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Prose Poetry Food Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Food

These Prose Poetry Food poems are examples of Prose Poetry poems about Food. These are the best examples of Prose Poetry Food poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Paying the High Price of Gas

I feel a blockage has occurred...
It must have been all that stuffing and Turkey bird...
The gurgles, the rumbling, the passing of gas...
It’s beyond my control ,Oh dear, please let this pass...
We have guests you see...
So I don’t have the privilege to just get up and flee...
No one should ever be in this state...
And I should never have put so much on my plate... 
Cause now I’m paying and to my demise ...
The rite of passage has been denied...
I feel like I may blow up and explode...
It’s times like this when you miss the commode...

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Ode to the Orange Gourd

It’s that time of year again...
When family and friends gather together..
To share and give thanks for all that they treasure..
The young and the old, the tall and the small..
The Vegans and the Carnivores, come one come all...
There are dishes of tradition, like Turkey and stuffing..
Mashed potatoes, gravy, and cranberry muffins..
Green Bean casserole, and corn soufflé...
Are just some of the dishes of the day....
And of course a relish tray to take off the edge...
With that awesome Spinach dip in Pumpernickel bread...
So many desserts at this time of year...
But the favorite of all , synonymous of the Fall..
Is that Jack’O ‘Lantern, orange Gourd.....
 known as Pumpkin Pie...
As the children play a game of touch football...
Something that is 24-7 on this day in  Fall..
As Grandpa sits in the afternoon sun...
Remembering back ..when he was young...
Then the words of “ Let’s eat “ fills the air...
And everyone sits down in their chair..
Who wants the first slice ? Dark meat or White ?
Grandpa asks...then proceeds to take the first bite..
Everyone fills their plate, till it can’t hold no more...
Yet some go back, for more and more....
Finally everyone is full...can’t eat another bite..
Till the smell of fresh coffee brings on a plight...
Aahh  dessert ..and the best part of all....
“ PUMPKIN PIE “ !!!! ....It appears was a "Majority Call"...
This is “ my “ favorite time of the year....
When you mention "MY" name, everyone gives a cheer !!!
So without  further adieu  ...Grandpa picks up the knife...
As I am the “ MAJORITY CALL “ and receive the first slice....

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Golden Sun Of Spring

As spring's golden sun rises awakening the fog.  Its light reveals fog's gray clinging tenacles all about. A Dove coos softly singing in spaces opened up when the roosters quieten their chorus..The tree's dark silhouettes stand still for no breeze rustles the air this morn. Those Blackbirds are back their voices fill the Oaks with lively music.  Then they go down upon the good earth to feed upon the rich food available.  I don't even see anything there but they seem to find plenty everyday.  It seems they are here to stay this year.  They usually come for awhile then leave until about the same time the next year. I wonder if they are going to pair off and stay around.  Only God knows if they will stay or leave.  He has provided for the troup to have sufficient food everyday.  All they have to do is come and feed.  We His creation only have to come into His Presence each day for a short time, open our hearts and minds to hear His Voice.  He is there waiting won't you come and feed upon His Word(The Bible) and then wait to hear His Voice for it is pleasant to the ears..  

