I was at my favourite restaurant and had a lovely meal
If I finished all my food then a pudding was the deal
I’d relished every morsel and was pleased as a Cheshire cat
The dessert menu was on its way, Oh I couldn’t wait for that
The waitress bought the menus and I rubbed my hands with glee
Oh sticky toffee pudding, now that’s the one for me
She came to take the order – we had waited as you do
She finally turned to me and said ‘oh Madam what can I get you’
Oh stiffy cockie pudding please was my swift reply
I didn’t realise what I’d said till I saw the tears form in her eye
I went as red as a beetroot and the others began to laugh
At my spoonerism which turned into a complete gaffe
The pudding it came quickly but I couldn’t wait to leave
I choked on every mouthful and my stomach it did heave
So please take notice of my error on this horrendous day
If you order sticky toffee pudding be careful what you say!
This is a true experience! The waitress was a student at the school I work at - I was so pleased when she went to university - I have never ordered this dessert since!
Submitted to Richard's Beginnings Matter Contest - It had taken a month of badgering by my friend jenny Brewer to even pluck up courage to post my poems - I wondered how my humour would be appreciated!
~awarded 2nd place~
This is my first poem posted here and it is my first poem to be published in a book by United Press
When I go out to dinner,
I do not want to share.
I don’t care what is on your plate;
I don’t want to compare.
I scan the menu up and down
And then make my selection.
When it arrives, it’s meant for me
And not for your inspection.
“You want to taste my fish?” I’m asked.
Some people never learn;
For then the expectation is
To taste mine in return.
And so the answer’s always No!
Yet comments never cease.
“Your fries look really good!” They are,
So let me eat in peace!
Each morsel on my dish is mine
And I intend to finish.
Perhaps my attitude will make
Your thoughts of me diminish.
I’m sorry if that is the case –
Dessert I’ll split just fine;
But when the meal’s delivered –
You eat yours and I’ll eat mine!
Oh, nicker. Oh, nacker.
I broke my poor cracker
While putting it in my soup.
I just wanted a nibble,
But the soup had to quibble,
And thus all my plans turned to poop.
So now I'm here sittin'
A poor man quite smitten
With no other crackers to spare,
On soup that's unlawful,
So twisted and awful,
That it kills with no thought and no care.
Why can't it relate,
And learn not to hate,
My crunchy, crisp wafers of bread,
It would have much more fun
Not to mention for one,
My crackers won't all end up dead.
I suppose it’s too much
To ask soup for such
A commitment to love other food.
But till its attitude mends,
And it learns to make friends,
I believe that my crackers are screwed.
For thirty years I’ve been a truckie who has driven far and wide,
Carting goods through day and night all across the countryside…
But hours spent upon the road, do not permit a set routine,
When it comes to dining regular, on healthy style cuisine.
If there’s time I’ll organize an esky, with ice and cans of coke,
Plus a dozen rounds of sandwiches…‘cause this won’t send me broke,
Not like the tucker of roadhouses who all serve a similar trait,
With a big bill like a pelican’s and grease to decorate your plate.
But a truckies life is not habitual; the phone’s his driving sign,
If someone’s sick, or broken down, and the company’s on deadline,
There is no time of thoughts ahead; he must consider first the load,
And it’s on these hauls a truckie must buy meals along the road.
I’d been driving fairly flat out now, for I’d say six weeks or more,
Carting produce down to Adelaide for a distribution store,
Some mornings I would leave at two, and backup a couple of trips,
And live upon that greasy take-away including fish and chips.
But then driving home one evening, I could feel that hunger pain,
Though didn’t feel that I could really cope with roadhouse food again,
For I needed something different, and then this jogged my memory,
There’s a fast food café up ahead that really does cook differently.
I stopped close to the café near the South Australian border,
And walked up to the counter where it says to place your order.
The cook who had his back to me, was making salad rolls to sell,
While dropping chips into the cooker, as he battered fish as well.
And the young girl, who is serving, asked me what I’d like to buy,
But before I gave my answer, one more feature caught my eye,
The cook had gone out to his cool room, and rushed back with a sack,
Then started slicing spuds and onions, while his chips are burning black.
So now by knowing that the backyard chef was well within ear shot,
I nodded, “All right love, well what about, a hamburger with the lot,”
As she was writing down my order, I had some further more to say…
I asked if I could have my burger cooked, in my own special way.
