beside dotage, corn whiskey make her writes go careen left right up down
If a conflicted carrot
based on its looks
could feel it's a parsnip
it would be a turnip for the books
and should confused chard
on corn do a number
lettuce hope the offspring
isn't a baby cucumber
some plants are quite confounded
in my garden bed
sadly the rhubarb is convinced
it's celery badly sun-burned red
Feeling corny
By the sea
Stretched out baby
Please look at me
I got on my shades
Do you think I’m hot
This yellow tan baby
It ain’t store bought
Rub in that butter
Slather me up
If you rub deeply
I’m bound to pop
Sun kissed towels
Baby you and me
Both feeling corny
down by the sea.
Mystic Rose’s Choose one image poetry prompt contest.
Image number one.
I love when we sit in the hot bright sun,
add some butter or we will get well done.
Sky and water of ice blue,
better than the dull store view.
Oh! look I am popping so I will run.
crows caustic cawing
polluting morning silence
corn field quiet
You know her
You feel she mingles in your reason in rhythm
Not with your possible pain of angina in arrhythmia
She is a calm serenity prayer
that knows your tear and that needs to run down on your smile lines
she is a kitchen cookie baking sheet
tracing paper cyan heed
never a plotter, never a san Juan never a San Francisco
But she is there too, with things on the verge of unsayable , she is there, too!
not to announce i am possible
but to possibly remind
even an ounce meant!
Rockefeller center and Rockford too
hit hard rock bottom with your pain
with all her pensive boon!
the 'MOTHER'S DAY' Poetry Contest entry
Watching the "Mary Poppins" movie,
her outfit sure was Good and goofy.
There were Wonderful children singing,
started from the very beginning.
Movie with popcorn is forever,
goofy honey is Great for pleasure.
Singing Extraordinary to hear,
beginning with the kids not a bear.
Some movies are timeless like this one.
Corn Snacks
I’ve been made conscious of
the fact that
corn snacks thought up the
first computer programming language used for
math and
scientific aim.
Soft flimsy red moths
settled like starving locusts
over brittle straw
Stopping By Corn Field On A Sunny Day
with apologies to Robert Frost
Whose field is this I'm sure I know.
he's busy in the barn now though
and will not see me stopping here
to find his corn in rows and rows.
The stalks of corn are full of cheer
and cobs are tasty chased with beer;
and golden corn is calling me
to pluck and run, I have no fear.
It's late of day, no one will see
except the sun and she agrees
one or two will not be missed,
it's just a question of degree.
Heaven knows that I will weep
if I drive away with empty Jeep!
So now I have sweet corn to eat ~
sweet corn to eat before I sleep.
ripening corn
swaying in the breeze
hula hula
You cannot take the country out of a corn-fed Iowa girl
You cannot pull the straw out of her teeth
You cannot take the “yahs” and replace them with “yeses”.
You can try to pull her off the tractor, but she will not come easy.
You can try to get her to stop eating fresh sweet corn
But I would not give you a nickel for your life afterwards.
Despicable
How it drips down the side
Bubbling up from the innards of the pot
I can hear the sizzling
The smell of the butter drenched corn
I throw in a bit of salt and pepper
To spice up the contents
Cream splashes up, upon my cheek
I leave it.
The light burning sensation begins to fade
As I step away, breathing intensely
This alone reminded me of my younger years.
Frightened yet interested
In how the cream drizzled corn was hesitant to conform.
How I yearn for the old me
Who could make batches of milky substance,
Yet now I struggle
With the makings of one
My fingers felt greasy
Like those nights years ago
How I would work every evening
Hoping you enjoyed the taste
My eyes sparkling,
Lost in the thoughts
The slurping and screeching
Of the boiling brew
The fragrance of corn graces my nostrils
Flashes of memories flood in
Your body, yet again
Covered in the opalescent matter
You used to love my cream corn chowder
The same way I still desire you
Yet there’s always a bowl of higher quality.
Saddened, as I turn the flame on low
Let it seethe,
Let it come to a halt.
Now I await to enjoy
Like those feasts years ago
Buttery Corn Puffs are made up in heaven
Delicious and such melt in your mouth fun
I'm not really addicted I can stop any time
If I'm held back at the point of a gun
Each night I bolt out of my bed screaming
“Where did you hide my Buttery Corn Puffs”
It's one of the few pleasures I have left in life
They'll soon have to take me away in cuffs
I dream of floating way up high on a cloud
Looking down on a soft yellow landscape
Corn Puffs stretching from horizon to horizon
With fairies and me wearing lampshades
Such a happy scenario of joy and frivolity
Those yellow Buttery Corn Puffs do evoke
To feel the great joy and total contentment
Before that final sad moment when I croak
If Buttery Corn Puffs are made up in heaven
I'll cross over to that great unknown
Totally surrounded from horizon to horizon
Much better than a land of buttered scones
harvest has ended
corn shocks made by Amish stand
lining empty fields
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