Tag Archives: humorous poem about food

Not to Taste

We spend so much of our time choosing, discussing, cooking or devouring food that we consider to be flavorful, but rarely do we consider just how flavorful we ourselves may be.

Not to Taste

I have no taste for seafood—neither sea bass nor crustacean.
My friends’ attempts to feed them to me end in their frustration.
I cannot stand the taste of them—their odor nor their texture.
I’ve heard that they are good for me, so please spare me the lecture!

When I was in New Orleans, they tried to feed me gator.
I politely turned it down and had a burger later.
For though a gator’s not a fish, and that’s something I know,
they must be family somehow, ‘cause both live in H2O!

Sometimes I go out birding up a river by the sea.
The grandson of the captain comes along to talk to me.
The river’s full of crocodiles, and birds overhead
fly in by the thousands to seek their evening bed.

They rest so gently in the trees that I forget the threat
of all those crocs there down below, lurking in the wet.
Most of the year the estuary’s cut off from the sea,
but this year there was one big rain that set the river free.

When I was swimming Saturday, beyond the surf, just me,
I saw some people looking at—whatever could it be?
I just went on exercising in the surf and sand.
The sun went down but I stayed out. The water was just grand.

But when I finally came to land, folks there on the beach
told me that a croc passed by, well beyond my reach.
And since I, too, was out there as handy as could be,
I sure am glad that crocodile had no taste for me!!!!

Today’s prompt word is flavorful. This poem found in my archives was written so long ago that I had forgotten it.  Hopefully, you have, too. The beautiful photo of ceviche was snapped in La Manzanilla, as was the photo of the croc. The event described in the poem was true, by the way. Since then I’ve instructed friends to call me in out of the water no matter how far away the croc is!

Why I Dine Alone at Burger King

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Why I Dine Alone at Burger King

I’d like a single cheeseburger with pickles on the side,
cheese but no tomato—a fruit I can’t abide.
Be sure there is no pink to see. I like my burgers brown.
You can also skip the cardboard hat. I do not need a crown.

Grilled onions on the cheeseburger and easy on the goo.
Give me a diet Coke with that. I’d like some French fries, too.
I sit down at a booth to wait, my number on the table,
but if I could, I’d supervise—that is, if I were able.

My sandwich comes. I have a bite. I see no pink or red.
I start to take a drink of Coke but have a fry instead.
It’s hot and oh so crispy. Redolent of grease.
I feel a surge of appetite. My hunger pangs increase.

I alternate the bites I take between the fries and meat.
As regular as clockwork. I do not miss a beat.
For when it comes to fast food, I do not equivocate.
My ratio of fries-to-burger I must calibrate.

I plan it down to the last fry. I don’t allow for glitches,
and woe to folks who borrow one. I do not abide snitches.
If you want a French fry, please buy some of your own.
I have plans for all of mine. I am not sharing-prone.

With one more bite of burger and only two more fries,
the ratio is one-to-two. I plan to synchronize.
I have it all planned out, my friend, so if you’re chancing by,
keep your fingers off my French fries, or somebody’s gonna die!

 

The prompt today was “synchronize. (stock photo.)

Hot, Hot, Hot.

Less Spice is Nice

Once I liked my dishes spicy,
but lately it is getting dicey.
As time progresses, I find it’s not
advisable to dine on “hot.”

Somehow, my tastes have seemed to tame
It’s all those extra years I blame,
that turn me once more into child.
Please, make my taco extra mild!

 

The prompt word today is spicy. (Another reprint.)jdbphoto

Best for Last

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Best for Last

Just as I’m ready to ingest
the morsel I consider best
and so picked out from all the rest
to be my last bite, savored with zest—
last memory of this gourmet fest—
from north and south and east and west,
descends each winged little pest,
radared in on diabolical quest
as though invited at my behest.
They put my appetite to the test,
settling as though to the nest,
their hairy feet intimately pressed
upon that morsel that I loved best.
I wave my hand over them, lest
they eat too much, then I confess
I guiltily consume the rest.

 

The prompt today is pest.

Green Tea and Me

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Green Tea and Me

The taste of green tea is a taste to which I do not cotton.
Instead of tasting fresh and green, to me it just tastes rotten.
Although it is a liquid that I must daily swallow,
it clearly is a flavor in which I don’t choose to wallow.

Health drives us to those foods and liquids we would never choose.
Makes us eat our kale and fish oil, takes away our booze.
If we want to keep our blood pressure from simply soaring,
we’ll be giving up our salt for flavors much more boring.