I requested that the bun I get, be very hard and three days old,
The bacon mostly crispy fat, fried onions fatty, burnt and cold,
I want the lettuce limp and bitter, and cucumber piled five high,
A slice of cheese like cardboard. Shredded carrot, brown and dry.
I want my slices of tomato, to be slushy more like juice,
With the egg yolk set like concrete, plus salt and pepper overuse,
I want the meat as black as charcoal, and cooked to a rigid phase,
Then asked her if it’s possible, to drown the lot in mayonnaise.
The cook who had been listening, looked away from boiling fat,
And rudely said, “Fair go mate… I can’t cook, a hamburger like that!”
I raised my eyebrows just a mite and then with tongue in cheek,
I said to him “Why can’t you pal? …You bloody could last week.”
In the middle of the night,
When the moon shines bright,
A creature stirs with a terrible bite,
And his name is Spoonfang.
This vampire with a spoony face,
Has developed quite the taste,
For creatures of the pudding race,
Has the greedy Spoonfang.
So when the stars through dark clouds peek,
Into the kitchen he will creep,
And a tasty snack he’ll sneak,
Will the crafty Spoonfang.
Mousse and trifle, cake of cheese,
Ice-cream left in the deep freeze,
He’s had a bite of each of these,
Has the naughty Spoonfang.
But tonight he’s set his eyes,
Not on mother’s tasty pies,
But on Gran’s birthday surprise,
A gateau all for Spoonfang.
And so he creeps along the floor,
Tip-toes to the kitchen door,
But someone else is there before,
The bold and daring Spoonfang.
Count Spatula! The greatest Pudding Vampire of them all!
Both the vampires get a fright,
Their screams echo through the night,
And someone switches on the light,
On Spatula and Spoonfang.
Mother tuts and shakes her head,
Sends son and father back to bed,
Neither vampire has been fed,
Not Spatula nor Spoonfang.
Maybe there’s a little Pudding vampire in all of us!
On weekends I work as a guard, protecting swimmers at a pool,
and sometimes I have to be hard, when someone starts acting the fool.
Sometimes my action seems cruel, by anyone crossing the line,
but I am in charge of a rule that the council gave me to assign.
There has been feuding and fighting. Swearing and cursing I’ve heard.
I’ve broken up kissing and biting, and other things that are absurd.
Now I notice some people disturbed, by an incident sure to attract,
and because now this has occurred, the need is for me to re-act.
I saw the attraction so clearly, and this was a terrible crime
that needed me to act sincerely, and I certainly will this time.
A woman is holding her baby, while topless creating interest!
There is no doubt or a maybe; the babe is attached to one breast.
I said to her “Out of the pool! You can’t go doing that here.
We all must abide by the rule, and this one is perfectly clear.”
I think for a minute she thought, I’d committed a sexist attack,
so she replied “I’ll take you to court, and make sure that you get the sack.”
Then she asked, “Who was offended, by me with my breast hanging out?”
That’s when I stood up and defended, for what this orders about,
I said to her “Topless is fine, and that you had broken no rule,
but your baby stepped over the line. No food is allowed in the pool!”
The perfect way to avoid overeating this Thanksgiving is to put super glue on your lips.
If you're not able to eat your Thanksgiving dinner, it can't go straight to your hips.
That's the perfect way to avoid overeating this Thanksgiving.
But if you can't get your lips unstuck, one week later you'll no longer be living.
Put them all together and count em' again.
What's for dinner?
With no fat on their bones
you can eat them
and eat them.
They're practically fat free
I heard they can make you sick.
Not if you feed them cheese.
One block of cheese,
and they make a fine commodity.
my uncle says ya hafta
dip em first in powdered milk.
Na, as long as ya feed em cheese
Okay, gimmee three.
(Another look at Funnel Spiders)
They spin and spin in dark of night
funnel and tunnel beneath my sight
then slide inside to hide from view;
yet, like a thug with talons, tug
an innocent bug, snag him snug,
then proceed to chew him through.
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.
11/21/11 for Natalie the Rogue Rhymer's
"Die a fun Death" contest
I just blew a kiss on a cool summer breeze
Comming from Wisconsin, it's going to taste like cheese
It's for a dear friend who lives quite far away
So I'm hoping she will recieve it, within the next day
I also hope she doesn't mind the flavor of this kiss
But if she loves cheese like me, the taste will be bliss
Floating through the air past all the factories of cheese
The dreamy taste of this kiss, will be sure to please
Though I must warn her not to eat with that blissful kiss on her lips
For all food will taste delightful, which may add a little weight to her hips
"Edith! Edith! I didn't find a Twinkie in my lunch bucket today!
