Best Produce Poems
My new fridge has a tv in door
It starts flashing my pictures galore
“I’m not that fat…now stop”
Dumb fridge used Photoshop!
Now my knuckles are swollen and sore
Today
I made the grocery list
For delivery.
The breads, the turkey
Slices, and ham, the lettuce
For salad
Which led to discussing tomatoes;
The yogurt, milk, cream;
peanut butter; tissues even,
But, oh confound!
I forgot cake!
How do I forgive myself that?
————————————————————-
(c) sally young Eslinger 3/14/21
Late night in the market, I see a father's son.
He tugs his daddy’s pants. I hear him say,
"Daddy, look. Look and see." (there’s no one there but me)
I want to thank the boy that made this not-so-young gal's day
With "See the pretty lady!" Dad turns red. They rush away.
(Well, this was a while back, when I was blonde. haha)
For the COMPLIMENTS Poetry Contest of Frank H.
Hold up your cup of cheer, my friend!
I’ll hold your hand, and squeeze. You wince.
Your life - it’s not to save, but spend.
Work hard, its yield! Spice up with quince!
1/1/2017
Chastushka Poem
Quince – inedible raw but transforms into an aromatic and delicious treat, when cooked.
Garden
Green, healthy,
Planting, watering, weeding
Vegetables, flowers, seeds, husks,
Pulling, raking, feeding,
Dried, fully formed
Harvest
Sways painting upward with others
like brothers and sisters they are
more of a family grown close.
This time of year breeds strength of closeness
Skinless noiseless and breathless they move
Absent of belief in choice and sight
Unable to self feed sleep or walk
Still together their bond won't self break
As human bonds are accustomed to
As flesh needs of that which is rooted
Bearing fruit delightful smells and air
Stepped on and still standing through it all
Leans left, lean right then sways pointing upward
And what do they believe in or see?
And how do they agree sin or bleed?
This is the time of year growth begins
sinless, choiceless and threatless they move
If only families were plants...
fresh peppers and peas
popping up in the garden
my mouth pure water
Home grown produce is what I do the woman said.
I was not sure what that was, so I had to see for myself.
Her garden was the size of two football fields.
You do all of this yourself? I asked.
She loved that I thought it was a big deal.
I stayed for four hours to see what weeding meant.
I loved it! The sun nurtured my soul.
This is earth therapy, I said. She was pleased.
When she passed on she left me her garden.
Her quilts, her jarred up vegetables.
Now I gladly introduce people to gardening.
I adore what this woman did for my life.
Riches can produce lovely women
security, safe haven, quality life
a place peaceful completely without strife
NOTE: This is a 16 word Poem
The farmer produces
produce on his very
productive farm......
|| to never produce
love kills
m y o w n t h o u g h t s
and what did you
speak ? my love?
the many ways we
all Die?
so it is
for those who forget
how to live ||
:: 01-01-2017 ::
(c) E.P. Robles
The
Pyramid
Of purple topped
Turnips takes me instantly
Into the memory of lifetime past
In which a brutal winter's cold caused
Such scarcity that purple-topped turnips were
All the children had to eat for breakfast lunch dinner.
Father cursed, Mother wept, Sister died, but the turnip winter showed no sympathy; nature does not care about men, war, or famine.
Dont speak
Just do
Because Im not going to be trapped
Within those lies you produce
Show me my worth
Don't tell me what I mean
Because you can lie about anything
But when you do it means something
So dont sweet talk me
And play with my heart
Because if you can do it to me
You can tear others apart
So don't speak
Just do
Because im not going to be trapped
In those lies you produce
To produce a baby on earth
cannot be just a biological role
or a pleasurable human project
not a byproduct of sweet love
It is a role to bring up a human
someone with a mission on earth
to build or to bring happiness to all
One whom even birds will honor
But when the duty is mishandled
Surely the parent joyfully reproduces
a monster creature to the world
to destroy, curse and cause sorrows
That is when parenthood is a joke
Yoke around the neck unimaginable
Trump Produce Much Fear
Fire and fury will produce much fear,
In vicinity of hell or you may be near;
Remember of course;
Fury was a fine horse;
Be careful if Trump is a sloppy skier.
Jim Horn