How poetic can you be? Write a short poem about what you see

Fresh veggies from the garden, salad taste just right,

A spark of summer time weather, taste of pure delight.

So cook up a burger, bring some ketchup and buns,

Cut up a nice juicy mater, ripened by the sun.

© Cynthia Clark

A work of Art

The other day while walking through a Museum

Enjoying the art work on display

I happened on a hall with a variety of oils on the wall

One caught my eye, in the dimly lit room

It was a picture of a crate that was discreetly covered by a towel; this blue and white checkered dish towel was filled to the brim with a wide variety of fresh vegetables.

The artist did take care to detailing each piece, the colors were distinct, and I saw Carrots of orange, Celery stems with green leaves pile on high.

There was what I believe is head of red chard, some purple roots and dark greens leafs hang from the crate.

While contemplating what I was looking at, it’s struck me that a painter and a poet are very similar indeed. Although they take separate paths their purpose is the same.

To create a picture for the viewers to analyze, the painter does this on canvas, while the poet uses words to create a picture in the mind!

A collage of nutritious food

begging to be cooked and eaten.

throw the chocolate away

thou appeal now fully beaten.

Dutch Masters come to life on the

worn planked table

such beauty seen in the mundane

if we only open our eyes

'Have a carrot'?

" No, I want a Whopper".

'Here, have some lettuce'.

"No, and none on my Whopper"!

'How about a juicy tomato'?

"No, and"...

'I know, none on your Whopper'.

"Right... lots of processed cheese though. Double that shit"!

'But no vegetables of any kind'?

"NONE! Just a Whopper, dripping with processed cheeses, and onions are fine".

'Well, then, RIP sweetie'

Replied his Mother.

There is Life in Trees

I come with fruits and veggies

Without me you are nothing

It is with no doubt that

The day the last specie of my kind

Falls like a worn out petal

Indeed the last surviving man

Will also fall

Sat on a table all full of peel

Scrub it all off how does that make you feel?

All the goodness is gone

Piled into the bin

No fiber left

All bunged up right within.

Here we see all of your 5a day veg

Cut into slices batons and wedge

Curly and straight

Colours vary to the eye

Dark and pale

Not quite a rainbow up sky

Chop it mash it boil it to mush

Steam it slice it all while you hush

Salt it pepper it

Do what you will

Vegetables vegetables

Still taste like swill

" Garden Veggies"

Vegetables picked fresh from my garden

Lay in a kitchen towel, of white and blue

Upon an old wooden crate

Thrown away by you know who

This bountiful harvest, from the outdoors

With colors so fresh, I'm never bored

From the bright beautiful greens of celery

To the deeper greens of kale

There are also the oranges of carrots

Yellow of parsnips, even a purple or two

As they lay there awaiting, what we will do