Food Personification Poems | Examples
These Food Personification poems are examples of Personification poems about Food. These are the best examples of Personification Food poems written by international poets.
How cruel of you to laugh.
You must be a psychopath,
completely daft and nuts,
as I'm oozing bloody guts,
a jelly donut, cut in half.
Once our home was filled with love,
from God up above.
My kitchen had delicious foods cooking away,
as children played near by.
Many family and dear friends,
laughed and loved in my rooms of old.
One by one they went away,
all promising to come back someday.
My once pretty garden is now all weeds,
even the birds will not come near.
I'm A Forgotten Home,
I once was filled with love.
"Have me with tea and honey.
My upside is always sunny."
That would be the boast
of a breakfast I think funny.
"Though I'm a little runny,
I'm the best bet for your money",
said the egg on toast.
I once swung from a tree on a noose,
but I was picked, and I rolled loose.
Yet it's times just like these,
when they put on the squeeze,
that I become fresh orange juice.
Little nutmeg will now recite her poem...
I sit quietly on your spice shelf,
You notice the others, never myself,
a humble tin of ground nutmeg.
Please hear me. I don't wish to beg.
I wait here, nightly, wide awake -
please put me in your pie or cake.
Thank you, Ms. Nutmeg. Uhoh, it looks like she's doing an encore...
Please put me in your cake or pie.
If you don't, then I should die,
longing to be gently sprinkled
by your loving hands, so wrinkled,
into a pudding made of rice.
Don't you think that would be nice?
I sit quietly on your spice shelf,
You notice the others, never myself,
a humble tin of ground nutmeg.
Please hear me. I don't wish to beg.
I wait here, nightly, wide awake -
please put me in your pie or cake.
It’s time to put forth some new information
to shatter the myth of small primate intimidation
I’m done scurrying from one alley to another
just to scrounge some rancid cheese for my brothers
So, from now on it’s full bore galore
Me and my friends are hittin’ up every dairy store
I distract ‘em in front with my Mighty Mouse routine
While my comrades sneak out the back with limburger unseen
And next month, we invade Madison Cheese Garden
(I’ll be the one with a butcher knife and hard-hat-on)
bowl was in a braggy mood
“I am the best for every food!”
dish was angry and threw a fit.
spoon said ignore her, she’s a nitwit.
Fork stayed out of it, he was wise.
Bowl was mean and ten times his size.
There's no method to my madness,
no reason to my rhyme.
My heart is filled with sadness.
There's no solution to my crime.
Life is a campaign of attacks,
a sequence of living hells -
I hope that when my cover cracks,
you'll enjoy pistachios in shells.
I am a Date Palm. Winds may threaten, bend and
and snap back my trunk; nests between my frondy
bonnet yet remain firm -- from me, the palm, feathered
survivors have learned, resilience; and the selfless nature
of lofty giving. Dates ripen, young chirping for their meal.
Mothers not having far to travel. One can say, I am bed
and breakfast service. No need to call and wait for market
delivery. Lookout of the desert, mast and sail of the sandy
dunes. When comes the wind I whistle a nurturing tune. Such
music both lullaby and grateful prayer. Proud member of Club Oasis.
they take me for granted, I feel ignored and small
Six live in this house, and no one thanks me at all
they use me every day, I am imperative to them
They slam my door and give me a headache; I’m Jim.
I keep their food cold, my freezer keeps them healthy too.
They have allowed me to get filthy, I am full of sticky goo.
When was the last time someone washed me? I really don’t know.
The little ones sometimes stand inside on my edge, hurting my toe.
I am tired of this treatment, would run away if I could to the moors.
I snicker a bit, thinking about how this would feel to these boors.
Twenty years I have been here, keeping their milk ready to drink.
I am not alone in these thoughts, ask the oven and the sink.
I look at my work. I look down on the valley.
I'm proud of its richness, of its green fertile fields,
And each time I do, I can count up the tally.
My sacrificial top's loss produces great yield.
There's beauty in the valley, in its farms and trees.
Morning fog gives it a mythical seduction.
Yet though I remember how the people did flee.
I take no fault for my fiery eruption.
I, a Volcano. What can one really expect?
My purpose is to scatter Earth's food from my cone.
Terror of fiery flow calls for quick respect.
Some townsfolk of Pompeii have been turned into stone.
I am a freshwater fish
Some of my kin have grown to ten feet
I am shrimpy compared to them
I stopped growing at six feet
I live in a place with lots of dinner
A lake that attracts worms, frogs, and rodents
Sometimes I get a duck
A duck tastes delightful!
I look fierce
With those two evil pretend canines hanging from my mouth
I am docile though
Unless you look like food
I am a catfish after all
Piggies Pinky, Poinky, and Puck
were sloshing in the summery farmyard's murky muck.
It was the day before slaughter,
and they were enjoying the lukewarm water,
and the chorus of the cackly goose and the quaky duck.
Every day I don my costume of gray
preparing to frolic and play
Whatever the game may be that day
my gray masquerade gives me away
For deep inside, I tremble and shake
Will later I eat, or be lunch for a snake
~ Sam the Squirrel