Best Meatless Poems
Written by Gail DeBole
and included in PS: It's Poetry
A PoetrySoup.com anthology published in 2020
Note: Grendel was the monster in the old English Heroic poem titled Beowolf written by an anonymous Anglo-Saxon poet. John Gardner wrote a related book titled Grendel in the 1970's that told the same story from the monster's point of view. Soon after reading Grendel, I wrote this poem from the point of view of Unferth.
"My God, Grendel! Are you Godless?
You hold heads that drip with hate-deeds!
All your fury 'voids compassion.
Are you spiritless? Don't eat me!
I see eyeballs in your teeth-sneers.
Faded lips you chew with ease.
You are laughing - yet I've cry-tears.
Here's a toothpick. Now let me be!
I, leathery, bony, meatless;
Old gruff meat that breaks your teeth.
Unferth's ready, willing, fearless.
For you, I'll fetch younger meat.
Backed up now, your breathing eats me.
Close as bricks glued back to back.
Grendel, hear me! I will save you!
I will give you what you lack!
Name the fortune that you'd like.
I have charts of riches hid.
Under soil, far from man-sight.
I will give you what you bid.
Or think of mothers. You have one.
They're forsaken without sons.
And my mother's just the same.
For her sorrow, you'll take blame!
Grendel! Grendel! Let me go!
I am old, but I will fight.
Why, you vile, formless, foe!
I will tell you where"...
Categories:
meatless, adventure, evil, fantasy, imagination,
Form:
Rhyme
The world is an egg waiting to be broken
Nothing bad should worth of a humble tears
Not even the pangs of loneliness as icy ball
Nor the fangs of self-pity as winter bears-
The tyrant was ask when he will end his torture
He told us that it is when the snake stand tall.
A dialogue of the drum we heard faraway,
It sounded not in the season of our songs,
With our head sleeping at five and twenty
and killing without a sword in a chicken story.
In the month of the falling leaves, they promised,
The pillar is fallen and the stars sob thirstily
But we see not one of their promises fulfilled.
To a passing year, we cradle in a cradling hands,
A disappointing voices welcome us home.
Who knows the rhythm of the season of a
Traditional conversationalist in Nkporoland?
Whose throat is honey to the ear like politicians?
Who savours the aroma of flavour of words if not those whose tongue are coated with sugar?
The day has woken from the night of sleep
And we've not seen our entitlement of the land!
Some even wear courage like a shield to fight
But their hands broken at the beginning.
He who has not seen the sea roars in the dark,
Let him go to sleep without his eyes closed.
When we shall start singing of lost and faults
Nigeria shall be our chorus to render to the world.
We've seen pain! We've seen pain and pains
Know us by the name given to us by our mothers.
You singer of royal songs, forget not we're brothers!
We will not only give legs to our coiling words,
we will also give them power to kill and destroy,
You have ended up poking your crooked finger
Into the hive of our mouth and we shall forget
Our words in your ears to tell you that your
Father never know how to uproot yam till he died.
We shall soon cook for you the food you can't finish.
Remember, we once shared the meatless meal here,
We passed from palm to palm our ego and dreams,
Why treat us thou after you climb the chair?
The sun has disappeared behind the tree of another
Year, yet, we've not seen the dust of your shirt!
You singer of royal songs, forget not we are brothers!
Remember, we once shared the meatless meal here.
(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Voice Of Vincent 2016
Categories:
meatless, abortion, africa, america,
Form:
Free verse
To Isoboye Danagogo
Song about you reminds me of Africa
you are an embodiment of African culture
Look into your palms and see the route
of our lives cemented by love...
A piece of me is in you
and a piece of you is in me;
a piece which clamour for greatness
At the cross road where love lines
crossed path, we built bricks of friendship
Remember, the meatless meal we shared
We coloured our first broken Alphabets
We shared yesterday parrotting the national anthem
which is the symbol of our unity
We sang and clapped together among the congregation,
living in a world of guilty innocence because
we committed so many childish acts
I harbour you in my heart,
hope you do same too talking through poetry
in the piece of me that stays in you.
©John Chizoba Vincent
For Boy Of Tomorrow.
