"veggie" poems
Take me to an art museum on our first date
Snip pictures of me next to the masterpieces and when im hungry buy me a veggie burger and strawberry smoothie
Compliment my kinks when I take out my braids tell me on gorgeous even on
those ****** days ".
Support my dream to strut the runway but dont force me to go to church on Sunday
Love me for who i am
Is all I ask
Effort will take you a long way
Once you complete this task
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:49 PM UTC
Gender ******
truth pretender
parents send her
life defender
he's a ******
slimy maggot
feeling ragged
bag and tag it
hurting words
spitting herds
cheezy curds
stupid nerds
mental case
dizzy space
ugly face
**** my race
Time to kneel
grab a feel
scary tweel
innocence steal
Eat a steak
garden rake
veggie snake
life forsake
Not pretend
we defend
savior send
the end
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 11:58 AM UTC
Its 3am and I'd rather be somewhere else.
I made a veggie burger.
And ate a jar of pickles.
And thought about crying,
But I didn't want to exert the energy.
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 3:16 AM UTC
✿⊰✲⊱✿
The hallway has teal arches with
high grecian columns, each with
gilded gold grapes and vines
entwined, kissed by the light of the
several crystal chandeliers.
With enormous paintings on the
pale blue walls - several key
moments captured and framed,
and age in no way diminished it's
strokes and vibrancy.
✿⊰✲⊱✿
I remember many times where
I had visited Paul and I
walked around his home,
telling me of his ancestors
achievements with a smile or a
frown on his face. "We can all
learn things from the past," he said
sadly. "And there's always things
done that we are not proud of. I
only want Luciuscemi to thrive."
"With you as King, I have no doubt
it will." I said with a smile and Paul
felt a little better.
✿⊰✲⊱✿
My feet continue to follow the
red carpet to the ball room as me
and my ladies pass many Luciuscemian
guards, all standing tall, lined up yet
all so courteous and friendly; dressed
in yellow military outfits, with red
shoulder capes. When I come upon the
end hall to the entrance of the ballroom,
I cannot help but gasp. Alive with so many
people in so many colours.
✿⊰✲⊱✿
I could see the dining hall in the far back;
lines of tables covered in coloured silks
and with many dishes: sweet, sour and
savoury, meats and vegetables, grilled fish,
glazed ham, veggie rolls and many
fine imported wines, fresh teas and
many more. Large ice sculptures of lions
and suns stand vigilant as the servants serve,
people laugh, eat and talk. Some walked out
to the balcony, some watch others dance;
long and short, this ballroom is an orchestra
for my soul.
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 6:11 PM UTC
Marmite! (Veggie Mite) Peanut Butter!
Marmite and peanut butter,
My God what a terrible thought,
Both truly vile,
Pungent,
Repugnant,
Foul in texture,
Reviled in taste!
Never have I ever bought,
Incredible how some can love 'em,
I can't bear the taste,
Smell makes me feel really ill,
Worse than any bitter pill!
Please don't make me a sarnie,
Not with these,
No not ever,
By all means spend your time with me,
Please to you I thee beseech,
That these two dreadful foods so vile,
Hit the dustbin in big style!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 3:11 AM UTC
tootsie pops, pop rocks, rock candy
sweet tarts, smelly farts, war-heads, sour patch kids
reeses pieces, reeses stix, snickers lickers
fudge pile, chocolate smile, peanut butter bile, sugary style
baby ruths, almond joys, soy bean sauce, creamy steam
ill give u a payday, mayday, hay tastes good with parfai
milkyways stay gay to play games with sunrays
icing splicing with knife dicing
makes cakes, cook steaks, rumcakes
****** sprinkles, rip van winkle, diddily dinkle
gummy worms, germs impregnate firm, permed urns
angel food, carrots, pineapple upsideways
fruits, ***** parachutes, scooters, jello shooters
goobers, corn on the cobbers,
veggie wedgies, pepper leppers, squash boxes,
fry foxes, fleet rocks', carrot tops',
dishes of fishes,
witches brew platypus and fat kush
pushy slushies riding skateboards on gary busy
fussy hussies getting blushy about cussies
cereal made of creoles, bread straight from dreads,
rice is nice with spice, yeast is beast,
last but not least, wheat is a treat,
kiwis, shmiwis, dodos on go phones, starfruits,
bartlejuice, grape drank, sushi stinks.
ill eat anything.