What happened, Dingbat? Why do you torture me this way?"
"But Archie, ain't you seen on TV they ain't makin' 'em anymore?
The company is foldin' up and they ain't stockin' 'em at the store!"
"I blame you fer this disaster, Meathead, you and yer pinko friends!
The greedy union reached too far killin' jobs on which people depends!
Yer democrat gov'mint stimulated my tax dollars fer ever' thing in sight!
Instead of blowin' money on green inergy, I'd like some to solve my plight!"
"But, Daddy" - poking his gut - "fast food like Twinkies isn't good for you!"
"Let me tell you somethin', little girl! That may be yer lib'ral point of view!
My life ain't never gonna be the same agin without Twinkies fer a snack!
Them things is as American as yer mother's punkin' pie and I want 'em back!"
"I fought for the flag, baseball, Coca Cola and Twinkies in Dubya Dubya Two!
I slogged through the mud in Italy and was shot in a very fragile area too!
Now, I feel that it was all in vain to pertect all them things I hold dear!
No Twinkies for my lunch? Stifle yerselfs! I'm goin' to Kelsey's fer a beer!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
ENOUGH FOR ALL
All the species of this world, whether mammal, fish or bird
Are provided with their food, whatever their taste
Each created for the other,
When the offspring leaves the mother
There is all the food that’s needed without waste.
The ants will feed the lizard, and in turn, it feeds the Hawk
The flies they feed the spiders, then the frogs.
The amphibian feeds the snake
Which the Kookaburras take
And in time, they all feed ants inside the logs.
The logs fall from mighty trees that house and feed the tiny bees
that fertilize the plants we use as foods.
With rain and sun the crops will flourish
And when harvested, they can nourish
All the peoples in the world, if we so choose
Foods for all the nations are here in God’s Creations,
Glorious is the spirit that’s big enough to care.
Food goes where it’s needed
If our sight is not impeded
Or we keep it for ourselves when there’s enough for all to share.
In this world of ours we’re brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers,
We’re all related by living on this earth.
Whatever we do tomorrow
Can bring happiness or sorrow
Today is when we work out what it’s worth.
FOOD STAMPS. BOXING champ of the hood.
Thought you should know ain't got the RENT. WELFARE check
Shrank and WENT. to FOOD PURCHASEMENT.
BOTTLES AND CANS. IN closets, in tubs, on fire escapes under
Beds. THAT'S how WE be fed.
Lottery numbers out today. Big Mama wanna play. Big Mama
Need money for her children's sake. FOOD STAMPS. NO MORE
Night time hunger cramps.
TONIGHT. THAT'S right. We eat steak tonight. we be rich. Yeah!
THAT'S right TONIGHT.
Holding up WELFARE checks we suspect. BUDGET CUTS.
IT WON'T AFFECT. THE UNDERGROUND ECONOMY. NOW the sun
Has set. What the heck.
TOMORROW WE CHASE the dream again trying not to give in.
BREATHING HARD. I swear to GOD next time we gone CATCH IT. WE
Gone set the PACE. WE. Gone win. The CHASE. that changes the RACE.
And let my BROTHERS in. Make All Mothers Grin.
The Bombay Grocery (Indian)- North Carolina
Shyam*, finds cat food at special rate near the door.
Goes to check out to manager of the grocery store
Doubting manager asks to bring cat if he has one
Shyam returns with his small cat to buy food anon.
Next day Shyam comes with a bag in his hand
And ask the manager to put his hand to the end
Manager puts his hand and shouts “Poo,Doodie pure”
Shyam says, “ yes, sir, I want the toilet paper sure”
Fourth Place winner IN
Contest: Grocery Grammer by Linda-Marie, the sweetheart
* Shyam is an Indian name. Shyam also means Black-cloud colour. It is one of the name of
Lord Krishna. It happens to be the name of one of my grandson living in Charlotte (NC)
If poetry was a soup
Of words stirred in a kettle
We could pour them on a page
And read the poems that settle
“You two melons are crowding me in a bad way.”
“Are you kidding, Bermuda? You must be gay,
‘cause all the potato heads think we look fly!
Yeah, see them? They’re giving us melons the eye!”