Categories:
meatless, best friend, bird, birthday,
Form:
Ode
eagles' jaded flight-
submit to winter’s lean scrapes….
sparingly content
resting after a fill-
eagles observe frozen land….
awaiting warm sun
sluggish tide retreats-
leaving a cold meatless beach….
more eagles searching
Copyright © 2010 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Fifth Place Winner ~ "Bald Eagle” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Carolyn Devonshire
Nov. 9, 2010
Categories:
meatless, animals, food
Form:
Haiku
You’re reading this as I write.
Straight out of
True Confessions.
It wasn’t long after you left
That I began to live for myself.
You say you knew that?
Oh, OK. I guess you could tell,
Being out there,
With true eyes and ears…
That clear, meatless perception
Oh, you say you always knew that.
OK.
Still...
After you left,
I was independent of worry
When you coughed,
When you slept late and
I dreaded opening the door.
When you smoked and I was trapped
In my failure to make you healthy.
Yes, I know you understand.
But didn’t you always complain
I was just too darned independent?
Of you, I think you meant.
Being lost can look like independence –
The wandering off to visit
Chaos in one’s mind,
That treasure chest of no understandings.
Yes, I should have come to you,
My uncrowned guru.
I did, you know I did…often.
But when you were sick,
I had to be independent...
Of my sorrow.
Am I still independent, you ask?
Not when I see couples –
Young and old, while I’m
Only half what I was,
So dependent still…on you.
When they frown and ignore each other,
I want to scream at them:
“Say what you must!”
So here I sit, saying what I must.
Can you hear me?
Are you too independent?
Categories:
meatless, absence, death, emotions, farewell,
Form:
Verse
If you want to keep
your expanding
civil liberty weight down,
we suggest you try the alphabet dictator soup
It’s demagogue-approved to keep the
public scrutiny town hall gavel pounds off of you
The letters F ... R ... E ... E are not in the can,
and radical talk chowder is totalitarian banned
You best clam up, if you know what’s healthy for you
But the split-lip pea soup tastes great liquefied,
if your jaws need to be wired shut
Fat ideas of human rights
will get you shipped to Siberia
on a dissident Weight Watchers bus
Sugary sweet intoxicating wine of independent thought
will get you government-issued gulag cloth
So don’t get drunk on too much First Amendment talk
Here’s something else you might want to try on the menu,
our peppery, Black Boot fascist veggie stew
It’s guaranteed to give you a mean kick
Only 100-percent propaganda tofu
is offered in this meatless, bicameral dish
No harmful voter allergens to alarm you,
and it’s debate-free healthy too
This totalitarian menu will slim your political weight
down so fast, it will shock you
Just watch what a few rubles a day can do
I know you still have cravings
for some red meat democracy
Need I remind you: this is a
media roast-free, autocratic dinner party
You will be amazed at what
a few influence-peddling dollars will buy
But please be advised:
Stay away from any amended second helpings
of the rich, decadent General Custard pie
Aw, shot ... it’s double-barreled delicious,
but it got major health concerns,
no Krispy Kremlin lie
Too many Constitutional calories
in each serving of this American dish
We urge you ... implore you ...
demand you not to give it a try
Those who taste too much sweet liberty,
tend to kick their totalitarian diet to the curbside
Categories:
meatless, metaphor, political, satire, truth,
Form:
Verse
The last plasma puff of the engine invites them out
Of the vessel, wearing refrigerated high-tech suits
Equipped complete with claw-like studs gripping cracked grout,
Fighting for balance against the gusts in their pursuit.
Tsal pulls out the holo-tablet to map their position
And consult the travel plan. The air crackles to life
At the rod in his hand's and the one on his chest's intersection
Showing in script and diagrams what once was humanity's hive.
A step on a fish bone draws a snap which pulls
His eyes downwards then around the oily dirty landscape
Where lay more bones from different creatures whose lives were culled
By a slow death they'd tried in vain to escape,
Probably the last of each of their species to have braved heat,
Thinning air, toxins in solid, liquid and gas form everywhere.
Tsal thought of who'd ate whom last at the eve of total defeat
As lives became meatless skeletons after plants had left here.
Ok! Back to finding the once supreme masters of this rock
Who built the cranes surrounding this now barren and dry seabed,
As if adorning the grave of many a beast. With some luck,
The image in his hand lights red as it hovers over a broken bone head.