Details | Prose Poetry | |


you love meat
its your beat
it needs  A treat
to eat
and make it talk
you need a

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Inches make feet without inches there is no foot without beginnings there is no work without measure there is no dearth without a ruler there is no worth there must be rules and there are rules but eye will let them all apply to them my enemies at work and never eye. The horse runs well it has a heart so then they fill syringes from the start to inject the muscles of the neck to make the beast faster than the wind oh heck the animal is dead it never hit the ground but flew too fast and lost the race and life. Desert life is winterless but not without some weather life the sun is always shading and the water is found in sub altern placing near the animals for killing under the ledge of apprehension near the fire of desperation comes the frog and toad and watercrest nut sandwiches. Eye had been to the desert on a horse with no namme it felt good to be out of the rain. Voices come out at me from the air into mye membrain eye call it Disraeli musick it is usually someone in the area with a boom box or even cars with the windows rolled down can be the culprits they hound me when eye am hicking place to place. There is other answers to the crazxy place eye hear noises mad mostly by people in the other cubicles the walls are just invisible the talking is allowed. The thief cannot sneak in sneakers they squeak like he is sweating in his shoe laces. This brings me to mye priority eye. The reason that no one wants to be a Detective is the movies the guy may have had DAMES by the score but he had fights and was so sore the men were ruthless and left him spinning on the side of every road. The streets of New Nuevo York has gum shoe on them. The American idea of Indians and wampum has brought us to the test of food in rest or rants of foreign style they smile and bring the menu back to make certain that the orders write the man has pointed several times at five bills a whack. One from Column A and 2 from Column B brings us to a bill of $23. Well eye wanted some meat too but you are so expansive. Rice and curry hot mustard radishes. Try finding food in the summer time how careful now that eye a homeless one should be then tossing caution to the winding blowing wind when it seems only wrapped so tightly to keep flies at night away. To feed myself is easy to offer some to others almost impossible a few times eye have asked to share they slide that nostril in the air and leave the food to the one that found it in the lair of tossed and discarded things the general city the loose leaf cabbage so nicely adds a bite to the membrain of mye priority eye. 

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its in my mind
all the time
rain or shine
she our life shine
how she cooke
without a cooke book
how she look
like a mess
in her

Details | Prose Poetry | |



Eye am risking the loss of some merits to at least prove to some of you that to do 
the works of JESUS is the right and lawful thing to do the man was just like me 
he seems to be a homeless and eye asked him to share my food he said no he 
was taken care of a food card from the service. Eye wound up giving nothing but 
a courtesy yet my blessing is unending the words that JESUS speaks are meant 
to be the life we breathe and giving is so certainly the thing to do. Not bragging 
unnecessarily just letting people knoe to do the works he says to do. Offer 
someone food if they can take it it will help you if they refuse it you can eat it 
seems to me there is nothing there to lose. Now the food eye have to eat is better 
for the act of sharing even the man is not eating with me the food it's doubly 
better in proportions. Show me the house that's built on stilts that's built on sand. 
There is a temporary church that meets inside the main church building they 
usually start the service at nine thirty today they went out on a run away there was 
no church service even eye usually go just to knell down near the table and thank 
Jesus for the offering there there is Coffee and some coffee cake and other 
things as well but today eye am on mye own attempting more than one thing at a 
time it seems beyond the eye trying to stay hooked into the wonder of this life for 
it seems like GOD is just like Santa Clause to me when we have it in our heart to 
do he sees it just the same. 
Eye still carry my raincoat my umbrella even though it has not rained for many 
weeks I'm ready. The place eye like to visit has been pulled out from under me 
the preacher needs to visit his own prayer room just to see how dark his heart is 
to become without his love. He warned me not to trespass and so far eye have 
not been back but the wonder of it all is that the place still seems to stand a 
monument to decadence a monument to disgrace. They knoe that eye am 
homeless eye still walk the street without a place. The blankets in the dump 
seem so nice when eye am cold. Foolishness or wisdom tell me preacher what 
would you do when the sky was falling would you stick your turkey neck up to the 
rain and then just drown or would you find a church with a poor doorway to get 
dry. The path is narrow the climb is steep and harrow the preacher fast asleep. 
Eye cry a homeless to the end of time. 

