what do I have to lose
If all the experts say its right, it must not be a ruse
I just got back from shopping, bought a lot of healthy things
I'm going to test the theory, see what improvements that it brings
Today, while on my treadmill, I snacked on tofu puffs
While lifting dead weights with my arms, but that was not enough
I quenched my thirst with carrot juice, all freshly squeezed of course
And munched on a granola bar, a sure heart healthy source
I had a bowl of Cheerios, floating in some Silk
I'd heard that it was healthier then even nonfat milk
For lunch I had a yogurt, it was the non fat kind
I also hid the salt shaker, out of sight, out of mind
Later in the day I thought I'd like to take a break
So to sooth my hunger, I munched on a rice cake
By dinner I was ravenous, my cravings unfulfilled
This healthy kick that I was on was not as it was billed
I guess I need to give more thought to the changes I will make
But for now I'll finish up, this inch thick pan seared steak
Perhaps I moved too quickly, cause I don't like the food I bought
So starting with tomorrow, I'll just laugh a lot
Placed 12th in D.P."s ANY FUNNY POEM contest
Time t'was the ol' Cap'n for me
Them Crunchberries coated my teeth
Once I came to my senses
Granola's pretenses
hugged me to firm grounding beneath.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ahoy there!
(for PD's 'test)
having bare feet makes me feel like
summer
when days are longer
when I get a second wind
and run around
feet trampling ants trampling ground
having bare feet makes me feel like
pain
when I have Saturday morning
cross country meets
like sore feet after the race
heavy breath red faced
having bare feet makes me feel like
rain
when felines and canines drop
from the sky
drenched t-shirts
they don’t dry fast enough
having bare feet makes me feel like
granola
when grubs collect between the toes
soles stained with dirt
like pour milk on the wound
wash your damn feet
THE ARRANGEMENT
It's a dull, grey afternoon in the middle of October, with nothing much to commend about it. Last of the autumn leaves are falling from trees with the icy breeze, too chill for even the ardent gardener to be out and about, where streets are deserted, and children are not yet out of school. Clouds are softly framed in bands of charcoal grey.
Our heroine, Erin McCarty can't distinguish whether the distant rumble she hears, is a brewing storm, or her empty stomach. It occurs to her she hasn't eaten a thing, except for the quick granola bar early this morning at the bus station.
As she approaches the old house she sees that the garden needs weeding, devil grass taking over the wind-whipped faces of faded, dreary, old chrysanthemums. It is so unlike her mother to let it go untended. Seeing it so unkempt, makes her a bit uneasy.
A suitcase heavy in her hand, she hesitates before turning the knob, or ringing the bell, taking a moment to compose. She waits a moment. What will they say, ...what will they think when she tells them everything that has happened, and where she has been all this time?
The old place seems strangely *****, as if she’s gained new insight
As if another eye had sprouted new, to view the past more clearly, and the present, more objectively. She seems to perceive shade and shadows, shape, as if she were watching from above.
The chrysalis that held her in, has drawn her back here again.
How will they receive this unexpected return? Will she still be welcome?
Have they been able to forgive her for leaving without a word?
Her hand on the knob, the door is locked, then almost without her control, her finger has pushed the doorbell. At first just the silence, .....then the sound of muffled footsteps. Someone is coming.
The door opens...........and she is startled. Who is this?......?
Who is this stranger answering her mother's door?............
Follow Erin's story to the captivating ending...
a story of hope, renewal and rebirth. A story of coming of age, coming to terms with both love and sadness. It will remind you, that love and compassion can renew the spirit...even when the world has turned upside down.
__________________________________________________________
For the Contest Sponsored By Judy Konos: "You Have Written A Novel"
From Talkeetna by bush plane to a frozen bog
under the white gaze of Denali.
“Snow’ll be too soft to land this afternoon,”
our pilot says. “See you in the morning.”
He points to a wrinkle in the field of snow.
“Kroto Creek.” And then he’s gone.
Check topo map, take compass reading.
Strap on snowshoes. East to Kroto;
follow the creekbed north. Smaller drainage
from the west. Map-check. Drainage
runs the wrong direction. Keep walking.
Landmarks don’t match map.
