RULES: A reprieve from heavy subject matter, we ask poets to write a funny poem (2-14 lines) that includes food. You may choose to replace words in a popular song with food or use food in any other way you like, as long as it isn’t inappropriate. Paste your contest submission into the comments section below with your name, city, and state (no need to list your last name or email address if you don’t want to). One submission per contestant. Submissions should be originally written just for this contest. No submission fee.
DEADLINE: June 2 midnight EST. Winner announced June 12.
PRIZE: Official Winner’s Certificate.
JUDGE: Society staff and the Advisory Board will judge (those who choose not to participate in judging may participate in the contest)
Featured Image: “Fruit Basket” by Giuseppe Arcimboldo
There once was a pear on a tree
Who desperately wished to be free
When he was plucked
How loudly he clucked
But the pear unaware
He’d be ate till too late
Now wished he were back on the tree.
Trifles
The moon is candied lemon
on a cake iced midnight blue.
The kind of sweet disaster
no ordinary Mum would make,
just you.
Like when gingersnaps went floating
a lime green-jelly pond:
no settling for trifles;
biscuits became goldfish touched by your
spoon-wand.
The fruit-cake fell down-under
collapsing in a heap.
Re-named Wallaby Pudding
ignominy to family fame
– at one leap.
Your words and thoughts play monkey:
swinging, upside-down,
immensely irritating
to men whose heads believe they wear
a crown.
They earn the daily bread
and just desserts. Anarchic fun
is not everyone’s cup of tea.
But sweetened with such lumps of love
– a mug of sun.
Geoduck
I slipped on a geoduck,
on the buoy deck,
stuck on his boy-neck.
Feet flew on gooey glue.
Slippery slick
trippery trick.
Oh, heck!
I nearly broke my neck,
on the neck of a geoduck.
It raised a welt.
He wished
I were
a whelk.
Jim Tweedie, Long Beach, Washington
In Praise of Baklava
Baklava is a tasty treat in Turkey and in Greece.
When Pashas ask for something sweet they get a fresh baklava piece.
Flaky pastry—sometimes nuts—and honey (apples, too),
There are no “ands” or “ifs” or “buts,” baklava is the thing to chew!
In ancient Greece Diana was the goddess of the moon.
She never cooked or baked because she hunted morning, night and noon.
A shame she wasted all her skill for now she is quite dead.
She could have been immortal still by baking baklava instead.
Ordering Dessert
Since you
are on a diet,
and together
we are one…
To satisfy your sweet tooth,
Honey, Sweetie, Sugar Pie…
I have no choice –
but to take one
for the team.
© Al Salehi
2017
Buena Park, CA
All Rights Reserved
Love it! 🙂
Thank you for the kind review, @Amy Foreman
NARE FARE
Nostrils can be caverns filled with hidden delights,
more breathtaking than bristle forests or mucoid stalactites,
with treasures extracted only by forceps or great gusts,
gems stashed by deft toddlers whose vittles they encrust:
hamburger, edamame, peas from chicken pot pie,
blueberries, golden beet bits, dilly cream cheese on rye,
champagne grapes, tapioca, macaroni, tater tots.
Nimble moppets defy lessons that wee noses are not:
for stuffing with stuffing, ladyfingers or pears;
for plugging with pickles, wheat crackers, eclairs;
for bunging with bacon, bean salad, or pitted dates;
but merely for sniffing foods on septated plates,
with compartments for cuisine cut up small with care,
before parent doing dishes spies kid with snoz-blocked stare.
This is quite funny. Nice work!
Thank you very much!
I’m glad to be a Texan; we feast on hearty food.
Smoked brisket and potatoes and slaw are mighty good,
And pinto beans, well seasoned, augment our cooking’s fame;
But if you add cilantro, I’ll pass, thanks just the same.
Old Mexico’s influence can be perceived with ease;
We love our breakfast tacos, with meats and eggs and cheese!
A tangy, spicy salsa is always kept nearby;
But if it has cilantro, I’ll eat my tacos dry.
Give me sage and lavender, and rosem’ry, dill, and thyme;
Parsley has a pungent taste, and basil is sublime.
Chives make a dish more tangy, and mint makes food more sweet;
But you can keep cilantro, that’s one herb I won’t eat!
Thank you. You’ve charmed me and made me hungry at the same time. I can smell the carnitas cooking. No cilantro in sight, in your honor.
Well, thank you very much! Perhaps I should write more anti-cilantro poetry. Let’s see . . . . what words rhyme with “soap”?