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 4:50 AM UTC
Why the sudden alarm I ask?
Because you've eaten a horses ***
For years we've eaten all kinds of meat
Mixed with things you find in paint
A list of E numbers a sentence long
Who knew if they where doing wrong
Colouring from crushed beetles shells
Or other insects as well
Artificial raspberry sounds yum yum
Yeah it's made from beavers ***
So here's a tip to help you shop
Look under the bar code at numbers lots
This may stop you getting cross
If it starts with 5 sling it out !
Its Asian chicken bleached and vile
From roadside **** or any source
boiled in salt of course
So we now protest at a bit of horse
Years to late we've eaten worse.
On holiday you eat bulls *****
Your hotdogs could be his other smalls!
Sweetbreads eyeballs hooves the lot
So diced, reclaimed or added in
You've no idea what's gone in
Mad cow mad horse or confused pig
I wonder if I've eaten each
The veggie options just as bad
With GM foods Monsanto's bag
MSG enhancers to to stop the food from tasting goo
So wine or beer for me tonight
As foods now a depressing sight
Bacon butty anyone?
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 2:25 PM UTC
Jocks
While lovely Eileen entertained us all,
with her wonderful words of lace and satin,
it made me want to answer the call,
make guys proud, like General Patton
the guys wear jocks to cloister their tools,
the perfect size so hard to find,
need to protect those precious jewels,
from errant kicks and grabs from behind
most are just elastic and cotton,
some are furry you get from **** shops,
absorb the sweat they smell quite rotten,
pick up with 1 finger or handles of mops
the backs are weird like gives you ******
when grabbed by the band and yanked real hard,
guys in gym like to snap like frozen veggie,
then try to get you on their dance card
cause now you can sing those real high notes,
your face quite large like you have the mumps,
squeal like girlie man being attacked by goats,
don't bend over you expose those rumps
but it is important to protect your package,
keep is safe for your favorite gal,
not real good to have swollen sackage,
not even if choice is a guy named Hal
Gomer LePoet...
Apr 10, 2010
Apr 10, 2010 at 7:54 AM UTC
“I'd love to tell you I had some deep revelation on my way down, that I came to terms with my own mortality, laughed in the face of death, et cetera.
The truth? My only thought was: Aaaaggghhhh!”
“I could have killed you.”
“Or I could have killed you,”
he shrugged. “If there’d been an ocean in Kansas, maybe.”
“I don’t need an ocean—”
“Boys,” she interrupted, “I’m sure you both would’ve been wonderful at killing each other. But right now, you need some rest.”
"My fatal flaw. That's what the Sirens showed me. My fatal flaw is hubris."
"The brown stuff they spread on veggie sandwiches?"
"No, Seaweed Brain. That's HUMMUS. hubris is worse."
"What could be worse than hummus?"
"How did you die?"
"We er... drowned in a bathtub."
"All three of you?"
"It was a big bathtub."
