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Poetry: Eating

• 1 of 24

  by Emma Willey

  The Crock Pot

  
  
  

  I'm 85 and in my prime
  And I don't owe a single dime
  But I don't like to cook anymore
  It's too much work since

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• 2 of 24

  by Ethel Smith

  Up in a morning,
  and dine like a king,
  fuelling our energy,
  making us zing.
  Onto our lunch,
  which at midday we eat
  enough to last

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• 3 of 24

  by Kelly Weidenfeld

  It tempts me. The smooth surface.
  The rich, thick piece. It salivates me.
  Fingers unwrap the concealed treat.
  It has started

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• 4 of 24

  by Veggie

  I once knew a cat
  whose name was gatita
  and as she lay on a mat
  I said "i don't wanna eat ya"

  You're dumber than a dog
  whose dumber

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• 5 of 24

  by Amanda Heersche

  Starving

  We feed our stomachs
  But not our souls.
  Seeing ourselves spiraling out of control,
  We do nothing but treat the symptoms.

  The

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Poetry: Eating