At the end of the meal we shared,
my participle principles split my jeans,
when you called me to split the bill!
What about the banana-split you had for dessert?
You split-up spilled friend?
Or the soggy split pea soup you
asked me to boldly forgo,
for the aperitif?
The tiff began and ended
with the present and past-principles
of split personalities,
listening to their inner voices
with split-end infinitives.
A fly flew through the kitchen window, I was frying,
He was big, fat and very black,
He nonchalantly settled on the drying rack,
No doubt had followed the aroma of food, uninvited prying,
With tea towel and fly swatter, was armed and eyeing.
Flew closer to the gas burner, unafraid of dying,
Both of us ready for deadly battle,
He would certainly not live to tattle,
There got you, but as hard as I was trying,
He was edging nearer to the liver I had frying.
Searching with his compound eyes, he found an aperitif filler,
A small onion, his taste-buds now craving,
My anger now increasingly scaling,
Then with the prowess of a tactical serial killer,
Lashed out with the tea towel, wiped out the critter.
Soupers as lovers unite, with spoons and bowls held high,
All soups from broths to chunky chowders, they'll try.
Making steamy affairs in poems that burn and delight,
To fill the world with soup, that's their plight!
With spoons like scepters, ladles toppled full for the fight,
They struggle as wordsmiths with all their might!
Adding chillies, spices and herbs, to en-flame the brew,
They take aim with stakes to drive into apathy's stew.
So here’s to all soupers, lovers of muse, noble and true,
As they dish up their broths, lost souls, to bring to,
With their bouillon and bisque, mulligatawny and minestrone.
Let's say bon aperitif to them all, with a hoot, yippee and whoopee!
Goodbye is a feast finished
The last morsel down the hatch
Improper to ask for seconds
No aperitif to this lonely hunger
For every goodbye must be a hello
Even if no one arrives home
Welcome your darkness, don't go
My mistrusted companion
I forgive your cloying reach
Can you recreate human touch?
Let me be the one to say goodbye
Just to feel my forlorn space
Selfishly you take all the oxygen
Leave the left with a hunger for air
There’s no comfort in goodbyes
Better to say hello to re-gen
Goodbye to time with loved ones
Hello my solitary depression
Revolution brings me back to light
Goodbyes are a global constancy
Even without hands that feed
Goodbyes consume me with it all
A constant depression never satisfied
A hunger feeding on memory
Say goodbye to hello for now
Say goodbye from dusk to dawn
Twighlight is the start of a new day
Depression coming to hello's light
Imagine a long Winter of wars -
Multitudes of people on all fours,
Hiding under tables by the scores.
Ice cold instability.
Head-tilting species, in disbelief.
Poor bowls are empty, no relief.
Not even handed a bone, as aperitif.
Huddled in fur.
Dirty snow, and the secrets it holds -
The bombs, bullets, knives it molds;
Brutality, snarling, & corpses upholds.
Imagine the horror.
Emotions are breaking me like horses now
Will I let them force me to drag their plow?
They are given control by what I allow
What I want; but will not let them disavow
Each breath I take; makes me a thief
So simple it would be; were I, a falling leaf
Combine them; I pile them,
A raking of disbelief
(A raking of disbelief)
An emotional thief
An emotional disbelief
As I burn them; turning them, smoldering relief,
Preparing them for winter; as an aperitif
Not possible; from the fall's reoccurring motif
You've always been taken
My intuition, never mistaken
I've never flirt with you; because your honor; means everything to me!
No mistake about it; you're the most honorable woman, I will never see!
So every step you take towards me; another opportunity, to set this thief free
As I burn them; turning them, smoldering relief,
Preparing them for winter; as an aperitif
Not possible; from the fall's, reoccurring motif
A raking of disbelief
(A raking of disbelief)
Not possible from this recurring motif
TONIC
Gin, with its memory of juniper
That imbues a certain sweet tang
But needs a slightly bitter contrast
To be well-rounded on the tongue
Relieved to deliver its full promise
Tonic water, innocently sparkling
Knowing its partnering role so well
Offering quinine as a prophylactic
Originally for Malaria in the Empire
A complement to balance the heat
Ice, as cubes dropped into the glass
Their mission, ever eagerly accepted
A cool aperitif then turned into cold
With just a thin twist of lemon or lime
That clink, somehow a reinforcement
This is a poetry eerily populated with ghosts and mummies and zomboid creatures who go on living though dead from love.
— Patrick McGarth*
ZOMBOID CREATURES
no way out of the well…ceaseless pulley.
forlorn, deep is the grave.
for the dead, love is a bully
no one can save.
doped up, tears dry in somnambulant night.
bones rave toward the cliff.
a blind man’s bluff, i’ve lost my sight -
this zomboid stiff.
love dropped out; i’m eaten up with her scent -
bouquet of floral bath.
i pursue - a ghostlike lament,
off beaten path.
she sat upon the mound, of fresh dug soil,
wrapped up in her own grief,
a mummy terrified - a foil…
aperitif.
