Yams are strange starchy vegetables.
I'm quite partial to orange-fleshed sweet potatotes.
They make a wonderful soup !
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
tasty roast beef cooked in crockpot for six hours
beside carrots and potatoes with vegetable powers
slathered with Heinz 57, the aroma is pure heaven
I devour many potatoes, at least six or seven
Full as a mosquito, I must have a long nap
This meal is so grand, it deserves a place on a map.
I buy vegetables
lettuce, celery, parsley, radishes,
planning to eat them, to get healthier
so that my colon will smile
I plan to drink twelve glasses of water a day
in actuality, I do not drink more than one third of a cup of H20
I reach for chocolate milk, caramel latte, peanut butter cookies
Frisky frosted brownies will not eat themselves.
There is nothing sadder than a moldy frosted brownie.
These two Milky Way bars are yelling my name.
I have to throw the vegetables out after they start stinking.
My body gives me no credit for good intentions.
Vegetables boiled in an angry froth.
Stirred up, they were, in a savory broth.
"Give me liberty or death", they said,
as they were joined by a cabbage head.
I open a bag of
mixed-up vegetables
their chatter is deafening
I ask them, “What’s the ruckus?
“It’s the day of reckoning!”
I open a box of
Hamburger Helper
hoping to quench veggies’ yelping
As H.H. interacts with
mixed up vegetables
he laments, “I can do no helping!”
It’s hard to decide what to make for dinner
when surrounded by conflict and strife
After thinking it through the only sure winner
Is to leave dinner plans to my wife
“What’s for dinner, dear?”
Seeing the beauty
Frying noodles, vegetables
My drooling flow out.
I thank the sun ...
The soil, the summer rain,
I thank the apple tree
The fields of golden grain
I thank the corn crops
And the pumpkin patch,
I thank the warm barn
Where new poults hatch
I thank Tom turkey ...
From down on the farm,
And the good old farmer
Who caused him no harm
I thank the potato fields
And the pecan trees,
I thank the earth ...
For bogs of cranberries
I thank this land ...
The sky and the air,
For giving all of us
These things to share.
An orange takes an early lead,
followed by a melon.
Garden peas are catching fast,
so too is the lemon.
Granny Smith’s are overtaking.
Lettuces are gaining.
Kiwi’s move from out the pack.
This is entertaining.
The orange takes the lead again,
now grapes are rolling clear.
Broccoli, asparagus
are getting very near.
We’re nearly at the finish,
and this is getting close.
Trees and soil are cheering
around the winning post.
Pears are in the mix as well.
This is a humdinger.
Yes, a photo finish,
and everyone’s a winner!
Constipated onions
Immaculate cantaloupe
Collard, mustard, turnip greens
crabgrass eating artichoke distant
Are the carrots potatoes fried display?
But the watermelon
Praise on the tomato mustard says
We be going to have ketchup today
6/17/ 24
written words by James Edward Lee Sr.
pricot and plums;
are they served in fruit salad;
citrus to me so
~
melon-choly bowl;
filled with collar turnip green;
fruit cocktail salad;
~
urban session dreads;
drenched in hot sauce Red Devil;
ranch dressing salad?
I lined up the vegetable crazies onto a dinner plate.
They stuck out their tongues, their tummies were great.
With scrunched up faces, I wondered if they knew their fate.
Eight gnarled up turnips lying on a flat dinner plate.
Parchment reach reap, continual column
Turns over huge too ripe drooping vegetables
Dirt encrusted, grit bitter varietal problem
Sown hammock slack jowls of expired eligible
Rows of sour seeds scatter, screen remote
Hits rock of dark past in cyber seclusion
Parsnips tumble imprudent from trenchcoat
Revelations conspire as a cosy delusion
Bedroom Belle picks weakness with a sickle
Amps up apathetic with chicken meal
Prods tired produce, hoary humour tickled
Caustic crop farmer fertile hands heal
Twenty Seventh of June
Twilight clients of Jezebel
We used to label our Iowa garden at the end of the rows with seed packets.
We would plant the row first, sprinkiing the teensy seeds and covering them.
Then we would nail the seed packet to the stake at the end of the row.
Like little soldiers we saw peas packets, carrot packets, radish packets.
Lettuice packets, potato packets, green bean packets, rows and rows of them.
Mom always threw in two rows of flowers - usually marigolds and zinnias.
Dad rolled his eyes, but I think he liked them too; we kids did also.
Our table always had fresh vegetables, berries and mushrooms from nature.
The rest of the field next to the garden was left to plant corn. Big juicy corn.
We lived in Iowa, so we never had to label corn; everyone recognized it.
Happy singing tomato took the garden by storm today.
With her high kicks and laughter and songs merry and gay.
We were all laughing and singing and showing such glee.
Farmer Mustard said “Listen to my vegetables! Oh, Mercy me!”
Her canvas awaits the first scoop,
She dips her brush in the soup
Bouillabaisse caresses her canvas,
Stirring the senses of her palate
She dips her brush in yet
As the stove heats up her palette,
Painting the dawn sky
With tints of butternut squash
Split pea flavor colors the trees
Minestrone sways the flower in a breeze,
And roses find their hue
With brushstrokes of tomato soup
She adds a stroke of egg drop too
Just a touch of lentil soup will do,
Her canvas seems so edible
She lets it simmer for a while
She can taste her painting's flavor
With each brush stroke to savor
Now she's ready to eat,
Time for a bowl of soup!!
5-11-2022
A Merger With Food Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Natasha L Scragg
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