Short Onion Poems
Short Onion Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Onion by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Onion by length and keyword.
~ Onion -- Baby -- Noino ~
Onion's spelled almost the same forward as reverse
May tears spilled when you grate them be terse
roots below the bulb
shoot's ready to be a plant
bulb under the earth
Chopping an onion
Hold your breath and feel
My words a chopping of
An onion is more difficult
To bite your soul.....
With love all
Jagdish bajantri
Got me a burger with raw onion piled high
A super-sized soda and a sack of french fries
Stomach starts to chirp
So let out a burp
An odor starts to linger like I was bout to die
Strong coffee and
onion soup are what
I need on this grey
December day with
an overcast sky
and a mix of rain
and sleet lacking
the joie de vivre
of either.
An onion had it's day in court.
It sliced and diced a false report.
Now when this onion starts to speak,
it's oozing mold begins to leak.
This onion's spoiled, so bruised and brown.
No other onion wants him around..
[ H/T to Robert Gorelick's Honored Vegetarian ]
Lacking layer or nuance or zeal,
He’ll be trying to make an appeal;
With crying and tears,
He’ll review the year,
And complain he was sliced a raw deal.
Oh, pungent onion, large, sweet and fried
in golden rings, diced, sauteed for
casseroles or grilled with meats;
tossed raw into my greens!
I love you so, that
when I slice your
skin, I’m the
one that
weeps!
Peel the layers of the skin
Find the flavor deep within
Aroma strong a tear is faced
Mouth watering anticipating taste
Raw is strength cooked is mild
Resides in your breath awhile
Humble peasant food ever so strong
At least in one meal a day they belong.
Listen to poem:
For if my heart
Were such as this
With taste and tears
On every kiss
It could explain
Each reason why
The love lorne layers
Do testify
To pungent faith
Flavoursome hope
Formed in the dark
With potent scope
To underpin
The panoply
Of every tasty
Recipe
Oh, onion, pungent is your trait!
Over everything, you add zing.
On the cheeseburger on my plate
Or fried up as a crispy ring,
Only you, sweet bulb onion, can -
Of all veggies - make me cry! An
Ode for you, my dear; you are great!
June 11, 2018 for Joseph May's Pleiades Poetry Contest
I'm glad to be an onion
To have such wide 'a-peel'
I shed my layers sensually
Olfactory workers reel
I do it in the kitchen
One day I'll be on stage
Juicy slices circling that pole
My striptease all the rage
June 28, 2020
You are a star Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Nina Parmenter
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
Onion is most common,
oldest veg known to man
on earth. Many find its
odour unpleasant but
onions offer many
of their health benefits
only when eaten raw.
04.04.2021
Pleiades
6 syllables per line 7 lines
Checked at PS syllables counter
Inspired by:
Contest Name : Pleiades O
Sponsor : Kim Merryman
Winner 1st place
Chop onions into black sauce pan.
Smell wavers up, nostrils expand.
Some like topped with bread, cheese.
Tasty without. Goes down with ease.
Beef broth hits the spot, it's hot.
We're having it with BLTs and fries.
I rinsed the onions and I didn't cry.
Soup's simmering on stove for dinner.
It smells so good, sure to be a winner.
Soup bowls and mugs come in all sizes
Onions swimming in broth with wonderful spices
Under the melted cheese is the crusty bread
Please, more before I go to bed
Ollie onion had never been this mad in his life
He turned all his anger on the kitchen knife
How dare you try to peel me, you interloper, he said.
The knife was embarrassed, his face turned red.
I did not know that you were alive, he admitted.
No one told me this, I am confused, he spitted.
Ollie was not in the forgiving mood at all.
He sent that knife packing, down the hall.
One day I had a craving
For a bowl of onion soup
I opened a can -and found
it to be plain
So i decided what needed
What I had to do
I cut bread into cubes
Put them into My bowl
Added cheese pieces
Then heated the soup
On the stove burner
When the soup was ready
I poured into my bowl
Then added cheese on top
Watch the cheese melting
Then ate slowly to enjoy it
WIPE THE TEARS FROM YOUR EYES
THE ONIONS ARE TAKEN AWAY FROM YOU
CRY NO MORE THAT THEY SHALL
BE SAUTEED AND EATIN!
THAT THE LABORS OF THESE PERSONS SHALL NOT BE IN VAIN
THAT THESE ONIONS SHALL MAKE FOOD FOR HUNGRY PERSONS
TO COMPLIMENT THE MEAT OF THEIR CHOSING
AND SHALL (SOME) BE SAUCED IN GRAVY
THE ONIONS SHALL BE TASTED AND LOVED
THAT THE EFFORDS OF THOSE WHO LABORED MIGHT NOT BE
OR HAVE BEEN IN VAIN!
You thought I was all raw, naked and vulnerable,
when you tore me apart,
like a child eagerly tearing up a gift wrapper
on a Christmas present.
I'm not a gift that you can sink your hands in,
and take every bit of me!
I'm an onion....yes, an eternal onion! Forever you'll
remove every layer of me, only to surprise
you with another layer; harder and more
painful for you to see!
Word Count: 72
Date of Entry: 18/11/2016
Here we lay etched upon the grass
The sun rained down in broken rays
Seared to smudges, fried-onion brass
The colour that will haunt our days
Here we stood carved into a tree
Wobbly letters at the ends of a spear
Driven through a heart doomed to be
The lodestone of every shattered tear
Here we sailed forth in a cockel-shell
Round the world, round and back again
Here the ocean sounded its old knell
Whirled us back into the old pain
People love at first sight
Friends love me for my first dish
With my shrimp spring onion roll
This consists of medium-sized shrimps
Bacon, beans, ham, egg, cilantro, basil
And lastly it must be onion
Mix and wrap in a Shanghai roll
Deep fry till look brown and taken easy
Serve a bowl right away freely on the table
People are heartless when it's favorite
The dish is taken easy with a smile
Only gone swiftly not more than just few minutes.
Onion is crying
For-itself
Without peeling
Without cutting
Only sitting
On the shelf
Prices to soar
Without uproar
Maximum this year
Minimum next year
Unable to know
Why prices grow?
Sometimes to throw
Sometimes to borrow
So much confusion
Or the market's illusion
Farmer in delusion
Customer's suffocation
Problem to solve
Still unsolved
Of simple pricing
Without price hiking
Of the perishable cycle
Of onions survival.
-Rohan Dhabade
A colleague once gave me, on paper,
A recipe written by hand
For Passover rolls
And one of her goals
Was for choices I’d make to expand.
Though they can’t substitute for a bagel
Or some sourdough or seeded rye,
For the holiday week
When some bread I might seek,
They’re a stand-in on which I rely.
When I make them, I’m thinking of Mildred,
Though I’m certain that she is long gone,
But when I form the dough
Into roll shapes, I know
That her spirit I’m carrying on.
There is a truth in you my friend
both heady and unique
that makes my sense of smell
take flight,
and drives my curiosity.
I carve away voraciously,
cut deep and cut again
til glossy bulb is
ringed layers
of dazzling luminosity.
Sweet orbed bands,
I plate them out,
in artful presentation
gleaming rings I praise, admire
the aim of my pomposity
I peel, and peel,and peel again
core’s perfect pearl revealed
And I in awe,
Relish, delight
devour you aromally