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 There is a personal testimony and everyone's focus is on the group and on the 
self and not on JESUS where it was supposed to be the reason eye won't go to 
fellowship with rich working Christians meeting at a SUNDAY SUPPER to drive to 
a pizza place where everyone pays something for the food even if they share it the 
cost is still beyond the pocketbook of yew. The added price of fellowship with 
world is loss of spirit functions eye am not suggesting we have meetings in the 
desert with the hedgehogs but there could be a meeting place for all the 
Christians like the fish doors of the early days of meetings they were in and out 
so furtive searching alleyways for soldiers avoiding arrests and fighting and 
bringing lots of food in the bags of fishes and the loaves of breads in pockets of 
the tunaes fishes smile eye could just not resist this in almost every Church 
there is a Kitchen and in some of them is love the people make the soup for the 
homeless and the court appointed prisoners and even important people come. 
Hang a fish upon the door of every kitchen in the nation make a place with tables 
where the poor can come in love do not forget the love the soup is  nice but even 
slabs of raw meat are not enough with hate. 
Eye could not write a word on yesterday the things that eye had wanted to write 
left on the flight of lost ideas and night came again without a thought and then the 
day came back this fable was born and eye decided to try religion again. The 
focus of a lot of people is the congregation the error being life is not a middle 
class house with people making money in a paper plate of life some people 
need a cup of soup just to survive please open up your love first open up your 
hearts then open all them kitchen cupboards up. There is another thing that eye 
must say to all the bible thumpers not yet in the grave what does it matter what 
the date and day of this my own salvation come the day of JESUS was 33 AD the 
date that GOD was saving me. 

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Coming out on the porch this morning after the sun had risen far above the horizon...I 
noticed that my herbs looked wilted.  Checked but not really dry just potbound or rootbound
in too small of a container..Life___how many of us are potbound or rootbound contained in a 
container that we outgrew years ago___stuck, complacent not growing and soon will die from
starvation because we can't receive the nourishment from the source of our total being the 
giver of life the One Who gives the Living Waters....In the next few days I will get larger 
pots, fresh soil, and remove those plants..distrub their roots...Repot them giving their root 
system room to grow..They will come out giving me fresh French Tarragon, and Lemon 
Thyme all summer..I will enjoy watching them grow and produce....What about me?  Will I 
get out of the pot that is too small and grow?

Details | Prose Poetry | |

To All My Soupmates

Have a wonderful holiday.  Happy Thanksgiving!!!  Remember, the best things at 
the table are your family.   Tom

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Hice handwritten from the little notebook my new Hispanic friend read this he speaks of delirium and decay and makes it become fantasy this is for him Self Descriptadjective A Library (lieberry) is full of books they cover upp the words is what we use to read the Story Chapters and the Verse the beginning has a middle and the end. From the firs tpoem ever written you will never see the last self descriptadjective is my best one kept for Jesus as eye rest, Rudyard Kiplins stripling lad the Gunga DInn a water boy a better man then eye a Mexican from Mexico or Spain a Jesus man who drinks he smokes he even tokes his self discriptadjective he stones his bone he has his drunk religious bones and yet who am eye to judge this man has fed me solid food while eye can only steal his food not repay my mood is one of acceptance listen and receive this as iff Jesus gives me from this drunk will argue his religion frevor seems misplaced so why obey some from of Law replaced with Grace perhaps the Jewish Sabbath Day falls on our American Wednesday no He smiles it is on Saturday what matter what is the matter iff drunk and full of more then mere religion everyone has a bananna everyone has something that they must have they place it first in mind in heart in soul so black in need of sin and yet please carry food again come back to me my Mexican GUnga Dinn you Jinn from Old Mexico or Spain. My old freind.

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its cheap
real meat
get underneat
it lunch
you juct munch
as you walk and talk
don't have to money
well honey

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Dying Dreams

The young dream their dreams away at night

Hoping they come true

A doctor,policemen,veterinarian and other dreams are developed by the young

Too naive to understand the ways of the world

Determined as ever to achieve their dreams

The old regret the dreams they could never accomplish

They had dreams but unknowingly never came true

You go from living a world full of dreams

To living the reality that is life

Why do we let our dreams die

We were so excited as young kids

At the foot step of our dreams

Were we haunted by the mountain we had to climb

To make our dreams come true

Did we simply quit

Because of society’s pressure

Did money deter our dreams away while we slept at night

Did we let doubt creepy into our hearts

Silently killing all of our dreams without realizing it

Why do dreams die so quickly

When we spent years of our youth

Hoping that we could get an opportunity

To make them come true

Dream big, chase your dreams and never let them die

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Apart From Me

Somber silly little Setter, English; painting trapped himself in the side yard whimpering, howling away wildly. 

