Just a humble vegetable consider me, if you're able So much flavor packed inside In paper skin I do abide Cook me tender or slice me raw just use a good knife you don't need a saw Have you seen my circular layers? They make nice garnish (but not party favors) My flavor is strong but I'm good for you I might help with cold and flu I'm sorry if I made your breath stink and left a foul odor in your sink One more thing and I'll say goodbye I'm sorry if I made you cry
With four fingers and a thumb Agile, able and quite handsome The hand is nice to have around when no other tool is found It can grip it can hold it can pinch it can fold It can point it can wave it can carry it can shave It can open it can close it can even pick your nose It can grasp it can write it can make a fist, and fight The hand is made of supple skin
containing many bones within.
There is a wrist, and then a palm
which can be moisturized with balm. If you really want to linger we can talk about the finger
With these you can fasten a buckle, bending with each helpful knuckle. Then there are the fingertips good for opening potato chips Hands can build, chop and weld but they like best to be held.
hey! that dinner
tasted great
good thing I used
a paper plate
washing grease
is such a pain
and I don't want
to clog the drain
things are easy
in my home
tomorrow I'll use
styrofoam
I hope the trees
don't mind giving
paper for our
everyday living
upon the rug
a dog is laying
I hear the sound
of children playing
caves have tunnels
but homes have halls
there are pictures
on the walls
long and straight
swept by brooms
it brings us to
connected rooms
everything dies
withers and fades
turns into dust
on the fan blades
made of particles
of stuff, like hair
gathering, settling
everywhere
finding its way
into shelves and nooks
it fills the pages
of old books
it's in the air
in all the weathers
I have a duster
made of feathers
in the corner
daily sifted
with a scoop
the poop is lifted
a private potty
for a cat named Socks
a smelly box of
pee pee rocks
holding soup
is its goal
a little silver
handheld bowl
it drizzles juice
over the pork
and it is married
to a fork
not going out
I'm staying home
I do believe
I'll write a poem
ideas are coming
my thoughts are jelling
I won't forget
to check the spelling
I'll think about it
and take my time
and hope that I
can make it rhyme
it goes through mud
and roads of tar
spinning loyally
under your car
drive over nails
don't do that
it will deflate
and eventually go flat
when it stops rolling
and doing it's thing
it can be
a tire swing
I woke up and
stared into space
dim nightlight
upon my face
I made some coffee
so I can play
but now I might
sleep all day
sugared grapes
in glass jar sealed
packed in tight
fruit congealed
berry jam
it's never awful
granny likes it
on her waffle
