Short Apron Poems
Short Apron Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Apron by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Apron by length and keyword.
she patted her apron
tiny boy crawled inside
she covered him up
hiding him from the cruel world
never letting him go
he was safe
Doing chores in the buff on my mind
apron strings dangling down my behind
I hope he keeps mum
about seeing my bum
'coz my window cleaner's just resigned!
baker's white apron
rising yeast
kneading fluffy buns
Submitted on October 3, 2018 for contest BAKER'S DOZEN sponsored by MAUREEN MCGREAVY - RANKED 2ND
Auntie Arista Adderlisting
Ate apples appreciatively
Attired in an aba apron
Always asking apprecisively
Are apricots aphrodisiacs
As Auntie abhorred amphimixis
What's your necktie dangling for?
Too stiff, too thin to be a scarf,
a bib or an apron;
too smooth to be a hankie,
too short to be a suicide noose
to contemplate on!
blue, purple, black, red, green and pink
my hands are stained with painter’s ink
my apron is full of colors of every hue
turquoise, silver, gold, yellow, gray, and peach droplets too
Hot bread
Can’t wait
Mom has on her apron
She was up at four this morning
A delightful smell comes from the kitchen
Peeking in the oven window
Salivating big time
Watching it rise
Hot bread!
mama’s ordered world
nondebatable in youth
tying me to the past
modern day wonders
appealing and distracting
pulling at apron strings
By: Joyce Johnson
For contest "Two Worlds Colliding
What's a necktie
dangling for?
Too stiff, too thin
to be scarf, a bib
or an apron,
Too smooth to be
a hankie,
too short to be
a suicide noose
to contemplate on!
surrounded by white birds
who bring me an apron.
I discover the guts of this day
until it's carcass breaks free from my lips.
I'm glad I am gone
it is good to leave,
to fresh air
a clear day
and a smile
Cooking
Together, day by day
Digitally
You
In your best apron
And I in my evening suit
Hmm, the soup
Is boiling
With your finest herbs
I tasted it
And wish I have cooked it first
...your bowl of wordy art
Mom in her apron
to the kitchen goes;
I watch her get out
ingredients that
she puts into rows.
Bubbling in me
is a child’s glee;
no meagerness
of eagerness!
The oven
door opens
and closes.
Love the
smell of
Pies!
Just go feed the cat, pretty please?
fix me a drink and add ice.
I boss you around with love
salt to your sugar
You take care of me so well
your heart left on your apron
love is the smell of fresh bread
that plate of sweetness.
He' attired in magnificient apron
smiled to me
his.or mine eyes told
" hey ! i'm here"
Looked elegant without
anxiety or can I say fear
instead of anxiety
He has some sort of
FRAGRANCE
I gave up everything to be with you
MY OWN DESTINY
Crisp white apron checquered teatowels
Whitewashed hands dance on the dough
Kneading bread scent of yeast caked skin
Tomato onion and corn simmering folded
Fragrance of youth smiling whites of eyes
Beautiful woman playing the ornate harp
I love this painting; it reminds me of my grandmother’s apron.
I see her kitchen and smell fresh chocolate chip cookies.
Another despises it;
It reminds her of being raped when she was four.
The wallpaper on her Uncle’s walls.
She smells him.
Art is subjective.
a nod a gesture
calling
sit at the kitchen table
hot tea
steam from the pots
white stove
busy apron
flying hands
baking dough
telling stories
strong coffee
smack the wall
the plaster breaks inside
and rains
we can't see it
have a cookie
don't tell your mother
Form:
3/4 cups brown sugar
1/4 cups honey
1/4 cups soy sauce
4 Tablespoons ground ginger
4 Tablespoons garlic powder
4 Tablespoons cayenne
1/2 cups lemon juice
3 Tablespoons of spiced rum
mix together and rub on a whole dry chicken
allow to marinade for 3 hours.
bake at 350 degrees until done.
KEEP SMILING
family event
like walking through a minefield
keep neutral and smile
FREEDOM
standing on own feet
at last no more apron strings
liberty feels strange
GLOBAL WARMING
cornucopia
horn of plenty is half full
harvesting impact
Too many indigo tears
The Ocean
hides them beneath
her broad blue checkered apron
White capped waves skirt across
a memory
an act
drowned
long forgotten
Vomiting up
salt and brine
debris that won’t
stay down
Resurfacing, beached
upon
tomorrow
An
old shoe
someone once
wore
Croissant making
Bread baking
Yeast slaking
Crust caking
Bread
Potato
Pumpernickel
Whole wheat
Enriched white
Bread
The smell of it
You will have a fit
Fresh from the oven
Your Grandma’s apron
Your mother’s way of buttering it
There is nothing more heavenly-tasting in the world.
Bread!
Thank you, Mother Nature, for the colors of each season
You wield a crafty paintbrush, that's not just my opinion
Many vivid hues are draped across your easel apron
Summer, winter, spring and fall, you are the main attraction
The Earth caresses every colorful application
Written for Adeleke's contest
Music
feeds insatible
hungers pushing
urging deep
inside abiding
souls bringing
emotions apon
surfaces raw
tossed salad
sprinkled mixed
organic everything
topped writing
pens dressing
eternitys apron
strings dirty
moods favorite
cooking underneath
accompanies biding
time feels
creatively free
Felines have a versatile paw
That unfolds a razor like claw
An apron has strings
That cats see as playthings
While scratching chef's butt 'til it's raw
Author's Note: This story was related to me by an attractive and shapely associate who claims she sometimes works in her kitchen dressed only in her bra and an apron.
Onion tears I heard mother say
As she used her apron to wipe them away
But she was in the process of kneading bread
I knew those tears were genuine instead
She never wanted us to see her cry
Alas, her tender heart would often sigh
Tears cleanse the soul of deepest pain
Clear the path for smile to follow the rain