Fruit Picker – A Poem

I walk around my village

With my fruit picker,

When the sky begins to darken

And I see the street lamp flicker.


I make my way to my neighbour’s orchard

Where I hope to find an apple.

I pass the church, the pub, the school

And the graveyard of the old chapel.


I reach the wall that surrounds the trees,

It’s only as high as my waist.

I spy several ripe, crunchy apples inside

And just can’t wait to have a taste!


I whip out my handy fruit picker

And lean precariously over the wall.

Flick, flick goes my wrist,

I’m a bit off balance, I hope I don’t fall!


I’m slower than usual tonight,

I need to pick quicker, quicker.

I don’t want to have to resort to

Buying even one with a supermarket sticker!


I actually have an orchard of my own,

But all the fruit is hard and bitter.

The skins on these are irresistably crisp

Whereas on mine they are a lot thicker.


Pick, pick, pick

That should do the trick!

My fruit picker’s full the the brim,

No more need for me to nick, nick!


I tip the contents inside

My basket made of wicker,

Which I cover with a big tea towel

To also hide my fruit picker.

Roger’s Food Stores – A Poem

This is a tasty orange

Suck, suck…

My pip pouch will be empty

With a bit of luck!


I finger the string around my neck

And pull the pouch into view.

There are three old pips inside

But never mind, it will still do.


I leap off the sofa

And pucker up my lips,

I spit for the last time

Adding to today’s pile of pips.


I smile to myself.

I head for the cellar

To find what I sought

Oh, I’m such a happy fella!


Here I keep many tins and cans

I call it my personal  beanery,

For there are only beans inside –

Red kidney, black-eyed, canellini…


Sometimes I must count them all

To make sure I don’t run out,

But there are clearly plenty of each today

I can see, without a doubt!

Tense Fruit – A Poem

In the fruit bowl

I am a fumblin’

Because this mornin’

My stomach is a grumblin’.


I really fancy something sweet

The perfect choice is a plum,

So I give them all a good squeeze

Using my forefinger and thumb.


My fruit is very tense today

And also quite large.

I think they need to relax a little

Maybe I should give them a massage?


I pick out the softest plum

And roll it roughly in my hands,

But I slip and do a little juggle,

So on the kitchen tiles, it lands.


I brush the dust off my plum

I soon need to be fed,

But it’s just as hard as before

So I go for some chocolate instead.

A Good Scrub – A Poem

I’m feeling very hungry,

What shall I have for dinner?

Maybe a quick lentil loaf –

That could be a winner!


Smiling, I grab the ingredients;

Oats, tomatoes, lentils….

And frolic around the kitchen

Picking out the suitable utensils.


With the ingredients prepared

In the blender they are thrown,

And I feel quite proud of myself

Because for once I’m cooking alone.


I hold the blender in both hands

As if I’m throwing pottery,

And then move one hand to the cupboard

To reach for some crockery.


But I quickly begin to lose control

Of the blender as it rocks around,

And before I can even mutter a curse

It falls with a mighty crash to the ground.


My mouth wide open with shock,

Splattered all over me is my grub,

All I want to do now

Is strip off and have a good scrub!

Today’s Meals – A Poem

I had some spiced potato pieces 

For my lunch today,

But found a chewy wedge

So then threw them away.

Roast dinner was delicious,

In the gravy – a nutritious lump

But it must have been full of fibre

Because it made me need a dump!

My family finished the cake

That we’d been having for our puddings,

So all that I was left with

Was a load of old stale scrapings.

Bread – A Poem

I hold it in my hands

A parcel of joy

Enveloped in plastic film,

Imprinted with the words

“Freshly sliced for you”

The warmth, the smell, emanating

Overpoweringly delectable



Unwrapping the packaging,

And then –

The shock! The travesty!

I behold

A loaf of unsliced