Baked potato, sweet potato, makes me sigh.
Put butter in the schism and my oh my.
Sure to go right to your thigh,
but I don’t care. Do you know why?
Baked potatoes taste so good,
they soothe the pains of widowhood.
Place other pleasures on your lips.
Forget about your waist and hips.
Suttee is way overrated.
That fact cannot be debated.
So instead of jumping in,
go and raid the potato bin.
Toss taters on the red hot coals
and reassess your former goals.
Get a life. Take off the ring.
immolation’s not the thing.
Prompt words are sweet potato, schism, sure, immolate and good.
Not so weird after all.
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Thats the best potato poem I’ve seen. Nice work, Judy.
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So, how many potato poems have you seen, Mason? ;o)
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I knew you were going to ask that. I’ve seen a few over time. I used to play at being a librarian at school during my lunch breaks to avoid the ever present bullies. I reada lot of poetry as well as other books from then on. So yes I’ve seen poetic potatoes a few times, but this one is amazing!
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Well, honored that a poetic potato expert would class me in the big leagues.
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Haha! I wouldn’t go that far, but you’re welcome.
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I googled the subject and couldn’t find any potato poems I liked–even Sylvia Plath’s. Obviously, it is a subject in need of a poetic attention.
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There is definately a world of poetic rhymes needed for vegetable I’m sure.
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bet I can do weirder
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Okay, D David… I’m ready to read your weirder!!! ;o)
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