So nature takes our simple pleasures from us one by one.
Things like buttered popcorn become a smoking gun.
If we want our  bodies to cooperate and function,
we’ll gobble less for pleasure and nibble more for unction.

The prompt today was tea.

Commitment Issues

(You don’t dare enlarge these, do you?  If you do have the courage of your convictions and wonderful resistance to temptation, enlarge all photos my clicking on any one.)

Commitment Issues

I breakfast on oatmeal and vile green tea.
Oats aids in digestion, the tea makes me pee
and helps me to swallow the Omega 3
that lowers blood pressure and lubes up my knee.
I do pool aerobics when the water’s not cold.
I open my mind so it doesn’t get old.
I don’t shoot up drugs or overdo liquor.
I try to eat food that is good for my ticker.

Broccoli, whole grains, jamaica, white beans

to lower my blood pressure by other means
than those dreaded pills that make me feel old
by sapping my energy, dulling my bold.
I can give up the salt and give up the nookie,
but please don’t deprive me of my evening cookie
or maybe a dozen or two, more or less.
 In my frenzy, I sometimes lose count, I confess.

If I’m going to have meat, a potato’s a must.
Protein without carbs is simply unjust.
Dark chocolate’s allowed, but I fear just a bit,
and when it comes to chocolate, I never can quit.
Who wants to commit to a life with no sin?
No pasta, no cookies, no chocolate, no gin?
I try to be good but I’m still not the best,
for I cannot commit to a diet with no zest.

 

The prompt today was commit.

Nervous Nibbling

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Nervous Nibbling

Why am I so nervous? I can’t seem to remember,
yet I am as edgy as a kid is on December
twenty-fourth. I cannot seem to get to sleep.
My angst grows as I lie here trying to count sheep.
Something niggles me, but I don’t know at all
what might be perturbing me. I just can’t recall.
If I could fall asleep, I might dream a solution,
but dreamtime will not come. I suffer thought-pollution.
With clouds of agitation floating overhead,
I just can’t remain here stewing in my bed.
I haul my sorry body to the refrigerator.
I’ll have some chocolate ice cream and regret it later.
A chicken leg, some pudding, another macaroon.
Those chips up in the cupboard will join them pretty soon.
My bags and bowls surround me as I flick on the tube.
I spend hours staring at that hypnotic cube.
Then my alarm clock sounds and I am jerked awake.
My heart starts to palpitate. My hands commence to shake.
I suddenly remember what bothered me back then.
Today’s the day I set for my diet to begin!

 

The prompt word today was nervous.

Tart Addiction

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Tart Addiction

“Zesty, piquant,  rich at heart”
describes his favorite sort of tart.
Tender to the touch and bite,
a bit of crust and formed just right.

He likes one after every meal,
his appetite to seek to seal.
A zesty wench presents the tray
as soon as the meal’s cleared away.

A tart a night may meet his lips,
yet not one goes upon his hips,
for no cream or cherry pie
is what tempts his tongue and eye.

His tarts come without calories:
Veronicas and Valeries.
In two weeks, he has had a dozen—
the serving girl, and then her cousin.

Which tart tonight will he prefer?
Will it be custard, fruit, or her?
The sort he likes is just the latter,
his tarts cannot fit on a platter.

The prompt word today was “Tart.”

Vice Detection

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Vice Detection

Don’t you have to love the fellow
with ice cream on his diet Jell-O?

And the friend with heart of gold
who likes her painkiller freshly rolled,

or that occasional slip of tongue
that tells us how her husband’s hung?

This little “fuck,” that little “damn,”
the door that’s pulled closed with a slam––

the flaw that nearly escapes detection
that proves that no one is perfection?

The truth is, that though friends revere us,
faults are what really endear us.

Although piety is nice,
I’ll take my goodness spiced with vice!

The prompt word today is “Vice.”

Fishless Chips

 

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Dykstra-Brown Photo

 

I received the below new lunch menu from a local restaurant via email immediately before reading the daily prompt, which was “Flourish.”  It was inevitable that the two would merge.


A NEW
LUNCH MENU is being offered from 11:00 am to 2:00 pm
  • Fish & Chips with Coleslaw
  • Burritos ( Shrimp or Fish)
  • Chimichangas (Shrimp or Fish)
  • Tacos Shrimp or Fish
  • Large Salad with  Shrimp

Fishless Chips

Never have I had a wish
for any kind of seafood dish––
fillet of flounder or tuna knish.
The only menu I find delish
is piscine-free, served with a flourish.
So if this bod you wish to nourish,
just french fry spuds and skip the fish!

is, I fear, devoid of fish.https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/flourish/