1/7/2023
Writing Challenge - Zip, Zig, Zag, Zing
Sponsor: Constance La France
Theme Z word: Zomboid
Used Howmanysyllables and rhymezone
*Obtained from Merriam-Webster
Sometimes words make me melt!
Like that anise-flavored, OUZO, the
Greek aperitif.
On hot cheese the waiter pours it.
A match is lit and the dish, of course,
lights up.
Don’t ask why, but wow, it makes my
heart melt!
Poets words can be that intoxicating.
A special few set my heart to racing,
Ouzo, as moving as great poetry!
Especially, much like Cummings most,
direct poem, such honesty!
“I Like My Body, When it is With Your
Body.”
A poem highly sensual and most loving.
A poem each poet should surely, read.
That is, if you are an adult and truth is
your thing..
And only read if you are a raving realist!
Who wants their heart to sing and have
it moonlit kissed.
10/12/2021
eat a sentence for dinner aperitif if
making a s
-------------t
-------------r
------------u
------------c
------------t
--------------u
------------------y
-------------------o
----------------------u
-------------------------r off tiltler
Tatter
----------------ed ripped a
part from form traps
just a push to schizophrenic
In this abyss of reality abysmally real
My lone ness hides amongst annunciated words
and the presses ash covered buttons
speaking to myself has become such a chore
can't stand that
dictate my pace
with space
e st al yours lf away from h r
-----e---------e-----------------e- e
taking my embers
none remember
all for got
to go those
maniacs inside here are definitely
up to something
Modern Appetite
by Michael R. Burch
"Women, wine, song ..."
It grumbled low, insisting it would feast
on blood and flesh, etcetera, at least
three times a day. With soft lubricious grease
and pale salacious oils, it would ease
its way through life. Each day—an aperitif.
Each night—a frothy bromide, for relief.
It lived on TV fare, wore pinafores,
slurped sugar-coated gumballs, gobbled S’mores.
When gas ensued, it burped and farted. ’Course,
it thought aloud, my wife will leave me. Whores
are not so damn particular. Divorce
is certainly a settlement, toujours!
A Tums a day will keep the shrink away,
recalcify old bones, keep gas at bay.
If Simon says, etcetera, Mother, may
I have my hit of calcium today?
Keywords/Tags: modern, appetite, supersize, me, indulgence, gluttony, bromide, seltzer, gas, Tums, calcium, quick, cure, tonic, overeating, women, wine, song, America, vanity, society, city, life
Hug a tree..
Because you see..
A tree will thank you..
As you live..
A tree will give..
You oxygen and quite a shade..
On a hot summers day..
Walking along the bay
Feeling you stepped out of a sauna
Scorching hot sun beating down on you..
Wearing your sunglasses..
Lens with a hue..
Running for cover away from the heat..
In a heartbeat you..
Found a chair and took a seat..
Under an old oak tree ..
To stay cool from the heat..
A sigh of relief ..
As a balmy breeze blows..
The old oak tree knows..
You shall thank it..
You gave your thanks..
For the shade under the old oak tree
A sigh of relief as you sip a cool aperitif..
A two way street it is..
Between you and the tree..
Graciousness on both ends..
You shall send affection..
When you a hug a tree..
Because you see a tree will thank you..
My regrets lie hidden below the murky surface
of my emotional seascape,
threatening to pull me down,
like wet woollen wet weather gear
drowns a sailor who falls overboard in a storm.
For regrets are arcane debts never to be repaid.
For the done, cannot be unpicked re-done, nor undone,
and getting over it, needs an account transaction,
to balance the debt, with savings from the good times.
I seldom count my regrets, nor mention them in balance sheet.
For many are too painful to bear, even one at a time.
Going back, reliving the prologue, is a bitter aperitif
to the main course of 'What ifs' dished up with 'If Only' sauce.
Diet Sarsaparilly
I think it tastes just fine
Diet Sarsaparilly
I drink it all the time
It is a bit unusual I would agree
I have it everyday for lunch you see
As a tasty aperitif it’s number one
But I will concede my opinion may be the only one.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Senses overwhelmed, history revealed,
I step into Plaza Mayor.
Antique hues of pinks and grays stun.
Madrid welcomes me.
Late sun casts golden shadows.
Camaraderie envelops.
I peel my brain for words.
Spanish brass serenades,
a musical aperitif.
Thoughts turn to supper,
as I walk and walk.
I see it, “Menu del Dia” in amber and red.
Savory breeze guides me.
It reads, "Tapas, Chorizo y Jamon",
I can’t resist
Vino Tinto completes me
as I wonder the day.
9/28/17
Everyone said, “Always order the Menu del Dia”
With that and little else, I headed for Spain
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