Lentils Poems | Examples

Some Like It Hot

With coriander cumin turmeric
basmati rice saffron and spice
onions chilli peppers
and all things nice
with chapati and chutney
a samosa or two
naan for starters
rogan josh vindaloo
not eye-watering
but tasty is best
tandoori tikka masala
korma's a meal with zest
chicken lamb chickpeas or lentils
a dinner for two you do not hurry
allow what you've got to simmer in the pot
if you want a winner curry

Steam Radiator

The radiator whispered like breath
beneath the old window 
               (half opened for mercy)
where cold fingers of air
braided themselves with steam
and the snow stayed only for seconds
dancing above the sill
in the breeze.

The sofa, burgundy and bruised,
sagged like an old confession.
I curled into its velvet hush
and watched the cupola burn gold
               (above the parking lot at dusk)
through the veil of falling snow.
This was my aerie,
thin-walled and tranquil,
where I painted, and read,
and wrote my way
into becoming. 

Below, the café breathed 
lentils and clove,
hippies hunched 
at secondhand tables,
hands wrapped around chipped mugs
               (arguing softly about Hesse)
as incense tangled with the steam.
I read Siddhartha in the original,
while Han Fook waited in the margins,
quiet as smoke,
his silence teaching me
to listen without answers.

Carrots

   Settled in to eat the carrots.
   Orange and very long.
   They were Viking boats!
   Sang a warrior's song.

   Put lentils on the sides,
   Brave warrior shields with green bean spears.
   No one could hide.

   Ready to land.
   Floated across the gravy.
   Mashed potatoes were near.
   Landed in the fluff.

   The monster stabbed them all.
   Down the gullet they went.
   Real quick!

   Momma said, "Eat them all,
                         They will improve your eyes!"

   Does that mean my eyes will glow?
   Like the monster I have inside?

Mulligatawny - Poetry Soup

Mulligatawny, soup for you,
Uniquely, peppered, seasoned through,
Lots of ingredients, we might use,
Lentils, a mustard seed or two, 
Interesting flavours, we might choose,
Garlic, chillies, tamarind too,
Adapting, finding, something new,
Trial and error, tastes good, it's true,
Always learning, that's what we do,
Warming, nourishing, filling too,
North, South, East, West, the whole world through,
Your soulful bowl, of poet's stew.

The Great Indian Kitchen

In my kitchen's grasp, where spices hop free,
Whispers of our memories, in each recipe.
Khichdi's humble grace, a bow to our roots,
In grains and lentils, tradition assent.

Herbal notes linger, a fragrant ballet, a scenic design. 
As generations gather, in love's display.
Grandma's hands, a harmony of care,
Amma's gentle touch, flavors rare.

Papadums bloat, tales of old flames,
In every fold, history takes flight.
Black tea's warmth, with Tulsi's caress,
A sip of time, warm embrace. 

Amma's pickle, a tangy delight,
Mingling with Khichdi, in consonance light. 
Handpicked mangoes, memories unfold,
A dab of pickle, a story retold.
The Great Indian Kitchen's embrace, ceaseless love

Ma's Soup

'Dinner won't be long, Dear.'

Burt puffed up his pillows and squeezed one out.

'Better wash your hands, now'.

The armchair smothered his glee.

Wallaby faggots, 

Brown rice juices,

Lentils,

Barley and rye.



Jumbo  morels,

Whatever she sells,

Liquid fish stock,

Brussels and hock,

Tranches of offal from Thebes!



Chilly jam and

Fruity brown sauce.



Round and round

The rotten rump,

The rancid ratchet rasped.

'It must've been that onion jus',

Was all that I could gasp.



Round and round

The rotten rump,

The rancid ratchet rasped.

'It must've been that onion jus',

Was all that I could gasp.

Transplanted I Planted In Africa

When Corona came, I was on Reunion Island
Indian Ocean environs, nearer native South Africa ...
Transplanted, I have planted a garden, thrived

Without any research, butternuts survived
But in my pot and that of a friend's -
We grew Mint, Coriander, Hot Peppers, Lentils

The last was a challenge: to clean off the chaff
Transplanted, I planted again in Africa
Marigolds, Neem, Geranium, even white Lilies

Khar

Khar!
or
An alkaline extract!
my mouth drools 
o! momma
everytime I think of the dish
whether it is the beloved 
amitar khar (i know as papaya khar),
tiyohor khar (i know as cucumber khar),
khar dal (i know as khar with lentils),
not to quit
sometimes with dry fishes or meats 
dish itself is the contentment when served
i call it as 'quintessence of Assamese Cuisine' 
elixir from the ashes of burnt dried banana peels
hey
when imbued
the khar dish with platter of steamed rice
whether i am glued in Assam or anywhere on this earth,
my heart's cravings...
portraits the way of a yarn-
'the viridescent melody muffled the white snow mountain dance in folk tales'
o! momma
khar with some rice

Little Purple Marvin

This is my purple pet Marvin 
and he is always starvin 
I tried feeding him lentils and beans 
but when I do,  he says I'm mean 

So I feed him multi colored flowers
he says it gives him super power 
I try to be a good pet lover 
its easy when he hovers 

Just give him a little tender loving care 
and suddenly he's dancing on air 
When I give him petunias and roses 
he suddenly smiles and poses 

This is my purple shumacka daisy  
and I love him, something crazy...