Sunscreen-on, moseying on over, in His tenderness He offers a helping hand. Hot Summers cool vapors the blessings found  here, there to and fro leaning midst the still lulling; gentle calling of the Rains. 

Yes the Grace of God, in His joy humming, arriving just in time, and so is Patience the greater venture I suppose the eminent virtue. 

His Love always; Honest, Open... Willing already beholden... . Far beyond the wreck I make for myself and others... chains stretched bounded securing me yes, my freedom in kind stripped away from me given in the effort this provisional very prominence preceding me when in denial of these facts.     

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Ninja Restaurant

I walked her home
Chatting aimlessly of nothing
Finding words to fill time
As we slithered by the Betty Crocker Shop
Sweet fragrances
Of apple pie and coffee
In a death grip
Pulled us both inside
And forced us to sit at a table
The waitress
A knowing accomplice
Snickering behind her receipt book
Scribbled down mounds of orders
That were forced upon us by the heated oven
Three hundred pounds later we left

Details | Prose Poetry | |

War and Feast

Food! Glorious food, oh we love you so. The energy you give us or the taste that we know.
Will fill our soul with parts of joy. of which we cannot buy with the currency of love.
Food, glorious food! But food comes at a price when there is not much left. Countries
fight over food when one has more. But there is one country, famous for food that is quick
and wars they always win. but this kingdom we call America. Is lacking something great not
War not Food not wealth. but passion for art and passion for belief. They have become the
music capital of the world. and they have become one of the most respected places of all.
But they are losing it. and they know it. "So drop your forks and disarm your war
machines. There is a new age dawning and you my fellow Americans are not going to survive
it. Unless you do something about it. So, are you hungry now?"

Details | Prose Poetry | |


The Underdog
The most disgusting thing of all the hair unkempt can be over looked the smell 
can be ignored but the alcoholic impairment the fumble with the fingers the look 
of concentration the attempts to open a plastix trash bag went beyond the norm 
for me not because eye am better than or some wonderful person than or down 
the nose than but just because it was irksome to watch a man work for fifteen 
minutes on a sack that a sober man could open in one second he was trying to 
untie the knots when any thinking person could just tear the side of bag and then 
be done with bag and have the goods and that the other thing that irks me is just 
what was in the bag it looked like sagging food not nothing worth the time of a 
hungry homeless bag but then the eye has standards for eye am expert 
scrounger. SO do not make the mistake that eye was laughing at the poor man 
try no aue contrails eye was feeling awful sorry for the him making inroads last 
and having a waking dream imagining just what it was in bag when he finally 
gets it untied only to find its garbage after all its trash the food is sagging in the 
bottom of the bag and hungry thow eye am there is still standards to be set. The 
food that eye get is usually more visible than that and eye have some clear idea 
of just what it is that eye am getting into there. see part two 64

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Fouad Abbas

He was steering us somewhere
This Fouad Abbas
Having given up the world as unreachable
Now took hold the yellow disc
and wrested what was left
into some sort of plan.

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and 'Ladies'

  and 'Ladies' young and old
do you even know
when i go into the grocery store
and how they come all around me
and i
not even paying attention
as they watch me squeeze this and
squeeze that
and they being all that you are
some what more and some few less
and they
take my hand and place it there
and in my hand they squeeze it
they squeeze it harder than they should
but i'm not paying attention 
and as i'm thinking about squeezing
that which needs to be squeezed
in my mind i am squeezing it more
and watching some become flushed
there faces grow dark and pink
so many
and so many my head spins around 
looking down as i feel
all of that juice run free
through my hands
and all of my critical thinking
has left me it's gone. 

Is It Poetry 

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Time and Work

Ecclesiastes 8:6NCV
There is a right time and a right way for everything.
John 6:27
Do not work for food that spoils, but for food that endures to eternal life.

