Eating poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of eating poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on eating are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
They’ve often asked if I was restricted by a religion, But “I just can’t eat” had always been my sermon. However, I was fascinated by how they made it And why their tongues galloped as they tasted. So I took
I thought Life is a fantasy having a lot of positivity I spent childhood happily and merrily I cherished Teenage which was full of excitement and entertainment I entered adulthood with dreams and challenges I experienced Middle age as most
Welcome,welcome,welcome, Welcome to Paradise Welcome to Nainital. A heaven on earth, Sun-kissed mountains. Yachting,boating on serene lakes, The charming lakes and splendid landscapes. The most beautiful romantic place, In the Lake District of India. Nainital is the Majestic Queen of
We sure did love the lollipops, the cracker jacks, the Holloway candy sticks, the chocolate coated ice cream bars, and those tootsie rolls. We simply could not get enough of the pop sickles, the cool aids, and the soda pops.
How fun is it? sitting together and to eat watching south Indians eating curd rice north Indians bringing potato with extra spice so many different cultures so bright fulfilling their born appetite some eat vegetarian while some are non vegetarian
Have you ever seen the sun setting and the moon rising together the three oceans mixing with each other the peacock welcoming the rain where the farmer will be found tinkling the golden wheat grain where we will find the
It is idealism to think that life will always be as sweet as honey When a man always think about pretty things in this crazy world he will always fall as a victim of sadness because you will not always
Twelve thousand days ago, give or take a few I tried counting up the seconds in a year But the numbers got out of hand, wouldn’t stay in line Wouldn’t act like numbers are supposed to I kept making mistakes,
At the time of divorce, they asked me “With whom do you want to live, my child?” I looked at my parents…….. wondering What my life would be After their painful separation They always mention How hard it’s for them
A skylight begins the apartheid in ironed out differences. At the shores skulls have reappeared. Blue flames were eating away the green carbon of the dying giants. Fake photosynthesis was canning the skimmed breeze in books and encapsulated euthanasia was
She builds booby traps from paper clips And ration cans while her GI lover Blows smoke rings But around here a confession constitutes A conviction even if your mouth is full of gold And yet she admits to nothing But
Deluge of criminality in the moral night; sun was taking a plunge on the falls, in the name of cobbled up front, for our rise and fall in the primary casuality. Sacred contusion, on the floor of the mausoleum, when
Conceived in love’s folded wings: I sit and watch him from the next table – fair-haired and impish, he swings his sturdy little legs. “Don’t fidget, darling! You’ll fall off your chair…” The words should have come from my mouth.
1 She is the tree green and wide abundantly dressed overflowing spreading her sleeves blesses all in her cool shade solitude teems with breezy songs I feel nearer God 2 That autumn tree from this window looks like a young
Fourth member you were But I found you second to none. There’s a proverb “all’s well that ends well” huh!!! easier said than done. Ma’s apple of eye, Papa’s Gondlo you were. Oh!!! did I tell what I felt? Hurricane.
Searing in sunlight and dense in humid breath that uncomfortable nether-ground we ancesterally dashed across to escape the swift and sharp toothed now is a show of umbrellas and baking skin joy of wading into the delicious cool feeling sand
He’s a very famous actor who married an ordinary woman and while he spends his days honing his body for the kind of violent pornography they pay him to discharge, learning to compress his abdomen to crush walnuts spit out
Gone are those days when We didn’t need to think about calories before eating. We didn’t have to plan everything in advance. We didn’t have to decide what to wear for a party. We didn’t have to check before speaking.
when another (anointed as lady lucky) resident renter bequeathed her bed prior to that good samaritan deed thyself and spouse slept on the floor like dogs dead tired from another day acclimatizing ourselves, especially when tummies got well fed and
When the street was becoming alive man had become a charged bull, goring the god to death. My father wept, took the corpse home, that was his child. In the wild fire, a tall eucalyptus had burned, turned black. What
Tears, the salt of our soul, overflow Between life and death, recalling sweet Memories and dreams of the past, Flushing out from eyes, cleaning dejection And depression, to rejoice fulfillment, With battles, hazards and agony we had. Recalled my old
My love, I would like for you to be sad in my absence, wandering among thorny regions, miserable, drowning in dry leaves, picking little stone to throw at noisy birds and children. My love, I would like for you to
Have you felt nauseous that you want to vomit out yourself? So tense that your muscles find it difficult staying in one piece? So worthless that you wanted to die? Well, I have and I can tell you that it
All over the world, today Hearts are opening, filling the air with love As couples everywhere remind themselves Of the unbreakable bonds that tie them together. That’s one way of looking at it. But what about those who have nobody?
An old boar squirrel has made a home in the tall skinny house across the street. he must think himself lucky to have the space. I watch him build his treasury on the jade kitchen linoleum dark nuts arranged like
First Pre-Heat the oven, approximately 200 degrees, Gather your ingredients all around, For sweet you will need sugar, for savoury some cheese, Be careful not to spill it on the ground. Mix the egg and sugar, beat to a smooth
We found the kid outside of McCleary walking in a daysuit like some land owner off some nineteenth-century hacienda he got in the car stinking of moss and unwashed armpits there were at least two kinds of fluff in his
Oh bird, your meditation, that Indian monks borrowed And conduct school of meditation, with no means, To their ends, as they do it artificially, as a road-show; But thou makes it creative to find your prey and catch it As
It was a cloudy sky Drizzle had just stopped softly On this enchanting evening, I was lined lucky As there was an ugly beggar who deserved care, swiftly I stopped my car before that hotel where sometime I used to
Always he was picking up and counting the pins to distill the essence of rainbows and find the symmetries of elementary laws and eating leftover words from the table. The terrorists had wired his house and he was not aware
I’m scrunched in partially obscured view seating, hands at my temples, elbows pressed to the balcony rail. Look up, Sherman Alexie! I squint through borrowed glasses, willing your signature pen to drop, your writer’s eyes to find me. I’m cheap.