Summer Cooking In India

As rain starts to drizzle
cooling our sizzled body
aroma travels through the window
making neighbours hysteric;
Onions make sense
With whisper of pumpkin seed
A dash of garlic, grated
Green chillies choke breath.
Lentils, wobbling peanuts
Snow white Basmati
A Kechri.
Fire burns, widows sleep.



Summer Cooking Poetry Contest

Sponsored by: Kim Rodrigues
26th June, 2018

Our Gran's Soup

Our gran used to make us soup,
A steaming golden broth.
It stood out like a work of art,  
Against the pearl white table cloth.

Full of carrot, peas and lentils
And leek of emerald green,
It was the most colourful soup
That I had ever seen.

Expectantly, there we sat
Around the dining table.
Eagerly waiting for our soup,
As gran wielded the ladle.

Into the giant soup pan,
She dipped the mighty spoon.
We sat there reverentially,
It couldn't come too soon.

Finally all our bowls were filled,
And gran said "carry on"
And to the sound of happy slurping,
The soup was quickly gone.

Anklets and Jasmine Incense

Embellished saris glide with hot winds
as the clatter of  bright anklets  varnish
female  heels rippling  on New Delhi's trails:
pungent waft of curry permeates
through a local mart —betel, cinnamon
and mint leaves flaunt their skin—
kohl for Oriental eyelids,  ambrosial herbs
rousing  elder men-- while a bowl of lentils
incite my buds. 

Although the thick of  dust settles mid-air,
Delhi’s  evening of jasmines reflects
a holy incense sanctifying  a mystical chant
quiet , ethereal as I adorn myself
with a comfortable  sari and layered  bangles ,
gazing at Taj Mahal, if only to imbibe
this calm energy unfamiliar yet known
inside my core… my breath follows
Hindi prayers of wonderment
on and on like a song of moonlight,
until I accept   allow such deep belonging
through the city’s rhythm with the world 

and somehow, intimately mine.


Exotic Contest for Debbie Guzzi
7/20/2017

Ee That Were Good Mum

Freezing Monday, your fingers are numb
Hurry on home to the fire and Mum.
Walk in the back and sniff the air,
The smell of lovely Cottage Pie is there.
Come home on Tuesday,stomach rumbling,
Mum's made a pan of Stew n Dumpling.
Is there an onion in there for me?
Go wash your hands and wait and see.
Wednesday it's the poor man's treat,
Thick sliced bread and potted meat.
Thursday comes, 'what's for tea' I cry,
It's hot n tasty, a Shepherds Pie.
When Friday comes you know the dish,
Even though we're not Catholic, it's fish!
Saturday,out comes the brown earthenware pot,
filled with whatever meat that Mum has got,
Veg and lentils,simmering in a thick Bisto stew
With a thick suet crust , I'm raring to chew.
Sunday in our house wasn't special as I recall,
If Mum's purse was empty, no meat at all
But no matter what, we kids never starved,
Whatever came in was equally halved
Whether fruit or meat or bread we didn't care.
Mum divided it up and we each got a share.
It must have worked out, back when I were a kid,
Because I'm here now to tell of what Mum did.

© Dave Timperley February 23 2017

Aria

my voice is a blade of grass not a piccolo
between two lips I tell you a great story

why is a spent of twenty on beers a day cost less 
than to provide a meal

let's do the math of why a bag lentils
cost more than a six pack of beers

for sure the carrots were there
and so the green pepper to peal a bell

the produce most certain should kill the oast
of toast smiling the future and tomorrow

Alas

alas the ass to ride the dollar and the mule to the bank
I am not amuse the ruse of poetry soup and lack of lentils

as most of you do not know it is a legume to ponder the read
of a dictionary but the bard of avon  not going to plant a garden

the sun is bright but you are dim not knowing the share of sum
the perfect buffet with green tea and if lucky perfume with jasmine

• Short Lentils Poems
• Famous Lentils Poems
• Best Lentils Poems
• Read Lentils Poems
• Long Lentils Poems
• Lentils Quotes