We wonder sometimes with great worry about what time will bring. We must remember that 
God has given time to us as a gift. God was present at the beginning of time and He will be 
present at the end of time.

We cannot fear for the future because it is God's hand on eternity. It is you who dictates 
your time by the choices you make. We often feel there is not enough hours in the day to 
accomplish our tasks. We often feel there is never any time for ourselves. Remember to ask 
God to help you, and He will show you where and how to find the time.

God will put your mind at ease with time. Time is a gift, and everyday is yours. God wants 
you to live free and without worry of time. He will walk with us every step of the way every 

As all of us on Earth must work to sustain our lives here, we must also remember to work 
for our spiritual well being. Your relationship with God will provide you with the food for your 
spirit. The food for your spirit is a great variety such as wisdom, understanding, joy, peace, 
love, and patience. In this job you have only one boss and that is God. That is a great 
comfort in knowing you have such a great boss as God. This is a perfect side job, working to 
feed your spirit. Start your application process now by praying to God. He will surely hire 
you and your spirit will be fed.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Cottons Sweet Mouth

Cotton mouth...this word...
southern condition....
and ripe sweet breath...
sometimes deeply held...
stations....laid out...
Held in...
sought out....
Cotton mouth...and...
whisper...over sweating..
navels....bodies clean..
of thought..unwashed..
hard...clamoring for..
hang over the strong fence...
might gives way...and more..
The other is so...aggressive..
and backing fall...
unheard...and it slides up...
with you watching...wide eyed..
never too fear...deep inside..
what you hide...from the day...
Behind the curtain....
made of cotton you wait...
and there being....
no stranger around...
From the heart of town...
the known stranger...
moves through the window...
opportunity and the moon...
leaving wide the ditch...
for tomorrows...local...crew..
and molasses runs slow...
To the man...and some ask...
about that cotton mouth....
southern man...
that ran the sun yellow...
through the dawn...
packed in cotton...


Is It Poetry

Details | Prose Poetry | |

At Kravitz's

The meat slicer is vintage 1957
the walls are a dull green
the deli case is full of the same
bland pastries that crumble
as ruins at Jericho.
The waitresses smile quickly
through tight lips flashing
those straight marble teeth
as they march with their menus
across the linoleum to take
orders for Latkes, 
two for six dollars,
a large size chicken liver
plate for eight fifty,
or the half pound corned beef
“wall” sandwich for 
a fair price. 
I sit at Kravitz's
today for the atmosphere,
I hear the strains of
Va Pensiero in the silence
of the patient deli case, 
the pastry ruins, 
the circus that is the menu,
the New York style low cut
coffee cups, the face
of Mr. Kravitz in the corner. 
This is the place where
things happen if one but
sips coffee and waits and
I order the thick Latke's with
a teaspoon's worth of apple sauce
for each.  None wasted.
The minutes pass slowly
in this gastronomic temple,
I have faith in a destiny,
down to half a Latke.
My phone starts playing music.

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     (Apropos A Visit Home )  	

Tired shrimp boats sit moored  
along the muddy banks of the Brazos;
their day’s catch iced down and waiting.

Tormenting mosquitoes flew
from puddles of water
pooled between blades of salt grass,
feasting on the fresh blood
of buzzed home comers.

The aroma of seafood gumbo pots 
saturated the salt water air; and the clinking
bottle caps signaled the gathering of keno players.

Olympian domino players slap their table tops
with rhythms that rival the best of Art Blakely’s
drumming on a full moon Afro Night.

Teams of bid whist players
played musical chairs.

Over chattering voices, echoes of howling dogs
faded into canine whimpers
as Gulf Coast breeze blew sweet memories:

Indeed there’s no place
like home.

