Never still the mind of God.' continual motion
Growth of purpose' rythem of love, making..'
man and woman' comes from above.' Growth of grass
Errosion of cliffs.' Waves upon oceons work
To shift..Grit in oyster, kernel growth.' Denotes
Wisdom and tears..Indeed; my oath.! Wind that moves
Emotions to change; sadness to elation such
A range.. Snail or Eagle slow or fleet Earth and
Universe.' Of all such I speak..Can you feel the
Intended.? Do you reach? Do you yearn? Are
You commited? Such is helpful. If of God
You would learn.' satan apes God even as he dies
A burned out relic with rhetorical lies.' Who
Offers most often (that which you have!) yet to
Rob is his intention...I'll call his odds.' May I
Talk the Truth.? For it brings him down.' His
Is a tawdrey glory..His is the volatile crown
Dry as paper..If i may.? He readied he is basted and he will climb in the tray..Be seperate from him.' Always seek the Lord by
The way of His waters upon His holy shores
Travel through the ' red sea ' turn not aside.'
The Great God of all motion.' Intends to take
Him, HIs bride.!
Behold what a beauty came to tame the beast
Who has yet to ravish such a lavish feast
With but a little or no romance in sight
After the last tango both would dance tonight
Quite the delicate juicy morsel tasted
And no better flavor to savor basted
Whenever there's beauty for the beast to see
Then ever the beast will the beast ever be
Time is not justly counted by increments...
like a pie all crust can have space without filling
it disappoints –
too much wasted by reluctant planning –
few visions of living ever leaving the station of
Excursion – like a dynasty of tempting brochures culminating in
tenure, that far more brave and less credentialed travel faithfully
outright...
Triumph's Reckless Youth vs Pompous Charted Night
such licensed surveyors expose dark by tiny bits called
stars, seeing only seconds, oblivious to stuffed longer
gigantic days' leaps packed into uncharted universes
time shallowly used is soul
and spirit only outside basted,
exterior roast__toast
while the bloody inside
left yearning release,
for its surface~ burning!
when time is too contemplated,
measured, set in plates of orderly
rations – seasoned but only tasted
(a belly denied lumps of glutenous
impulsive passions)
it is a written novel
with no real claims
to glory....
Time then...is only Time
dimly expressing God's timeless
true story
In the air, blows my hair
In my eyes, a blank stare
I’m just wasted
Too much wine, it’s divine
The most flavorful vine
That I’ve tasted
Have to go, even though
I can’t drive, that I know
Call a taxi
Stomach churns, how it burns
Artichoke dip returns
Mouth is waxy
I’m not well, they can tell
Like a turkey from hell
That’s been basted
Over there, people stare
They just laugh, they don’t care
That I’m wasted
The food was chased by a bent tine fork
Along the surface of a smooth glass plate,
Eventually was skewered with brute force torque.
A similar force confronted an unyielding cork
But for this event, on this mechanical date,
The food was chased by the bent tine fork.
A stab of grace presented the French basted pork
And lingered face front like scavenger bait,
Eventually was skewered with brute force torque.
Such moaning and discontent, could it have been more late
From a Five Star Diner in the village of York?
The food was chased by a bent tine fork.
It was not prepared by a chef but by a dork
More worthy of satiric praise than glowing hate,
Eventually was skewered with brute force torque.
The Maitre d’Hotel offered his black plastic spork
Immensely gracious but too late.
The food was chased by a bent tine fork,
Eventually was skewered with brute force torque.
Let my remains be not mourned or wasted
Entombed, cremated, sautéed or basted
Enriching the soil below
Where lush apple trees grow
I'll be in the best Macintosh anyone's tasted!
If one were laid beneath an apple tree
Very nourishing that would surely be
Apple pie to die for
From an earthling's deep core
Whose epitaph could read “Bon Appetit."
Added Limerick by Belle Bellevue
10/21/22
Lobsters and crabs on griller
Basted with butter
Pepper and asparagus
For sweet chilli sauce
With side salad dish
Great picnic
Taste!