(c) Nyonglema
Let's all go out and support Earth Hour on 28th March 2015 and yearly!...let's make this silence of whirrs and buzzes a little LOUDER.
Categories:
meatless, death, natural disasters, nature,
Form:
Verse
One step on the white blistering sand,
Sandals in hand, turban shrouding my beard
From the gusts of arid wind sucking my sweat
And burning my skin and mucosa.
I looked ahead, raising my hand
To block the sun and see the herd
Of camels ahead, and beyond the dunes,
The promise of death from thirst and hunger.
I saw the cactus hold firm to the sand,
And scavengers in the form of an innocent bird
Swimming overhead as if to admire their work:
Meatless bones basking lifeless in the sun.
Was that my fate? Lifeless in the sand
Going through the process to be bird turd
As they pecked and relished? So it seemed.
I pulled myself on, and my body protested.
Is this why this route was so bland?
That civilisation despite its million nerds
Had not found a way to profane the dunes
And enforce its will on Nature's plans?
But I keep on with the target at hand.
Oh...I forgot to give you the Word!
Great promise lies ahead, beyond the pain,
Beyond the thirst, beyond lurking death.
Behind me lies a devastated land,
The old me: wicked and absurd.
Beyond the pain lies Life, and just like a newborn,
I shall bear the suffering that takes me Home.
(c) Nyonglema
Categories:
meatless, addiction, baptism, change, christian,
Form:
Verse
Croissant, crisp
buttered farm fresh
marmalade is laid
asking for a taste rape
orange juice,
just taken
from crop gash
cashews,
fair and smiling
roasted fine
coffee,
musky
and tongue
soothing hot
bacons,
succulent
teeth,
deep sunk
eggs,
laid
by hen
taking
my name
made
in boil,
scramble
and lette
thin
crust
of pizzaette,
plain and
meatless
green tea,
wafting
by the
sea
simmering
and naughty
hunger,
in the dews
of morning
after a run
on health gun
repast,
invites
would
you
join in?
Categories:
meatless, life
Form:
Free verse
Overgrown With Vines
Three meatless, boney, fingers clawed
at the hard dirt, glistened in the emptiness,
cursed the damnation of the full moons lie.
Death and the shallow grave had come quickly
a sharp metal edge the instrument of both.
The vines, the ever growing, ever reaching
strangling vines had come much slower,
clutching and grasping the remnants
of an unexamined death.
He had fought them, the vines,
struggled to raise a hand, to signal
the intruders of his silent hell.
Slowly he succumbed to his fate
gave up the ghost of justice delayed
relaxed into the dirt and stone
accepted the anonymity of a life
the ignominy of a death
overgrown with vines.
9/29/2016
submitted to – Overgrown With Vines – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Broken Wings
Categories:
meatless, dark, death, eulogy,
Form:
Free verse
Who Owns a Poem?
Could I call a poem – a poem
if I titled it as such
or would this egocentricity
cause the poets to turn on me?
Words - shifting sands - rolling stones
shadows cast by meatless bones
memory’s nostalgic noose
tormenting the bottled goose.
Three shelled game – poet as pea
always writing – never free
ink stained apron – wordplay runes
clandestine nom de plumes.
The pen sits mute atop the truth
expressed beneath its tip
manipulated poetic pawn
lost amid a coming dawn
Thrusting blindly at the night
stalking shadows in the light
scratching words in sand, on stone
for his poems he cannot own.
©6/17/2017
submitted to – The Creative Collective Anthology Series – Poetry Contest
Categories:
meatless, poetry, writing,
Form:
Verse
The Man who hates Israel
Today we had lunch at a restaurant called Israel and,
yes it was Jewish but I didn’t see an Islamist bomber
ready to blow himself and us up to King David come.
The food was good and later over coffee I noticed they
served food fit for diabetics.
What amused me was that one of the dishes, hummus with
something was recommended by lady Gaga which I take
to be a cross- dressing singer. Where are the Jews?
Finally, an elderly couple arrived she looked like Isaac Rabin’s
wife and the man a scientist, to my chagrin they left
the food was too Middle Eastern for them they spoke English
with a Dutch accent. The Hollanders are really mean, I gave a lift
to a prince of the house of Orange he lived quite far from me
but didn’t even offer me a cup of coffee.