Details | Prose Poetry | |


Man or Dove 
GOD is Jesus. A living GOD does not have to frustrate Him self with a man at all 
but he does what a GOD wants and no one can tell HIM anyway. He could have 
done a different planet and never made the man the ADAM. He could have been 
a DOVE and ruled the WORLD of DOVES nothing moving on the surface of the 
planet except food for DOVE. 
John 20:30-31 
 Jesus did many other miraculous signs in the presence of his disciples, which 
are not recorded in this book. But these are written that you may believe that 
Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his 
The written word is given not so perfectly it seems the detractors of the Gospel 
will agree the BIBLE has been written by the men and not the DOVE. He does not 
complain of feathers colored wrong he does not jealously assume the plume of 
other birds he never drinks too much or eats too many seeds of grass he never 
wants a different colored shirt of blue upon his back he has feathers mostly gray 
and brown a DOVE is GOD in FORM of FLESH and LOVE. Today eye discovered 
a dove a thing of beauty made in love the GOD most certainly seems to me to be 
a creator capable of form. The feathers around the eye. The way the dove tried to 
see me from the side she turned her delicate head just like a lady in love. The 
feet seemed too large on her for dove but seemed like duck perhaps this dove 
was just malformed an egg in need of more attention in the nest but not the fault 
of GOD. On DOVE WORLD there is one tree where DOVE the GOD does live. She 
preens her feathers and she rules but yet she loves them. When a DOVE dies 
and falls from SKY she moves herself to see just where it lays and then SHE 
Cries a mournful sound in otherwise so pretty of a face she can raise it from the 
dead and send it into Heaven then to live and fly forever no more in need of world 
of food or anything. One day upon the Dove Earth the sky was filled with war the 
demon doves were killing all the poor. They called a halt in vain attempts at 
peace and then a most marvelous thing. The DOVE GOD she flew to high and 
spread her wings in a hurried dive she slammed into the ground at Supersonic 
speed and then she died and then she screamed eye am alive eye hold the keys 
the poor will soon come and live with me and then the SOUL of GOD the DOVE it 
flew to Heaven where it grew to be the JESUS GOD. 
He rules in love. A DOVE,MAN,GOD. 

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A man quite gleefully pointed out to me that JESUS is not a dumpster JESUS 
however eye shot back at him gleefully is GOD and iff there is SOMETHING in 
that dumpster that HE wants me just to have then SIR oh eye will have it see eh? 
A survivor is the eye. 
John 6:35-36 
Then Jesus declared, "I am the bread of life. He who comes to me will never go 
hungry, and he who believes in me will never be thirsty. But as I told you, you 
have seen me and still you do not believe." 
On the way to this cold freezing day eye found my strength lies not in my right 
hand or arm but in my faith eye walk. Eye find things that no one else wants, as 
eye walk eye soon survive. Pizza sometimes fish sometimes coffee on my list no 
cokes no tomatoes SOK eye have some tomatoes in a can 
The list is endless in my mind and desire comes from a man and coffee is the 
plan. Cups are full or half empty is it half full or empty? Pizza is okay when found 
in cold weather a man can be the judge of whatever food he finds eye do not fill 
mee up with unpleasentness or brine eye drink but not the water that eye find OH 
FAITH will end my misery OH FAITH will feed me too bread is in the pizza that eye 
When Jesus saves me at the final trumpet and eye make my last ditch stand at 
that time then he is not going to say WHY oh little man did you eat the scrounge 
pizza on the way but iff a loving GOD did ask me this is what eye say 
PIZZA is food and leftovers is fine my mind works much better with some eye can 
find. FOOD is never a sin or a problem to me. The eye does not eat strips of left 
over pieces he eats the entire pizzas. Eye am good at what eye dew eye can 
survive. And iff ewe ever get the word out to the people in the twilight zone just tell 
them scrounging pizza is better than the bone of chewing fat from steaks and 
living high on Hogg eye am better off alone and living with my love she knoes just 
who she is she knoes just who she loves. 