**Best chapter names:
I Accidentally Vaporize My Pre-Algebra Teacher
2.Three Old Ladies Knit the Socks of Death
3.Grover Unexpectedly Loses his Pants
4.My Mother Teaches Me Bullfighting
6.I Become Supreme Lord of the Bathroom
7.My Dinner Goes Up in Smoke
10.I Ruin a Perfectly Good Bus
12.We Get Advice from a Poodle
16.We Take a Zebra to Vegas
17.We Shop for Water Beds**
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 5:58 PM UTC
next to prime rib
is a miniature fir
or bush
lumberjacked at
the trunk
you press like a bobblehead
plugging nostrils with green
steam and shake and
nobody wants to spitspoil red meat
and everyone agrees
so you collect veggie trees
arrange them in a forest
and reenact little red riding hood
with a cherry tomato
you bite -
you ******* werewolf
vampire where were you
when the fetus
crowned like a tulip pistil
harnesses by an umbilical noose
and the nurse paused and said
she's dead
and cried
and she cried too
while I waited with her father
her mother
and mine
and three friends
and nine months of this
for that
you ******* ******
not even john hancock
can sign a birth certificate
and a death certificate
in a nightmare
let alone in one night
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 9:13 PM UTC
for Jeannie Kristufek Hawrysz who once quoted me Shakespeare -
*"Of all the words in the universe, when stated thrice, only one royal above all gleams best, an uncoded mathematical tripartite repetitive stating:
love love love this."*
----------------------------
third attempt and just not happening
then recall a Ben Folds hand-me-down
heard on Tuesday, passed onto me by Sara B.
about writer’s block
“Kick the editor out of the room”
the best don’t even flow,
they fall out of ya, rough and tumbling,
screaming did ya get that,
are ya keeping up,
you can be the self-editing-I need-perfection roadblock
or the delivery guy, the one with the towel and the scissors, who brings ya a clean new baby, and/or a veggie pizza,
which ya gonna pick?
another nougat nugget:
when you’re stuck, write about the block,
what’s sticking you; one would have thought
some one thousand five hundred poems later,
this one would have been midwifed a long, long time ago,
but at 4:32am, it’s all I got
rather than throw false news confetti on myself
from the rafters that don’t exist in a citified apartment,
I’ll reward myself with some
rock n’ pop,
a revisitation to the scene of the crime, and listen quiet like and maybe leak back to prone sleep,
in hopes that the rest of the gang,
hoping the words to a poem-in-transit,
“confetti is just tomorrow’s garbage”
gets off at my dreamy new subway stop
should the wordy birdies shotgun come sneaking in
thru the correct ear
i.e. not the sunken pillow one,
so I have half a fat chance of
recalling its dimensions in an hour,
when I wake up-officially,
fat chance
later, like 4:56am
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2471979/confetti-is-just-tomorrows-garbage/
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 5:03 AM UTC
Twenty classless, eight cigarettes.
Fighting over the radio at the
Inpatient Mental Health Facility,
A broken sense of belonging,
And a dearth of veggie burgers.
Listless with his lists, of course.
Angst from the Anglophile, unable to
Put a stopper in the pouring,
Bleeding emotions.
Open hands
Stained red, and brown.
Three breaks a day, scarring his
Broken knuckles, they paint the walls.
Code Smoking Gun,
Code Smoking Green,
Manic man, loading his shoulders with his
Father’s burden, too big for Atlas’s arms,
Or his mother’s shunning palms.
Three breaks a day,
Knee, shoulder, hip.
The coffee’s decaf
But your calves? Well,
They’re just sore.
They dish the brick every
Other evening. But living, for
No light, only serves to lessen your
Love of life and make you
Light-headed.
Broken beds with rock-solid
Pillows. Three breaks a day to
Remind you of your regression. We
Want you here as much.
Why’re you whining?
Busy doctors bust the doors, thank
God for the freedom, the
Fluorescent finish to your odyssey. The
Flowers and grass greet you in
Shades of pink and green your
Greedy eyes hadn’t seen.
Exhale. Ghost out your grieving.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 2:18 PM UTC
She was only 15, no boyfriends yet
At a family gathering their eyes first met
Now Rob's not shy, with plenty of chat
So he gave her a call and they never looked back.
She went to Cambridge to get her degree
So every weekend, so did he.
When that was all done, what's next to do?
No more travelling, just me and you
In a cottage in Framsden made for two
With ferrets and fish and a couple of dogs
Oka cooks happy meat while Rob chops logs
A veggie garden appeared for a spell
A few came up, but the weeds did well.