Father,
I am totally with you when it comes to cilantro. This reply is a bit belated, and I hope it will come to your attention. In my opinion, there is nothing better than cilantro to ruin a perfectly good meal or a nice bowl of guacamole. Once (only once) I had a crawdad pie that was actually improved with just a trace (a small trace) of cilantro. You have read a number of my poems. I know this because you have made comments. My metaphysical poems walk a fine line between faith and doubt, as you must have noticed. This is just who I am, a prodigal not always in perfect harmony with his Creator.
A Mirepoix for Batille Day*
Liberté, égalité, fraternité-
Heads rolled like vegetables of Escoffier
In baskets never meant for pommes de terre,
Choice as truffles, but not elantière,
Sliced to order, no longer earthly fare.
This banquet was to feed the multitude
Who cheered the falling blade the Chef had honed.
Their pot au feu was boiling as if stewed,
The Country’s fair were being pared and boned.
Then in frenzies of anticipation
The kitchen and the larder ran amok:
What they thought was cleansing of a Nation
Became the rapid firing of each Cook.
Egalité was braised and put to roast,
Then Boney crowned himself and was French toast!
*Bastille Day is July 14.
Edible
Strawberry The Seeded Stud
Edible
Hello,
Sweet fleshy one
Raised in a rural town
Where locals know your name
Relief has no shame
Stem open doors to remain
Support comes naturally
Water from the moistened soil
Sprouts my roots
My pink skin turns to fire red
A burst from a blushing bloom
My fleshy body ripens
soaks up sweet sensation
The taste is so delicious
Full of mass nutrition
Pick the berries in early day
Before the locals can display
A-Prankering
Today I took a hankering
for something quite lip-smackering,
so… grabbed a sweet-salt snacker thing,
and chewed with great think-thankering.
Until with some purturbering,
a strange taste was occurerring.
Without a doubt disturbering,
my mouthful was a-puckering!
What was this awful sour-zing?
…this wretched, spit-it-outering?
I looked at my handful of fling,
and there it was! Persimmons! GREEN!!
Who ruined my treat? I wonder who?
The proof’s in the pudding. Was it YOU!?
My Love Affair With Flan
We met in Arizona
In a never-ending summer
A small brazilian lady
Introduced us to one another
Little did I know,
This would be an unhealthy infatuation
I would hide you from all others
My eyes dilated, became hazy
Then steadied
You were breathtaking
I inspected your curves
When you concave and life
Where your soft edges feel best on my lips
I never knew
We looked so good together
What stuck me at first was the way you move
To my tongue you are a vibrant foreigner
You hold a sweetness so potent
You cannot help but spill from you corners
It took some patience, some money
Some trial and error too
But my love, every failed attempt was worth it
To simply partake of you
You must know as the years pulled us away
To the arms of another
Hard times meant artificial substitutes
Which did not satisfy this hunger
When they say you are “no good”
You seem “flimsy and cheap”
Make them sick to their stomachs,
Make them disgusted and leave
This is not their choice, my love
They’ve never known you as I do
You are more than my confection
You are my home I come to
We met up again,
With some wings and chips
I took my time to reintroduce
You soft, honey glaze
To my sugar-starved lips
You outshine every temptation
Every poor excuse
Tonight, we will meet again
It is you
I choose
The Man at the Counter
The man sat at a counter in a restaurant.
He was consuming fluffy and light brown hotcakes
and sausages. He thought, ‘It’s exactly what I want.’
(Nearby, another man was eating some bran flakes.)
He leaned to put some golden-yellow butter on,
and then he poured some syrup, making little lakes.
He struggled briefly with a sausage, in that dawn,
and then gulped it down after forking it good, well.
The sweetened hotcakes melted in his mouth. A yawn
appeared upon his face, a wee trace of a smile.
He gave a tip and paid the bill, then left that spot
content. That satisfaction lasted for a spell.
Can’t Live Without it
by Pookie McDowell:
When I see it I want to eat it my belly begins to growl
If it’s green and good for me my nose turns up and my mouth becomes a frown
Sometimes it’s mooshy and kind of gooey too
Other times hard and crunchy but rarely the color blue
If I go without it, i get a case of bad moods
Bless that hands that grow it
Man, how I love my foods!
FUNNY-FOOD-LIMERICK
Both neighbors had a barbeque: burgers, fries and franks.
Potato salad and cole slaw drew happy smiles and thanks.
One neighbor forgot to buy corn cobs, but HIS neighbor
bought cobs and beers
So he got up his might, and very polite
said “Neighbor, please lend me your ears!”