“Well, you’re squeezing me in; I’m a delicate guy!”
“Good grief, Mr. Onion, you’re making us cry.
Oh, here comes a cucumber right in our space.
Bet you won’t be complaining with HIM in your face!”
For LInda's Contest: "Grocery Grammar"
To a place with no money
I'm takin' a hike
Where you work for your food
And you build what you like
No permit is needed
For the castle we'd build
No laws must be heeded
For the deer that we'd kill
A town marketplace
Where citizens share
And the stock market crashes
Cause nobody cares
And the smell of fresh food
Is rich in the air
Cause the barber must eat
For cutting our hair
And the hunters are tired
From catching the game
And the culligan man
Is catching the rain
And the doctors and lawyers
They never complain
They sold their Mercedes
But they're happy they came
The police are not crooked
Just fat as can be
Cause there's nothing to do
When everything's free
Not a single hard worker
Is wanting to leave
There's just one blasted problem
It's only a dream
Sometimes cakes are upside down,
And brownies are not always brown.
A steak should not be made of wood,
And well done doesn’t mean it’s good.
Sometimes food is sweet and sour,
Petals are not found in flour.
It’s fair to say before they’re eaten
Spuds get mashed and eggs get beaten.
Sugar often gets dissolved,
But there’s no cruelty involved.
One gastronomic puzzle lingers,
What kind of fish is born with fingers?
This is a mostly true story!
A few years ago in central Arkansas
I planted a garden among rich fertile soil
Followed seed packet directions as though written by law
Believing better results came from sweat and toil
Tomatoes and peppers and something called pole beans
Potatoes and onions, colors of corn, I've never seen
Always ended up with mud on the knees of my jeans
Slowly through the dark earth peeked petals of green
Weeks later everything looked just as though I thought it should
And I hoped everything would taste just as good
But those pole beans kept growing like you've never seen
And started making lovely huge beans of green
I had to build a fence to hold them up
Every day they grew another foot taller before sunup
The only way I could pick them was from the top of my ladder
I tell ya', no red head from Ireland has ever been madder!
*note...I am part Irish with red tints in my hair..no insults intended....
A good luck meal on New Years Day, consists of many things,
They say it makes a difference on what the New Year brings.
I got to thinking ,wow, what luck, for the pig that gave that chop,
that i stuffed with the dressing and put sour kraut on top.
He wasn't very lucky as anyone could see, and when I served the black eyed peas,
they were staring back at me.
As if to say, "your lucky meal was bought with a great cost.
It wasn't very lucky for the pig whose life was lost."
To myself I wondered , How can I eat this meal?
I was thinking about that piggy, I could even hear him squeel.
I bowed my head and said dear God, I know this food is blessed,
Help us to be so thankful for that pig who is at rest.
So as I passed the food along I said in words so clear,
Thank you pig for being food for my lucky year.
Is a dessert costing twenty-five grand what you want?
You can find it in a Manhattan Upper East Side restaurant.
Made with twenty-one types of chocolate and sprinkled gold leaf,
this decadent frozen mousse is something beyond belief.
It comes in a twenty-three carat diamond-encrusted gold dish.
If you found Aladdin’s lamp, would eating this be your wish?
This would be something to brag about and quite nice.
However, the restaurant has been closed due to cockroaches and mice.
From a news story found on AOL.com
This was written a few years ago. The restaurant has reopened since.
Paula Deen the Butter Queen
By Elton Camp and María Camp
She is the butter makers’ delight
To nutritionists, she is a fright
Krispy Kreme with eggs and bacon
Great health risks are thus taken
Her bacon cheeseburger meatloaf
Is perfect if you are a gigantic oaf
For a nation that is already too fat
She sees nothing wrong with that
People who her cookbooks buy
Eat such and may too soon die
She had diabetes for three years
With no caution to change gears.
Her cookbooks flying
Right off the shelf
To early death
It tastes good, she decreed!
Many folks with her agreed
So many calories, but it is so good
Eat whatever you like is what you should
After her disease she finally shared
To represent a diabetes drug she dared
Cigarettes warn, but not Paula Deen
Of butter, sugar and fat – she is queen
To “that word” she admitted use
There are allegations of other abuse
One is suing and wanting some dough
Is this former employee in the know?
An awkward apology, she did make
How many attempts does it take?
One wonders if she is sincere
Or if it is just fear for career
Whatever happens in the days ahead
Is her heyday officially dead?