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 its  homeless dream
the cloth or clean
there food is mean
helping is there theme
no mistake
they come very late
when noone around  there's sun
its call the

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

Super Quiz and Other Bell Bull

Shar- sorry, vacuum is not correct, although I sure could use one for my home!!
Thank you Jaime- I will read your works tonight.
Shar- re Kitchen Perfume- I admit , baking bread from scratch; flour, yeast, etc.- is 
a labor intensive house perfume- but I tell you, you will then be considered the 
best cook by all your kids, and your husband will brag for years.  I like to use an 
old edition of Betty Crocker Cookbook from the 40's- where there is no such thing 
as a microwave; sometimes the old ways are better.  Make sure the whole family 
is there before you put it in the oven.
As for lamb, I only made it once, for my father's sake.  We had a huge yard, and 
wrap-around porch, part of which he screened off.  That was his favored spot- 
and that is where I'd serve him meals, usually, with his little B&W TV on a Mets or 
Yankees game.  Oh the hours of happiness there.  Love, tom

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it was on a sunday afternoon
in the milldle of june
we  played soulfull tunes
at will
we at spare rids
drink soda and beer alot
it was so hot
we need those pops
stay there until after dark

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Each Neurotic Blink, You Think

  Each neurotic Blink, you think; 
Encouragement it needs a little more.
Too pull it much, much quicker to the top.
Your doctor knows how you deeply, very much.
And in sleep the windows open, 
even wider, as it drifts by.
Do you cross one leg around it's
while the other fights off 'Group' therapy.
or Are they mostly open, 
like four corners of your mind.
Each dropp of sweat and how it builds.
Coming out of each those many hollow 
heavy hand made doors. 
and it Falls Off like yellow dust, 
each one seed a tiny pearl.
and why it's nose it knows, 
your breath and how each kiss it must redefine.
To a host of hospitable southern ways, 
it will you know, turn out all right if it finds out 
you did.

Are you blank, 
Do you stare off outside this windows, 
broad light, there at some tree.
The noises that you make, 
are you afraid that he wont, my 'dear', he can.
The rumble that it makes, out back.
They make you shake, he thinks you know
and this is where your now at. 
Do the questions that I ask, 
all end there, bound up in why.
I will always suspect that as a child, and I assume 
you said you were, just, all a little, 'Dears'.
Then he probes a little deeper, does he not.
Have you forgot.
now Close your legs, 
and get it up and pull it out, and mosey off and, 
hurry up and pull them on, 
Your sessions at it's end
It seems so clear that all the money you have brought
is now all gone.
Your mind seems now fine, call a cab. 

Is It Poetry 

Details | Prose Poetry | |


its cold out side
my place is wide
we can sit
and do this
let love extist
all thur the night
lets do this alright
look in each other face
by the

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Just One Of Those Days Part 1

One day Homer Hawk was sitting on a gnarled fence post.  He was hungry.  He 
was tired of the usual fare, mashed rabbit, pureed gopher and scrambled 
armadillo.  He wanted something of substance, something fresh.  Maybe he was 
stewing too much but he was craving something different.  A fricassee might just 
be the answer to his problem.  He was beginning to get desperate.  He flapped 
his wings, gave a squawk and took to the air.
As he circled he kept a close eye out for his supper.  Behind Farmer Brown's 
house he saw Sammy Squirrel.  Sammy saw him and quickly dove under a rock 
and pulled his tail in after him.  Lucky for Sammy, Homer was not in the mood for 
He flew on and saw Perry Prairie Dog hopping up and down on his mound and 
suddenly he disappeared down his hole.  Steven Skunk wobbled out from under 
the mulberry tree and flipped his tail up in the air as a warning to Homer.  Steven 
had no worry because Homer certainly wasn't desperate enough to attack him.
Marty Mouse scurried across the driveway and under the barn door.  No fear 
Marty, Homer was hungrier than one little bitty mouse.  No, not even Slinky snake 
needed to worry.  Homer wanted something different.  But what?  He flew on and 
"What is wrong with me?" he asked.  "Why does it seem so hard to find 
something to eat tonight?"  And on he flew.
He saw an elk here and a deer there.  He even saw a newly squashed bunny on 
the road and still he flew on.  "Will I ever find my supper?"  he squawked.
Deciding he needed some professional help, he flew to the giant Oak Tree 
where Oscar Owl lived.  Oscar was just waking from his nap as Homer landed 
on the limb close by.