Study USGS quad-sheet top to bottom.
Find a stretch of creek that fits.
Six miles from where we ought to be.
No longer lost – we now know
where we are. But does our pilot?
Will he find us in the morning?
Follow our tracks back to frozen bog
and packs, survival gear,
honey and granola to feed us
for at least a day. End of March, dark
comes early. Night thoughts, taloned, fly.
The closest road’s a world away.
Soccer ball made from granola, dried grapes
Honey, brown sugar, oats, sunflower seeds
Almonds and chocolate chips form the ball that is fun to
Play the soccer game where everyone wins and the goalie eats the ball.
Eleven comedic players on each team want that
Soccer ball running after the tasty round thing, number 19 gets a Red card
Before the lemming, marmot, and prairie dog run
Biting a tasty crunch out of that flavorful round sphere.
Chocolatier is in competition for profit and prize with
Granolatier who in rivalry selling those two color round
Yummy soccer balls hoping the malamute doggie and
Spiky Yorkshire terrier stay off the game field and don’t eat the ball.
Soccer mom enjoys getting lots of granola soccer balls at the
Local grocery store every Saturday keeping one for herself,
One fun granola soccer ball lasts a week for driving and munching,
Accordion playing cheering moods for all biting that new soccer ball.
And it's no great decree,
This mountain speech,
The floating ebullient vagaries
(see I've been robbing myself of my own joy)
Seem to drench your sadness like the heaviness of landscapes,
Even one clear and green filled with cows,
And those hanging from green vines, far above the Earth
May be the only measurable moment of true happiness
(I am convinced I have to arrive here in my mind for the floating to occur)
In the sweltering good-vibes of the daily trod.
We figure an effortless smile to be of high, spiritual rank
With the seeds to flower:
Yoga, tea, breathing, sunshine, flowers, granola, blueberries, bad jokes...
We're begging for answers,
Running about the ridges of puzzles,
(wait I think I have a piece)
My hair now standing, rising.
The Wind Blew Cold
The wind blew cold upon our faces,
we turned our heads towards the east eyeing a muted sun,
clouds in their weary way sagging, formless:
the moon resists it’s rising assent skyward.
Oh orb, on which we stand motionless in spin,
toss to our good graces a stitch of time,
that we may find solace in our vacant hearts, that throb outside our chests,
exposed to the elements of desire.
The prayers to hope, that fall from our tongues,
loosed in the mind, where neuro-chatter reigns as noise,
heave sighs of wanting, deep cries and cravings long,
the cold wind burns sharply against our skin, our faces recede.
The lonely tracks that follow our footsteps radiate golden,
a heavenly chorus of slighted souls weep aloud,
your hand, cool with perspiration glides over to mine
such an embrace is felt intensely, in silence and in awe.
Eaten up in smiles, as wordless thoughts laugh quietly
it’s a meal of granola bars and fruit splayed on a table
water and tea wash away the throaty remnants of food
as our eyes keep tabs on just what lies behind the surface.
Not much in the way of small talk falls here
but the words of repeated reassurances comfort
we walk amongst the cars, the garage reverberates
our eyes and ears attuned to our voices in space.
There is a burning in our hearts of things undone
love spills over the edge of our thoughts and sighs
we remain in our niche, an adventure we crave
our friendship is one that has thrown us far afield, untouched.
1/9/2016
40 Brown bags
Containing
Bottled water
Fruit juice
Granola bar
Bag of crackers
Bag of pretzels
1 Baloney, Turkey or Ham sandwich.
Sunday after Thanksgiving
18 year old son decides
To feed the poor.
First he drove to Costco,
Then prepped it all.
I decided to help
Stuffing
Each bag.
Asked if I could come along
Afraid he would get mobbed,
“40 brown bags aren’t enough
Downtown Miami home’s many homeless”…
…He was determined.
We arrived,
The poor came out of nowhere
Everywhere, all colors, races… all hungry.
One bag for each,
Some asked for more.
“Are you with someone?”
“No but I’ll eat them both”.
40 brown bags vanished quickly,
Not the poor.
Many left empty handed
Full of nothing
We promised to come back,
In the name of the Lord.