Short Margarine Poems
Short Margarine Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Margarine by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Margarine by length and keyword.
Give me a taste of yellow butter please.
Not that crummy oleo or margarine.
I want homemade rolls not that store bought stuff.
And beef and noodles made by my mother.
Nothing else.
Our eyes met in the supermarket queue,
She sent my heart a flutter,
But then all thoughts of love ebbed away,
In her basket, margarine not butter.
Rub-a-dub-dub,
Margarine in a tub,
Without any butter the table is bare
The crumpets, the muffins,
Bread from the loaf tins
They all need to be buttered thick
For the most satisfyingly simple fare
Form:
I loved margarine so much,
excellent for my breakfast;
Got one at our kitchen sink,
In yellow box, looked yummy!
I took my sandwich and knife,
spread thickly on it.. once, twice -
Mom cried, “That’s dishwashing paste!”
The hours fade away
Like old men at evening
Wearied of the day
As their lives drift by,
Like the slow /swift sailing
Of clouds in a margarine sky
And fall in flakes as the pendulums sway
To those man-imagined measures of decay.
At the furthest bank
This river flows
I dip my trembling toes
The highest cloud
I’ve yet to reach
I sit and then I eat
The horizon
Won’t yet soon evade
And then I’ll sit beneath its shade
Rationed
Stretched thin
One drop of margarine
On burnt white bread
In the darkest cave
I’ve dared to dwell
I cry and scream at hell
The day was killed
diving in the books.
A lamb was dyed to
please the race.
You gambled for water
huddled in eyes.
I wanted to scatter the pearls
on cheeks.
Drenched in gasoline you
tried to send the message.
A flame was ready to
light the dark.
Margarine had the lustre
but was not a gold.
A red hot iron will
tell you the same.
Satish Verma
We are the first dead in this house
Books in dysfunctional piles; debris,
Tins of old paint in the garage,
Airtight as the finish on bedroom doors.
A density of standing air,solemn
With the austerity of dried cornflowers.
Sour margarine on thin grey bread,
Old gruel of past weekdays, gone;
Children`s laughter in a bottle,
Too late, too cold, now not part of it.
my dogs love their midnight snack
I toast each of them two slices of bread
tear it up, put it on a large dinner plate
melt each of them a cup of butter
not margarine, only the best for my dogs
I saturate the toast in butter and add a bit of meat and cheese
It is kind of like a dog pizza, and they have gained a bit of weight
no one knows why
the vet asks me what they eat
dog food, I say
Spring lingered margarine for weeks in disguise
not a hint of summer on the rise
then the first day of July
rain no longer cried
threaten walks
heart stalks
golden pokes
embraced heat stroking
as humid perspiring looms
cue fair flaxen sunflower in bloom.
bold brilliance glowing faces in summer dance.
for Dear Heart's Writing Challenge 2
July 2nd,2019
No store bought jump starts
Cool creamy dough kneaded by hand
Baked until golden then cooled so slightly
Carefully sliced and slathered in butter
Because margarine would never do
Sun ripened berries diced and stemmed
Tossed gently with sugar forming the glaze
Fresh heavy cream beaten in a chilled bowl
Using a wire whisk until stiff peaks stand
Placing the layers one on top of the next
Then garnish with diamond wedges of fruit
Christmas 1947
It was a time of deep poverty
with flour, milk, and margarine
my mother made porridge
put the pan on the table
said to her three children
dig in it is all we have
went to bed and bitterly cried
A child doesn't know it is poor
we ate the porridge and fought
about who was to scrape
the caramelized bottom of the pan
We, children with belly full
went to sleep, my sister on the
sofa, my brother and I on the floor