Best Onions Poems


Raw Onions

raw onions
falling tears
seasoning


Form: Ellip

Know Your Onions

Talk the Talk and Walk the Walk

Know Your Onions

Hey there Big Cheese
I think you are the bee’s knees

Not a bluenose or a flat tire,
But, ooh hardboiled & too Oliver Twist to resist

Let us skip the youths' rub & head far removed from the petting pantry

Share a jorum of skee at the local speakeasy
Now we are on the trolley!

Let us slowly ankle to the joint
I’m a copasetic-bearcat
Watch my gams, catch my point?

Oh hepcat I’ll get your handcuff or
This darb Sheba’s bank is closed for someone else

Butt me, you spiffy sheik
Cuz I’m stuck on you bimbo
Unleash

Know your onions & manacle this
Choice bit of calico,
You know you can’t resist

Then and then only will you wield me to your struggle buggy and
We’ll be jake!
The cat's pajamas!!
                Berries!									

                                                                             Sunshine Williams
                                                                                 1920’s Slang

Premium Member Liver N' Onions

Take a pound of beef liver

   Shake it in flour

      Chop up one fair sized onion

         Fry in hot skillet

            Turn head and hold nose

                Feed to dog

                   Barf!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved


Premium Member Onions 'N' Liver

I'm the only one at our house who relishes onions and liver.
Ah, the thought of that delicacy sends up my spine a shiver!
Never mind that my spouse almost gags and must pinch her nose,
Keeping the frying pan at bay as that malodorous aroma flows!

When a pan of onions and liver is sizzling in the kitchen,
To attack that delectable repast, my delicate palate is itchin'!
I take no heed concerning liver and all of its cholesterol.
Alas, it is seldom on the menu at our table after all!

A supper of onions and liver is just not at all complete,
Without a slab of cherry pie and ice cream for a treat.
The entree' must include peas, gravy and smashed pertaters,
And on the side a salad liberally laced with fresh termaters!

I grew up chomping on onions and liver as a Hoosier lad,
'Specially at butchering as hogs' fates were sealed by Dad!
We'd never heard of lobster thermidor or cordon bleu.
Shucks, at our humble abode we were pleased with a zesty stew!

I've heard that too much cholesterol can bring about an early doom.
Should that occur, this epitaph would be most appropriate for my tomb:
"Docs warned him about onions, liver and bad cholesterol;
Alas, he took no heed - his demise they could not forestall!"

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved

I Hate Cooking, and I Hate Onions After I Cut My Finger

Ouch, to cut my finger... 
Pain and blood spills and does longly stay and linger. 

To give my sliced appendaged digit a much needed bath... 
I won't cook for a living, or go to school for typing or even take math. 

Math and onions i do not like... 
I'd rather have a tooth pulled or be super glued to a seatless one peddled 
down hill travelling brakeless bike. 

I'll only eat onions that are totally cooked...
I wont go to a restaurant and look on a menue to oder it from the waitress, 
it will never be booked.

Premium Member Of Onions and Peaches

Unwrap an onion
and find
beneath the layers
nothing but tears.

While the peach
beneath the fuzz
and the succulent flesh
yields a hard
but sometime fertile stone
to carry the future


Girls and Their Onions

Small town, broken window houses
dead roses hang in kitchens
leftovers of other women
who eat beef in dark rooms.
            
We are not like them.
Don't touch us, not ready.
Our oven mitts are on.
 
Men can knob themselves
while we grind knives.
 
We don't want to be under the pale man
who puts his spoon in his cheek and moans.
 
We are good girls. No need to explain 
why roses hang stiff and feel soggy.
 
How many licks will it take 
before we peel off our panties
like we strip onions for soup.
 
Men can guess, but dampness
is not a sign. Liquids leak
 
when the onion is hacked,
breaking cells and releasing
a distinctive odor on tips.
© Lyon Brave  Create an image from this poem.

Green Onions(Ode To)

Green Onions

What fool can write about green onions?
Not me, Not me
I'm not a fool you see

Green onions are food
not a poem my friend whose goofy

But I don't mean to be rude
or crude to any dude
who writes about green onions 
and not eat for food

So what if I'm rude or crude
to you, foolish dude
I'm not like you, I'm no fool
But a dude who's cool

So don't confuse me with a fool dude 
'cause I'm a cool dude
I do not write about green onions
that is you, a fool you see
and a fool you will always be

I do not write about green onions
you see ,you see

100 Onions

100 Onions
                    (The absconding of the onions)
                         (Onion bandit burglary)

In Waterville Maine today the rain stayed a little longer
100 onions grown by grade school students had been stolen
The children at Albert Hall Elementary grew the veggies by themselves
With teeny tiny student hands
Nurtured them and fed them onion nutrients and water
Protected them from harm
To give them to the homeless who needed them more than life itself
We are certain, that the homeless require onions all the time
According to our sources and correspondents on the scene
They can never get enough onions on their own
The children had to save the homeless.   Save them now!
The young ones said the most distressful things like
 “I’m sad”, “I’m very sad.” And things like that
This threw the community into a whirlwind of perturbation   
Oh!  What kind of criminal mind perpetrates such a heinous act
In broad day light or any time for that fact?
Is there no decency, no justice left?  What about the theft?
What ever happened to stealing cars and robbing banks?
Isn't there more profit in those crimes?
Detectives will hunt this onion bandit down and show him justice
Perhaps at the end of a rope or headless by the guillotine
Or boiled in the chowder in New England soup, to bring him to his senses
Onion bandit burglars belong in dungeons and should be sued
We can only hope he takes the 100 onions home and cuts them open
And starts to cry for the “sad” and “very sad” young ones that he hurt
And have him pay for crimes against humanity and onions
There’s nothing worse than absconding with the onions