I remember him telling me that the crown prince of Norway
had shamefully married a commoner, a waitress of all things.
I digress, The Israeli restaurant served meatless food which
suits me well, only when I came home I wondered if the place
was a cover for Mossad’s and they take no interest in me.
No matter how much I holler about the Zionists they are not
sending assassins after me so I have to live with my failures.
Categories:
meatless, absence, abuse, angst, humor,
Form:
Blank verse
Tell mother I am but a girlchild
I am not yet a woman to be married.
let me not write this sorrow that
men would see and cry tomorrow,
Let them not paint a scary picture today.
Tell father l am too young for this,
tell him my waistbeads snapped
at the market place yesterday
because they made the day dark
with double edged deceit of their heart.
I will work heavily to pay for his debt,
Marriage is not an option for me.
Let him hide his stupidity from the
watchful world's tongues from lynching
at his weakness and fable arrogance.
Ogbuefi has no love in his eyes,
I won't be the eleventh wife, father!
I won't be able to bear the pains of
his manhood when we sing together
on the sinful bed he made as a miser.
Mother! I want to go back to school.
I want to see what the walls have for me,
I want freedom to explore womanhood
not a man always seen at the city gate
telling tomorrow how ugly he wants it to be.
Take my Pleas to Ogbuefi's court,
I will work in the farm to pay Father's debt
for life jelweries lie in choices we make,
It is not left in the wishful stare of our minds.
My heart carries a comb of fire to excel.
I will be fine without him in my life.
I don't want the moon to be a witness
to my leaving from his cruel home,
I want the sun's companionship as i
come back to share with the meatless meal.
A new song is here which is strange
to my tongue of hope and dreams.
I don't want to sing along with the women,
Ogbuefi is a beast to them all, mother!
Falling in love with him is a nested sorrow.
©John Chizoba Vincent
Cam'god
Categories:
meatless, abuse, africa, age, anti
Form:
Blank verse
MOO HA HA HAH! (with kudos to E.A. Poe)
There was an eerie peal I knew
When just a reborn child
I sat listening
Listening for that cast iron steel-gray
midnight shattering clang
CLANG!
Once -
Twice -
Then this macabre strain that would trip familiar space
Motoring round my meatless inner skull
Like a damn black hearse
All Saints Eve should have explained –
Some pumpkin-headed prankster
In the belfry legs wrapped around the bell tower rope
Smiling mischief –
But NO!
This was no call to worship
Unless to pay homage to Bedlam’s King
No church hymn this opus
The foul Dies Irae struck into my very soul
With nowhere to hide the tender flesh
And now as the sun sets I cower in my cell
Brain full of Draculaean horror
Waiting
WAITING!
Listening
Listening for those ghoul-mad midnight bells
Categories:
meatless, fantasy
Form:
Narrative
To Adedayo Adeyemi Agarau
Do you remember Sade?
Do you remember yesterday we flew kite
at the cloudy street of Ibadan?
Do you remember how I channelled your
thought to those boys who went and never
return home with their beds of happiness.
Do you remember Sade and Kemjy?
Those you said that have steps to every beat,
Not in this season shall a lizard grow hair.
You said Kemjy's body was a dream and
Sade' was a song to the nightingales at night.
Do you remember those pictures of Ibadan we took?
You were having no front teeth and your
Mother said you sold them for a seed of groundnut.
I was able to slide into your thought at dawn,
Do you still remember the meatless meal we ate
together at the feast of breasting lunch.
Those were our dreams to build a home,
those were our hope to hope for a home;
a home to call a home not a forest of sins.
Do you remember the poem you wrote to Kemjy?
Do you remember asking Sade of her Oriki?
Do you remember breaking her waist beads?
She was a laughter in your lips,
you were a singer at her door.
Of a lighter smile, how is Ibadan now?
those mould houses we built, are they still there?
Children and wife,nko?
Never knew that Kemjy will carry your generation!
Take a chill pill
reply quick before you peel,
those ripples of fate is still here
drowning in my longing thought of us.
© John Chizoba Vincent
From_A_Pen_Refusing_Frustration
Categories:
meatless, art,
Form:
Didactic