Don’t be quick to rule her out
She still has pull and clout
Foods we all love to eat
And don't forget about something sweet
Pineapple,chocolate,and cocoa nut cakes
Some of our favorites that Mom bakes
Apple pie, peach cobbler, and sweet potatoe pies a few other she makes
Especially on a holiday
But we wish she'll do this everyday
Home made macaroni and cheese
That's made to please
Corn bread, buttermilk biscuits made with ease
Chicken and dumpling with gravy
This just drives me crazy
Chicken can be fried,barbequed,baked or stewed
Drinks like kool-aid,tea,sodas, and coffee freshly brewed
We just have to take a dip or slice
Are great with just any dish
Peanut butter,cookies,and chips
Rabbits,squirrels,raccoons,and deer meat too
When prepared right they'll do
No Bread. Why?
By Dane Smith-Johnsen
Big round dark eyes staring at forgetfulness.
Eating nothingness, feeling helplessness.
Scavenging the streets for morsels finding hopelessness.
Foraging to fill a swollen abdomen full of emptiness.
Holding death securely within mothers’ bleakness.
Too hungry to show love and too hungry to cry-
But not too hungry to die-
Mankind’s blindness and heaped up forgetfulness, sighs.
A lot of work and effort it does not take.
In fact, these treats are very simple to make.
They don’t require a lot of time to bake.
You need flour, water, and yeast to make the dough.
Adding a little honey is also a fine way to go.
Mix everything together and let the stuff rise.
In just a couple of hours, you will have a pleasant surprise.
Divide the dough evenly and shape the pieces into rings.
Letting them rise another two hours is what is required for these things.
Floating them in boiling water for a couple of minutes is what you need.
Watching them brown in the oven is a pleasant sight indeed.
Hot, soft, and crispy, they come out ready to eat.
Serve them with jelly, butter, and cream cheese, and they’re a great breakfast treat.
Mamma Anna made the best Babba' al Rhum,
you should have seen me how it made me slightly drunk;
and jumping and screaming I danced to the beats of a drum...
then grandma joined in and she sang a classical song!
And the sweet cream was on my lips and cheeks,
the Babba' al Rhum was delicious and I topped it with chocolate;
everybody began shouting, "It came from Paris,
but we Neapolitans reinvented it by improving its shape and taste!"
Mamma Anna made the best Babba' al Rhum, soaking it in that liqueur much longer;
and Papa' always told me to eat more of it...saying with a suppressing laughter,
"It's a man's dessert, after you eat it, you'll be strong!"
Oh, did he really tell me the truth? No, he was wrong!
It's so very sad that they aren't here,
and I am eating pretzels and drink a beer,
the harmony that stirred their passion can't possibly return...
as they danced on the terrace to celebrate the day I was born!
Mamma Anna knew how to make the best Babba' al Rhum,
and I licked the dripping rum with my finger...not my tongue!
She spoke calmly...when she should have gotten mad and picked up a broom;
no, she was never mean and rude, or ever said to me, " Go to your room!"
He hurled his plate of meat-free food;
The waitress thought him rather rude.
“Full English breakfast here all day
“Or vegetarian, you say.”
The zombie pointed to the sign
And shouted loudly, “I want mine.”
“So bring him here – no, bring me two.
“Oh, what the heck, I’ll start with you.”
“But, sir, you can’t eat me,” she said,
As he was gnawing at her head.
“I’m not a veggie – I eat meat.
“Now please remain there in your seat.
“I’ll get your breakfast; say your grace.
“For twenty dollars, stuff your face.”
She dragged a vegan from the street
And said, “You’re good enough to eat.”
The vegan – soon a zombie too –
Demanded human…in tofu.”
Jack Horne For Linda-Marie's Creatures of the Night
Never been to Tuscany
But when it comes to wine,
Napa and Sonoma
As a substitute are fine.
Even on a rainy day,
The rows of endless vines,
Combined with endless hills
Create magnificent designs.
At every winery, you sip
And sample, sniff and taste.
What you don't like, you simply toss -
A necessary waste.
I wonder what they do with all
Those rejects in that bucket.
Of course, they say - end of the day
They take that wine and chuck it.
But maybe when the tourists leave,
They bottle what was tossed
And sell it as a "special blend"
At some expensive cost.
So think of that when next you sip
And when those thoughts appear,
Just follow my example - say,
"I think I'll have a beer!"