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we'll his star
who you are
near or far
his loves 
from above
life will be smooth as lard

Details | Prose Poetry | |


since am   small
now am tall
but i do recall
from my rout
the south
you get up  and make
this is  not fake
it was cofee
i can still see
how the family would think
and blink and wink
over  this

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Kitchen Perfume

To me, the sense of smell
Is very potent, and brings back memories....
Coffee brewing, pancakes, pasta sauce,
Baking meats, frying bacon...
And the very best, fresh baked, from scratch, bread.
Heavenly it makes the whole house,
and worth the hours of work involved...
These things are gone for me,
But in my memory.
So if ou cook for your family,
But you're awful tired too,
Remember you're building memories,
They'll always have of you.

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Hot Chocolate

    A neighbor returned home early from a vacation in Switzerland.  When asked 
about his trip he seemed a little hesitant to talk about it.  Finally he shrugged his 
shoulders and said, "I found it rather an unfriendly place."
    Puzzled about such a statement I asked why?
    "The first evening in Geneva I asked for a cup of hot chocolate and they kicked 
me out of the establishment. 'Sir we'll have none of that in here,' he told me."
       "The next morning I decided to eat at the hotel where I was staying and the 
same thing happened.  Only this time they kicked me out bag and baggage and 
told me not to come back.  I found a rooming house and spent the night there.  
The next morning the same thing happened when I asked for a cup of hot 
        "Soon my presence was known all over town and I couldn't get another 
room.  So I had to come home early.  It was as though I had a bad reputation or 
      I was totally shocked.  How could such a straight laced religious man cause 
such an up roar?  And this was so out of character for the things I had heard 
about the Swiss people.
       "If you ever go to that country don't order the Hot Chocolate.  It must be taboo 
to serve it."
     How could a simple cup of Hot Chocolate cause such a commotion?
     "Are you sure it was the HOT CHOCOLATE that caused the problem?"
      "Of Coures it was.  I'd go into a restaurant and ask for an extra ' HOT SWISS 
MISS ' and they'd throw me out."
Gotcha__ Didn't I?     

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Just One Of Those Days Part 2

"Hello Oscar," he squawked.
"What brings you over this way?" Oscar asked.

"I'm having a terrible time finding my supper," blurted out the hungry hawk.

"I can't believe you can't find anything for your meal," replied the old owl.  "I know 
there usually is quite an array on the road.  Once in a while I even cheat and find 
all I want to eat.  There is usually a pretty good assortment also.  Why one day I 
even found a fried lizzard.  My, he sure was tasty,"  he volunteered.
"I found lots of stuff on the road and plenty to choose from around the country but 
I am looking for something special.  I spent the last hour circling Farmer Brown's 
chicken yard.  It seems all I want is chicken.  Oscar, what is wrong with me?  Can 
you help me?  Please, I know there must be something drastically wrong with 
Oscar flapped his wings and danced up and down on the branch doing his 
evening exercises.  When he finished he blinked his big bright eyes and looked 
Homer square in the eye.  "I can't find anything wrong with you."
Homer was almost frantic.  How could Oscar tell him there was nothing wrong 
with him.  Homer was beating his wings up and down and squawking his head 
"How can you tell me there is nothing wrong?" he squawked again.
"Calm down Homer, don't grouse so.  There's nothing wrong with you.  As far as I 
can tell, you are just in a FOWL mood tonight." 

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Toast of the Town

in this small village,
we have but one diner
I've sampled their menu before
and have but one complaint
the toast they serve with breakfast
seems like it came from bread
baked at the time of Ramses II

Details | Prose Poetry | |

texas steak
nothing higher
miss me mire
i was wire
to wire
on fire
my nigher
didnt die her
so i try her
get me i her
lie to her
just know for sure
i love you