Some chickens arrived and did their thing
Then so did the fox to commit his sin.
Now Rob loves his hobbies, it gets on her wick
When he's in his shed fiddling with his welding stick.
But life is quite settled, time passes like this
Living their version of unmarried bliss.
But something is missing, the feeling grows
She thinks to herself, will he ever propose?
Then leap year comes round, with it's extra day
That was her chance to have her say
Rob knew it was coming, he took the day off.
She said I want to be married, now don't you scoff!
But Rob wasn't scoffing, he said now I'm sure
I do love my Landie, but I love you more.
That brings us right up to this special day
We all wish you well, we all want to say
May your lives together be happy, healthy and long
May your love for each other keep growing strong.
Dec 23, 2011
Dec 23, 2011 at 2:33 PM UTC
I lived a childhood of dirt:
my beginning and end, my friend, my
frontier. Dirt was the reason why
when other kids were always sick, my antibodies
made me a demigoddess, a mud-pie,
sand-cookie, dirt gourmet
crunching lightly-rinsed carrots wiggled
straight from the ground.
It never hurt, never hurt at all.
Warm dirt under my knees and hands,
my nails blackened, feet buried like I
could root myself in the soil -- I was lettuce
with dirt at the center of each lacy skirt.
Horseradish, deep in the ground and bitter,
wanting to become something sweeter, a new
tree or rosebush or better yet a veggie,
like the wild dirt-skinned potatoes
I dug up in the yard.
But tubers don’t have moms who give
***** looks and shake their heads,
examine your hair and your nails.
She sighs at the dark stain of your
feet, and banishes you
to a white tub, where she scrubs
the back of your neck, muttering
“Dirt, dirt, dirt,” as if
she doesn’t know what you are made of.
So give me the dirt, because I know my onions.
Always digging for gossip, flipping up
the neighborhood skirt, curious whispers
the way cornstalks share their childhood
tales before being tilled down,
becoming rich, dark dirt.
Ashes to ashes, I recognize some
for what they are, just fertilizer
for the imaginations and vibrations of others.
I may be half dirt but don’t
treat me like it, full of grit and
covered in sand from my hands to
my elbows. But what I am won’t
put up with your ******** Dirt is
a mother, to feed and flourish, dirt
is a woman much like me, and you
will never know the dirt under my
fingernails the same way I do.
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 1:57 AM UTC
a pleasant anticipation they give to your chafing taste buds
for that taste once sampled is forever craved
their shapes beckon visually to
keen designer minds
and their ancient blessings go back to 2000 B.C.
much later, their nutrients American Indians praised
they give veggie hugs to those most in need
of a psychological boost or a tooth's soft sink
when you sit down to dinner and before you gleams their pale green
a smile might open your mouth for the tasty taste of a .... ....
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 11:01 PM UTC
This is not the best haiku in the world ...
... its just a tribute.*
(to HaikuDonnajones and her Dean).
.
At the crack of dawn
me and dean go milk our cows,
pulling the udders.
Our cows milk is good
for cheese, yoghurt and butter,
very nice in tea too.
Vegetarians
are great, make good customers,
Vegans not so good.
What the hell is this
new coconut milk anyway?
Or soya butter?
I don't understand,
its not real dairy goodness,
its all fake dairy.
Our cows are organic,
no artificial cow feed,
just grass and fresh air.
After milking cows
me and dean have our breakfast
to give us energy.
I may turn Veggie,
but love my deans big sausage,
bacon, eggs fry-ups.
Our goats have kids to,
tidier than our own lot,
don't complain as much.
Me and dean are happy
with our kids, cows and our goats,
on our dairy farm.
