Short Roasts Poems

Baby loves to bake
All day pot roasts
Breads and cake
What a tummy ache....

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Hey no ifs ands or buts about it
problems come from a bottomless pit 
Chicken roasts and all
the roots of your fall
My Sullivan needs a work permit...

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Hot passion ties hearts in tight knots
Its heat roasts with thousands of watts
Instead of the norm
Drop this love and feel warm
Consumed with lust for chocolàtes...

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Three boys thought they had seen the ghosts
resisting the urge to yell roasts
posing as known heroes
made ghosts to be zeros
Not knowing it was seven toasts

Syllable per line: 8 8 8 6 6 8...

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Slivers of sunlight shine upon stacked bales of hay
Summer is here, removing all traces of grey
The sun roasts all those who dare to stand in his way
Life's not all sunshine as summer blues blast away
...

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Sully loves the classic chicken roasts 
‘A perfect dozen a day’, he boasts 
Meenie loves milk 
Foods of that ilk 
‘Cat is lesser animal’, he posts 


Sully/Sullivan= my pet ghost who lives in a rain tree 
Meenie=my pet female cat...

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Three times higher on Mars you can jump,

which is great, but you'll sure be a grump

if you visit the spot

so incredibly hot

that the sun, when it's close, roasts your rump! 


For the Life On Mars Poetry Contest of  Brian Davey...

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Panda Pete was an avid carnivore
Devoured small birds, snakes, and wanted more
Followed the Amazon River to Ecuador
where he lived with a meat-eating matador
these two had a great time shopping at a grocery store
purchasing steaks, roasts, chicken, fish, meats galore....

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Leaves turned red and gold
Crisp wind blushes childrens' cheeks
            indoors turkey roasts
   Family gathers, prayers, thanks
         Joyful in bounty of love

October 20, 2021
Thanksgiving Japanese Tanka Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Milton Hankins
6th place!...

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My wife can't cook as well as my mother. 
When cooking a meal, there is no other. 
With roasts, stews, or spaghetti sauce, 
in the kitchen, my mother is the boss. 
I married a girl like the one that married dear old dad. 
I still love my wife, and her cooking isn't that bad.

Inspired by another member's poem.
...

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A Lyrical Chef we'll call 'Dre',
whips up Writes for her Poem buffet.
She bakes Words into Rhyme
and roasts Prose in the time
it takes most just to cook a Cliché!



************************
This limerick was written for 
my Soup buddy Andrea Dietrich. 
Thank you for your positive 
input and excellent support - 
you are appreciated!. xoxo...

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Grandpa is a peanut buff.

He buys them raw, roasts them
at 300 degrees, 
a heat sufficient to kill germs 
and purge unworthy thoughts.

Granddaughter samples them,
still warm from the oven,
a new taste experience.

She chews slowly,
as her eyes reflect an inner light.
"These are good," she says.
"I'm making peanut butter,
 in my mouth."...

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Only turkey feeds Thanksgiving Day
the way a stuffing fills.
With drumsticks poking through it's ribs
like every hunger kills.

All basted through a buttered skin
you've sealed inside for taste.
Now sitting plump within it's juice
as flavor runs to waste.

A succulence of tight meat bird
enthusiasm boasts.
As spirits rise Thanksgiving Day
when this bird slowly roasts....

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    A few scattered yellow wood cabins
       a swimming pool surrounded by pines
    
    a pier to fish from, a lake not to go in
       ‘cept for the stinkpots* and sailboats                *i.e., motorboats

    marshmallow roasts by the campfire at dusk
      a ghost story or two to relate

    along with the hotdogs and burgers that day
      the ghosts evicted whatever we ate
...

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A flow of afternoon wind's cool as they step inside
cordially leaving its warming sun.
Beaches throw back subtle waves,
forgotten when in winter caves.
Friend's gather at long wooden tables built from 
surrounding trees as fire roasts this evenings feast.
Laughter is abundant 
while we sit under stars of a clear night sky.
Any problems are far away,
they seem lost and hard to comprehend....

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LOVE crystal blue seas,
with snow covered sands,
dreaming of this place.

Grass skirts, necklaces,
pig roasts and coconut drinks.
Soaking up the rays,
hanging 10 and snorkeling,
a FUN place to retire at.

I'm sitting around the fire.
Speak of island legends,
take with me words of wisdom,
and POETRY of this land.



Fun and frolic contest
cory long...

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Ay yo whats good its the Russian Hacker
I be trying out products 
boom boom wow
Im in the forest trying to survive
I have no apples, sorry cow
I have a huge dog
His name is Hugo
He eats so much food
when i order it it's to-go
If your in the forest feeling dirty
just use a portable shower
my rhymes are sick
but my roasts are sour
When someone roasts me
i pull the trigger
jesus christ is my tigger...

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comets strike terror
bombing  nations rapid fire...
a slaughterhouse roasts

spiked towers pierce  flesh…
drenched with  blood  of raw corpses
like clotheslines  on trees

from skies tainted black
grounds crumble into thin rust…
world in drained sandbag

then, God says enough
angels swoop to  tend remains…
guarding earth anew


..........     .         ..



Gail Doyle's Contest
End of the World Armageddon...

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The genesis of its life;
 Inadvertent step on the toe.
 The little dark seed is planted;
 A spark starts a fire.
 An enemy is born.
 The valley of the shadow 
 Of unforgiveness;
 A fiery way for hatred
 Roasts dark
 The heart borne out of purity
 Of the creator.
 Desperateness to kill
 Metamorphoses the pious.
 A sword is wielded
 By the hand
 Of the new-borne
 Into the dark kingdom
 To do the avoidable -
 Revenge!...

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He mows the lawn,
	doesn't every man?
He mops the kitchen,
	a gift of great value.
He shells pecans,
	saves the pith for me.

He roasts peanuts;
	we love peanuts!
He plants blackberries,
	brings them in a bucket.
He builds bird houses,
	cooks his own suet cakes.

He picks wildflowers,
	shows me where they grow.
He makes up our bed,
	most every day.
He bakes banana bread,
	serves it warm, with coffee.

You will notice, I sometimes
	wear a Cheshire grin....

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The road is sluggish,
trucks burn the sky,
the sun roasts the blacktop.
We crawl out of one place
only to meander and inch
into another melting byway.

I count hawks and buzzards,
play the same music track
over and over again.
The air-con blasts
as we tinker with the time
we have left
before we can reach
that cube of ice 
inside a cold margarita.

First though
we have to pour ourselves
out of a wilting car
away from the combustible
fumes of all these
overheated thoughts....

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