One Saturday morning at three
A cheese-monger’s shop in Paree
Collapsed to the ground
With a thunderous sound
Leaving only a pile of de brie.

Bananas
an underappreciated fruit
sentenced to banananality
because yellow
is their long suit.

(Mary Oliver Rotman)

I endured burnt offerings at the table -
A meal ‘cooked’ by my mother in law
If I hadn’t been married her lovely son
I’d have walked straight out of the door!

I heaved at every charred mouthful
Smiled, and said the meal was ‘divine’
She told me she’d had cookery lessons
But her food was only fit to feed swine!

Is my poem just a fairy story
Or is it a clever allegory?

(Laura Loo)

oses are red, violets are blue,
Coffee is bitter, and so are you.

There was a professor named Chesterton
Who went for a walk with his best shirt on
Being hungry, he et it
But lived to regret it
And ruined for life his digestion.

Sandy was a chocoholic,
The worst I've ever seen!
If she didn't eat some daily,
She'd become crazy mean!

It didn't matter what kind it was,
Ice cream, cake, pie or candy,
As long as it was chocolate,
Sandy was fine and dandy!

Then one day the unthinkable happened,
To the chocolate loving miss,
While eating her favorite candy,
She choked on a chocolate kiss!

"Death by chocolate," the coroner concluded,
As to the cause of Sandy's death.
At least she died doing what she loved,
Eating chocolate til her last breath.

(Kim Merryman)

She had so many chances
Yet she kept muffin it up
Butter intentions were good
Just not much coffee in her cup

Couldn’t make a good decision
Too much waffling back and forth
Always peppered with doubt
Should she head south, no maybe north

Still, she was fun at a party
I would say, hummus a tune
She’d say, Icing because I’m happy
As the words began to croon

Maybe that’s what’s most important
Omelet let her off the hook
So she’s always in a pickle
Doesn’t do things by the book

Once again, I’m gonna help her
Since she is such a good egg
I said, girl, you’d go much farther
If you weren’t such a nut Meg

(Mike Gentile)

How to spell the potato has tried
Many minds, sometimes mine, I’ll confide.
Though it may have an eye,
There’s no E – don’t ask why!
Not until it’s been baked, boiled or fried.