© Pagan Paul (01/04/18)
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 8:09 AM UTC
*the best don’t even flow, they fall out of ya, rough and tumbling,
screaming did ya get that, are ya keeping up, rumbling:
you can be the self-editing-I need-perfection roadblock
or the delivery guy,
the one with the towel and the scissors,
who brings ya
a clean new baby, and/or a veggie pizza,
which ya gonna pick?*
May 5, 2018
May 5, 2018 at 3:08 PM UTC
Jay Horatio
By the door in the flower pot The man who planted all these trees
Among the beans in the veggie plot Alas I knew him well
In the lawn, everywhere -little oak trees- He did not see them to maturity
Do you know who puts them there? How long our years we cannot tell
I've only ever seen it once Now strong and spreading to their prime
He does it when you're not around They seem to thank him for their chance of life
He does it taking lots of care In gratitude they sway and soar
He puts an acorn in the ground And breathe for him as he can breathe no more
He thinks he's coming back to it We thank the Jay for acorns
When he feels the need Unwittingly he sows
But mostly he forgets And plant like him we must
So germinates the seed Although like him we may not see them fully grow
As I look up at this fresh green canopy
I think of all the tiny saplings
And of what will be
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 4:17 PM UTC
On a Friday afternoon, in the Burger joint for my weekly treat
Celebrating another week in, that I'd survived another week in the job
I ordered my usual, a Veggie burger meal
They have this lovely Veggie burger, it's a burger made of potato with a lot of other vegetables through it
Is very tasty, this and some nice big chunky chips/ fries along with it, with some sachets of tomato sauce
All rounded off with a nice Black coffee... very nice...
The restaurant was quite busy that day for some reason, my usual seat was taken
So I had to find somewhere else to sit
As I sat there feeling happy with myself
I was reminded of something I'd once read about the great Irish poet W.B.Yeats
He was sitting in a teashop once looking out the window at the passing crowds
And he suddenly realised that life was good, that he could bless and be blessed
I thought to myself "I knew what he meant"
Then suddenly out of the corner of my eye I notice someone looking over at me... looking directly at me
Indeed they seem to be staring at me
I thought to myself "Better not make eye contact, might be some kind of ******
Then I noticed someone else was looking over at me too
"What the **** are you looking at!" I thought to myself
And then there was another person and then another
"What the **** are you all looking at??!" I thought getting a little flustered at this stage
Every few moments a head would pop up and start looking straight over at me
I was beginning to feel very uncomfortable
Suddenly it seemed like they were all looking over at me... the whole feckin' room
"What the hell are you all looking at, you bunch of feckers", I thought
"Had I turned into the elephant man or something !!"
Finally I said I'm getting the hell out of here
Their all looking at me
So I stuffed my bag of chips in my pocket
Drained my cup of coffee and wrapped what was left of my burger in a napkin to take away
As I stood up to put on my coat I turned around
And noticed for the first time there was a big TV screen up on the wall right behind me
So that's what the feckers were all looking over at
It wasn't me at all!!!
**** !" I thought, "spoiled my whole feckin' lunch
W.B. Yeats my ****
Mar 18, 2024
Mar 18, 2024 at 9:19 PM UTC
in the theater,
(awaiting the curtain rising),
woman looks at me,
(I say)
Tangerines.
punches me
in the arm,
again
(and again)
read her mind,
knowing
silently making
shopping list.
in kitchen,
looking confused,
what the heck
did I come in here for,
surreptitious smiling,
(i suggest)
cuppa tea be nice.
looks at me queer
(and says)
**** it,
stop doing that!*
in car,
home bound,
turns to me
(I say,)
*veggie burger,
a great idea for dinner.*
can't hit me cause
doing the driving,
makes instead
she-laughing,
teeth gnashing
grunting noises
(most comical)
no Houdini,
(who dat?)
