Meatless Poems | Examples

Consumed

Consumed

I remember in poverty,
eating ramen noodles,
daily.

Beans and Weenies.
Meatless sauce
spaghetti.

Rice, Rice, Rice,
without any real
spice.

Bologna Sandwiches.
Hamburger Helper
mixes.

Fried Spam,
and all kinds of meat,
canned.

Hot Dogs on a stick,
burnt to a
crisp.

Catfish from the creek,
yellow belly
meat.

Milwaukee’s Best.
Another broken
promise.

The cheapest smokes.
Always gotta have
those.

Colon cancer, Rectal cancer,
lungs and
brain.

A hole too deep,
at least six
feet.

Same old hole,
no matter where you
grow.

Meatless Mondays

I wonder:
is one man's ballad
invalid
word salad
or a plant-based substitute
for veggie palates?

Going Meatless

Save the earth by going vegan
honestly don't know if I can

T bone steak bloody rare
each morsel a bite you cannot spare
Jawing on the bone when the meat is gone
lick the plate it's never wrong

Hot juicy hamburger with just the bun
each bite melts on your tongue
Savoring the taste of real ground beef
of all sandwiches it is chief

Life without bacon is a sin
the meat candy is a win win win
The smell the taste and even the grease
flavoring those veggies your force to eat

That great southern favorite chicken fried steak
eating for lunch supper or breakfast when you wake
Lots of gravy and that big Texas toast
to wipe your plate to enjoy it the most

Don't forget fried chicken with the skin
bite to the bone finger good licking
A world wide favorite that never ends
glorious is the flavor of fried chicken

Lamb fish goat and turkey
that great snack beef jerky
Ham on holidays or any day at all
meat is the dish cooked or raw

Roast, baked grilled fry or stew
meat is there for any mood
But it can never be said enough
going without barbecue would be too rough

The Red Bucket

When Mom took down the blue bucket we knew what it meant.
We were getting close to the end of the month.
Inside were the canned goods we can use to stretch our food.
Creamed corn, peas, beans- lima and kidney.
Meatless chili, my brother said. A mistake. Our mother looked sad.
One time in the winter when the blue button was empty,
Mom said, “Time to get out the red bucket.” We did not know what that was.
None of us had ever heard of it.
We did not find out for over thirty years it is when she swallowed her pride
And went to her parent’s house to ask for money.
We only heard her speak of the red bucket one time.
But it was in such a sad tone, that although we were six and seven,
both of us remembered it thirty years later when she finally told us what it meant.

The Important Things In Life

The cry rings out, "Man will go to Mars!"
   But who will heal my last affair's scars?
Soon man will return to the moon
   Yet will I find true love this June?

We can now make meatless burgers so tasty
   Can I for once not commit to a nebbish so hasty?
We've created artificial intelligence and life
   Will a good man see in me a good wife?

The Dear Retirement of a Beloved Pastor Part Iii

Oh, goodness, how my initiative has flustered.
I think that my meatless Fridays  will receive fruits of reward and hence I grow faint.
I sigh through dear retirement of a beloved pastor. 

Alas, I never learned the likeness of his mother,
containing ignorance of queries, I may have dared.
Oh,goodness, how my initiative has flustered.

Why,I adorned my scent in generous coriander masking, 
I learned that afterwards for months his body actively ailed.
I sigh through dear retirement of a beloved pastor. 

What irresponsibility to not attend his masses of distance radius concluding a ten-minute bus ride,
within the retrospect I carried a pedestrian distance strength.
Oh,goodness, how my initiative has flustered.

Through instances my mobile telephone illuminates unknown numbers,
in filled enthusiasm "Hello, monsignor" I declare.
I sigh through dear retirement of a beloved pastor. 

In his missing funds for rejuvenated miscrospoic cellular architecture of the cataracts,
my endeavor to contact him results in abandoned snail and over weekly electronic mail.
Oh, goodness, how my initiative has flustered.
I sigh through dear retirement of a beloved pastor.

Healthy Food Yum Yum

Worm mutton cottage fries made without oil, ants on chocolate toast,
Bread made of almonds, and healthy carrot-laden Robin egg soup.
Vegetarian sandwiches lavishly sprinkled with the most
Delightful new organic spinach that makes you rapidly poop.

All of these delightful-sounding greens and wholesome delights, that you so adore.
Do not make me or my family want to come back for any extra or more.
Yes, I know you have cheese-free pizza, and cake without flour.
But we like mashed potatoes, and dressing, not things that sound dour.

Next Wednesday you say, you are trying meatless, but tasty livers squash stew?
Come try it you say? It is tasty, already made and will be good for both me and you?
It sounds yummy and delightful, I will ask my husband and the rest of my crew.
Sorry. We are extremely busy; the bathroom a week ago ran out of shampoo.

Who Owns a Poem

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

A Piece of Me That Stays

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.

Overgrown With Vines

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

Eagles' Jaded Flight

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

Moo Ha Ha Ha

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

Invite To Mornin' Repast

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?

Dirt Devil

No I'm not a vacuum
I actually like dirt and grime
So if your looking for me
This is what you'll find

With rakes and shovels
Designing gardens and beds
Packing it firmly
Or fertilizing with worms instead

I can grow a fancy of flowers
Maybe veggies for a meatless sight
Trees overflowing with fruit
Vines and shrubs for one's delight

If you need something grown
Just give me a ring
I'll slap on my boots and gloves
I can make your dirt sing

Ah, Life! Sonnet Ii

Ah, Life! 

II

Life’s sharpest sunrays pierced the sky each morn,
bright talons tear away my empty calm
and my dilated eyes resent the thorns
applied by cheer of golden, cayenne palms.

I wish the night would rise and still prevail
provide asylum for me in the dark
upon this bed of hopeless, dead entrails
amidst the rot of useless, meatless parts.

Let maggots make a meal of desperate pain
and mortal leeches sip while blood is warm.
My limbs are limpid and my will near drained
as your effusive feeders flock in swarms.

    Ah, Life, I never loved you from the start
    and yet you stalk my heavy, haunted heart!

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