Onions and Apples

onion booty delight
i love staring at the art of it all
you may look at me as the typical male
well i cannot help myself when i stop, look and wonder....wonder, look, and stop
then i look at her
those eyes shooting daggers through me like an aggressive type of acupuncture
i try to flirt with her, but today it will not work
then i watch her walk....MY GOSH!!!!!  WHAT A RUMP ROAST!!!!!
tonight i will get no sleep
my smile is IMMEDIATE!!!!!
at times i like her that way 

apple booty delight
i love admiring the art of it all
you may look at me as the typical male
well i cannot help myself if i wonder, look, and stop....stop, look, and wonder
then i look at her
that head just starts shaking while she is throwing something at me at the same time
i try to laugh it off, but that look on her face is like a stop sign that is very mandatory
then i watch her strut with a bit of an extra kick....MY GOSH!!!!!   WHAT A BREATHTAKING BOONKUM!!!!!
she straddles me like a scowling viewblocker
my smile is IMMEDIATE!!!!!
she puts it on me like a claim on gold when her emotions are mixed with jealous and mad
© Marty King  Create an image from this poem.

Onions

her eyes filled with tears 
but she goes on singing 
and cutting onions

Orions Onions

oblique inverted potting vessels
 full of luminescent onions. 

  half the bulbs have grown out of their 
habitats sprouting at night over roof
tops on saint james avenue.

  the other half hang down along  
telepone wires across the street.

 celestrially conspicious reflecting in dull 
 orange hews on the pavement.

me and saint james stand there
 looking up to count them.

rows and rows of electric globes. 


under orions nocturnal orchard they
 flicker in the light of their own myths. 
 
  i to am a dreamer this night.

  i to move with the spheres first 
in the garden now under the lamps.

Onions You Are Better Than the Invisible God

Onions You are better than the invisible God
You’re visible and helping us to eat
You’re cheaper to have 
than my worships and rituals
Oh Onions !
We have created you and harvested you
You gave better result to our work
Oh God !
You are silent on seeing Poors 
You are giving fortunes only to rich and wealthy
It is available even for two rupees 
It can be cooked even with out oil
But My God!
Can I see you in temples with out money
Can I have your blessings with out tickets
Oh Onions !
You are very closer to a man from a slum
You are impartial to rich and poor
But My Invisible God!
Are you near to us?
Do you favor anything to poor?
Oh My Onions !
Though you are cheap and abundantly available
You are strengthening our heart
By purifying our blood
You are too better than my invisible God
But My Invisible God
What did you do So far?
You have increased worries and pressure
Instead of releasing them
If You are here ,
You will have to protect humbles from the giants
You will have to feed
all lives in this land
Trillions are dying  and billions are going to die
in the race of searching food
But My Onions!
You are doing something to your masters

If I'M Cooking For My Chick and I Use Onions Or a Leek Does That Mean I'M Taking a Leak

WHEN HOPE TURNED TO DOPE

My memories of yesterday are hazy at best
Perhaps they’ve faded away at retribution’s request
Yet somehow I remember popcorn and pop-guns as a child
And then came seventeen when I discovered poppy plants grow wild

My adolescent days are difficult to recall
I hardly remember too many of them at all
But with great difficulty I found a way to cope
For then came seventeen when I discovered dope

I remember she and me holed up in a seedy hotel
It wasn’t but should have been dubbed “Hotel Hell’
Because that’s where the shadows of its hallways had finally led
While I was shooting up on the floor and she upon the  bed

In the land of the rising sun is from where the powder came
And there was no one except she and I to blame
Somehow slanted eyes knew precisely what to do
And how to make heroin from the poppies they all grew

We’d checked into that hotel with empty luggage in tow
We left them behind so the clerk never knew when we’d  go
We ran up a charge for room service to order up some food
But the dope we had injected mitigated hunger’s mood

Seventeen is now coming upon seventy too fast
And ever fades the remembrances of a very shady past
They are mostly visions my mind commands me not to save
However before I turned twenty I was visiting six very good friend’s grave
     © 2011.…..free cee!

Three Types of Onions

---This verse is split into 3 parts - it is officially called The Onion Trilogy! I hope you find this clever, silly and flavorful
--- make sure not to cry when reading my poem! I was teary eyed while writing this! J/K

Black Onions - poem #1

Hey, no racism
Involved - I burnt the onions 
My eyes wince with pain

Hey, no offense, man
I'm not crying - chill out, dude
Kick back and relax!

Pink Onions - poem #2

I'm a funny guy 
What's wrong with the color 'pink'?
Don't miss out! Try it!

No homo - pink's cool
Pink is a nice color, bud!
You don't believe me? (Oh well!)

Green Onions (poem #3)

Original, no?
Really good with meals and shtuff!
Drink the soup - you're sick!

I used to garden
I believe we planted this!
Green onions are good!

They're green and healthy
You should put it in your soup
Keep brewing sick lines (you get the pun? - sick)

I was a young boy
When I ordered my kid's food -
Baked potato (with green onions sprinkled on top! Yum! My mouth's watering now!!)

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