5 years on
read her like
the book.
book of poems
she has
co-authored
entitled
the mystery of no mystery
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 11:54 PM UTC
rise refreshed, walk the dog, after splashing water on my face,
breathe the air in and out before to many cars are about,
feed the beast and pick up my muse to read for as long as...
i can,
drink dark brew, after a lemon water, warm not cool
have breakfeast, an egg, half a bagel and a whole grapefruit,
with brown sugar, butter and walnuts, broiled just so there
is a slight crunch to that glaze, with each bite.
then off to my favourite bookstore in some part of the world
or near by, hope i can get the leer jet, to pass the time by
to get where Munro's is waiting.
then stay have brunch at some hotel or other five star place,
and fly back for early after noon and listen to itunes,
as I sip my green smoothie as the traffic motors by
making mockery of ocean waves as I read the book and rave
about my purchase. is that your beer or mine?
then dinner would be a winner, some veggie or meat dish
like ratatouille or nachos ground beef and cheese with green
onions, olives and tomatoes and please pass the guacamole.
have a glass of wine or two, red would be better considering the
chill in the weather at the end of the sunny fall day, might have
a hot desert or not, then to walk my dog, not to trot, as we
both are not as young as we used to be, maybe I never was.
well then i will wash up while showering
then to bed and write it all down as who knows,
when it will happen again, perfection is rare as
pure air, then read for an little bit,
dim the lights and see how easily
my head rests on my pillow, as i drift on some
translucent sea of blue, still comfortably fitting
her hand with mine, as it has been all day.
©DWE102013
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 11:34 PM UTC
I want to lose two pairs of black glasses and my shoes
I want to tell the delivery boy that I don’t care how much change I get back
I want to ice the back deck and wet the chairs
I want to break a futon; feel taco-like
I want to paint my body, my friends body
I want to construct a bed in the laundry room with silk sheets
I want to neglect the shower for three days
I want to climb a roof and get lost in a corn maze
I want to leave my personal belongings in a plastic bag
I want to walk alone two miles to get a hot dog and meet a ***
we want to step in leaking toilet water
we want to play hide and seek in a dark house, discover an attic
we want to drink veggie burgers and wash them down with milk
we want to find a hat for a pickle and for one day wear only vests
we want to tailgate for napolean dynamite
we want to stay up late sitting on the flip side of windowsills
we want to spill everything and learn how to jump cars
they want to save taco bells hot sauce in paper bags
they want to build a fort with a closet door and some hooks
they want to dance all night, create a star shape with their legs
they want to “whod I come with? Ladies…!” just like rosie the riveter
they want to walk around telling the trees to be quiet
they want to move a couch to the from lawn and reside
-MJS
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 10:18 PM UTC
Stagecoach trundled, rutting, wheels
Soily grasp, grabbing at the earthy recipe
Cart....horsing around the outdoorsiness
Ferris wheel spun, gathering passengers
To overlook the show ground, smattered
Four legged races, saddled with encumbents
Bobbing in display formation. Far above
I caught sight of circular ribbons emblazoned
Lapels holding onto prize winners, suffering
The pin ***** jabbing at willing winners
Left foot first, hopscotch to the flap of tarpaulin
Billowing their precious overgrown greatness
Of perfect vegetalia, proud, excessive....of the
Dinner plate variety. Don't touch their polished
Surface, they deliberately await photographic
Validation; future growers, challenging champion
Chompers, terrorising super-veggie heros
I wonder what becomes of former ground growers
Do they take a back stage bow? Uprooted with
Those of a lesser kind, jostling for saucepan space
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 2:11 PM UTC
I love them dearly, the juice is the best,
I’ve been addicted to them I swear I’m obsessed.
They melt in my mouth, they crunch between my teeth,
I love the little jelly bit and pips underneath.
I love the vibrant color, the way they stare at me,
I always look for the hard ones very closely.
I could cook with them for hours and eat them rare,
I will treat them with respect and tender loving care.
People can’t decide whether they are veggie or fruit,
but who cares for when I eat them it’s not a dispute.
Forever will I love them; they are sublime,
I am addicted to Tomatoes, and will for some time.
Jul 5, 2010
Jul 5, 2010 at 7:26 AM UTC
****** on a bun
or bean-curd-veggie-burger?
The cows win—and lose.
Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 5:35 AM UTC