June 5, 2022 8.18pm
PS Syllable Counter
Syllables Per Line: 7 5 7 5 5 3 1
Summer Contest
Contest Judged: 8/12/2022 10:24:00 AM
Sponsored by: M. L. Kiser
Place 2 (up to 5 multi w)
I close my eyes and recall yesterdays beautiful summers
barbecues from charcoal bricks and slow basted meats
aromas that lingered long after the first sizzle of rare
Mother arriving with a platter of raw hotdogs and steaks
dad fanning the fire with an old tin top. Fumigated waves
of thick gray smoke filling the air, we waited hungerly .
Later stuffed as little piglets we would gather round
the wooden picnic table, and tell stories and jokes.
The sun would slowly begin to descend and the air
would gently cool. We'd all go inside for hot tea
and a little T.V. sitcom.
How I miss the old days, wish I could bring them back
even for just one day,. so I could smell the barbecue
and drink mother's sugary strawberry Kool aid,
one more time.
Getting ready for a New Years chin dig
I purchased a new fancy schmancy wig
and bubbly for chilling;
I'm ready and willing
to pare, next year I'll be lank as a twig
Santa needs a break from the Holiday
the left overs echo in the fridge, oh Hey!
the turkey is wasted
his eye balls are basted
Merry Eggnog to all now get out of my way
Pop goes the bottle and in goes the booze
its time to party don't snooze or you lose
fetch me a drink
fast as a blink
bubble me up, please don't sing me the blues
Jopple Jim slim feeling kind of perplexed
he wasn't invited and now he is vexed
crack open a bottle
go to full throttle
send him his invite by crook or by text
And now, a word from our sponsor:
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Do you style yourself a connoisseur and bon vivant gourmet
Seeking gastronomic climax to a soul-destroying day?
Oy vey! Come taste the fix you’re craving down at Suicide Café.
One pint of sherry wine
says the recipe
which finds me asking
can I substitute a gallon of Chablis
or even quarts of Scotch or Bourbon
pretend I am wallowing in my past
quelling my misery
while waving my alcoholism in Death’s face
One pound of macaroons
It says
They’ll place their calories under my nose
add pounds
more than the mere seventeen
I gained when the doctor told me not to walk
creating this newest morbidly overweight me
not trifling with death here either
One quart of cream whipped
will leave me more than sedentary
stiff
actually
and one whole egg flaunts current conventions
thumbs its nose against my clogged arteries
and helps me laugh at the second
or third
helping of those air saturated
cream calories
standing tall over that
custard basted, wine soaked,
pound of Lady Fingers.
Reality is never what it seems
when trifles say they serve 12.
Queen of Trifles, The Settlement House Cookbook, page 372
The petrichor of fallen leaves
and coldness of the sun that grieves.
The lovers’ laughter in the wind.
Their purity shows they haven’t sinned.
Their faces pinched and full of life,
no thought of making her his wife.
Trees they groan, especially pine,
wild with shivers, right up their spine.
Prickly cones, a harbinger of,
a coming season fraught with love.
For now their gratitudes in place —
not cut down, brought to human’s space.
Wild turkeys, without guns, on run.
The hunters’ bullets, hide their sun,
unashamed of their livelihood.
Wasted and basted, butt’ry good.
Strung up on platter, good and puffed,
End of dinner, man and child stuffed.
10/29/2020
Contest: Lay November
Sponsor: William Kekaula
8 syllables each line - HMS
aabbcc - Rhymezone
There once was a gobbler named Tom,
Who thought himself quite the fowl homme,
Though hens thought him a cad,
Pilgrims thought he was rad,
Especially stuffed, roasted and basted...nom, Nom NOM!!
Glazed, basted berries
Cardinal red, burning buds
Doused in morning dew.
Happy Thanksgiving; you hungry fool.
The skin on my bird is there for you.
The basted on butter and glisten for you.
That succulent flavor that sucks for you.
The Whole enchilada of soaks for you.
A roasted out pan of crust to view.
The happy black feeling that's burnt for you.
That slowly cooked bird I braised for you.
What lovely smoked flavor - the taste for you.
The charcoal based hunger - of thanks for you.
That Happy Thanksgiving I'll give to you.
The happiest day for joining two.
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